‘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?’

The Registrar's Convenient Wife

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.

CHAPTER TWO

OH, GREAT. He would have to get stuck in a traffic jam. Eliot rang home and the answering-machine kicked in. He stifled the panic that lurched in his stomach. Of course Fran hadn’t left Ryan on his own. She wasn’t Malandra. She’d wait until he got home. Probably she hadn’t heard the phone, or she was busy cooking Ryan’s tea or something.

The message ended with a long beep, and Eliot gabbled his message. ‘It’s me—I’m on my way but I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

By the time he finally walked through the front door, he could feel his blood pressure simmering. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm, for Ryan’s sake.

Ryan was in front of the TV, half watching a cartoon and half concentrating on a complex model of a robot that he’d made from K’nex, snapping the rods and links together as if he instinctively knew the right pattern. Eliot always marvelled at how his son could produce an intricate three-dimensional jet or helicopter with a moving rotor in such a short space of time.

‘Hi, son.’

Ryan didn’t look up, he just muttered, ‘Hi, Dad,’ the way he usually did. Eliot suppressed the yearning to have his son run to him and hug him and look into his eyes and laugh. Hello, Dad. I missed you. I love you. Followed by lots of chattering about what happened at school today, what he’d been doing with Fran, what he wanted to do this evening.

Dream on, Eliot told himself savagely. You know that’s not going to happen. And it’s not his fault or yours. It’s just the way it is and you have to live with it.

‘Fran? I’m back.’

Fran appeared at the kitchen doorway. ‘I was just making Ryan’s tea,’ she said. ‘Chicken nuggets, chips and spaghetti.’

Not exactly the best nutrition in the world, Eliot knew—but he’d learned the hard way not to make food into a battleground. Nowadays he gave Ryan what he knew the seven-year-old would eat, and tried to sneak fruit and vegetables into his son when he could. ‘Thanks, Fran. I owe you an extra hour. Plus overtime,’ he added guiltily.

She didn’t look even remotely mollified. ‘You said you’d be home by half past.’

‘I know. And I would have been, but I got stuck in traffic.’ Eliot sighed. ‘I am trying, Fran.’

‘I’ve got a life, you know. I’m never going to be ready for my date tonight.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry is as sorry does.’

Eliot almost snapped back at her—but thought better of it at the last moment. If he didn’t keep Fran sweet, she’d leave. And that would be a disaster. It had taken him four months to find Fran. Four months of Ryan being unsettled at the constant changes in his child care, four months of interviews and wondering if he’d ever find the right person to look after his child between school and his job, four months when he’d had to stop working and he’d lived on home-made vegetable soup and toast because it was cheap.

‘Look—have a drink or what have you on me tonight,’ he said, taking a note from his wallet.

‘Ta.’ Fran pocketed it swiftly. ‘The spaghetti’s in the microwave and the nuggets and chips are in the oven. They’ll be ready in ten minutes. See you tomorrow.’ She paused at the living-room doorway. ‘Bye, Ryan.’

Ryan didn’t acknowledge his childminder, simply continued with his model-making. Two others were neatly lined up and there was a space next to them ready for the one he was making now.

‘Tea’s in ten minutes,’ Eliot told him.

‘Mmm,’ was the response. Ryan was focused completely on his model.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at the dining-room table. Eliot had managed to find the right knife and fork, made sure none of the three types of food touched any of the others and were on the right plate, and he’d filled Ryan’s mug with milk to precisely one centimetre from the top.

His thanks were simply that Ryan ate without fuss or comment. Apart from once, when he looked at his father’s sandwich. ‘Fran didn’t get you any bacon.’

‘That’s OK. Tuna salad’s cool.’ Actually, Eliot was sick to the back teeth of bacon sandwiches. Maybe he was pandering to Ryan’s little routines too much. The psychologist would tell him he had to fight more battles. Though Eliot didn’t want to fight his son. He only wanted to love him.

‘What happened at school today?’

‘Maths.’

Amazing how Ryan could answer an open question with a closed statement. Eliot tried again. ‘What was the best thing today?’

‘I had strawberries in my lunch.’

He knew that was as much as he was going to get. The same as he’d heard every other school day for the last month. Just for once Eliot longed to hear his son say he’d played football or found a butterfly or learned a new song. But he’d find out those sorts of things at the monthly review meetings with Ryan’s teacher and support assistant.

Eliot let his son eat the rest of his meal in silence.

‘Can I go on the computer now?’ Ryan asked.

‘Half an hour. When you’ve done your homework.’

‘It’s just reading.’

‘OK. How about half an hour on the computer, bath, then you read to me?’ It was a risk, changing his routine, but for once Ryan didn’t seem to mind.

‘OK, Dad.’

Ryan was gone, and within seconds Eliot heard the computer booting up. He finished his sandwich and then cleared up in the kitchen. Bathtime was the highlight of his day—playing submarines with his son, though the routine never varied and Ryan always sank Eliot’s ships in the exact same order.

Milk, teeth and story. Ryan read his book fluently, and Eliot gave him a gold star, sticking it like a medal on his pyjamas. ‘Well done. That’s for reading expressive dialogue.’ Ryan had clearly been working hard on expression with his support assistant at school.

‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘Sleep well.’ Eliot hugged him. ‘I love you.’

As always, Ryan’s face had a slightly worried look and his eyes slid away, not meeting his father’s. Eliot squashed his inward sigh. He knew that Ryan loved him; the little boy just wasn’t comfortable saying so. Facts, fine—emotions, not.

‘See you in the morning. Light off in half an hour, OK?’

‘All right. ’Night, Dad.’

Ryan was already deep in a scientific textbook before Eliot even left the room. Wearily, Eliot walked downstairs and tried to keep a certain pair of dark eyes out of his head—with very little success.

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t stand a snowflake in hell’s chance with her. Babies...I just don’t want my own. Someone else’s child—a child who was a little different, to say the least—would be even more of a no-no. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about Claire Thurman?

* * *

‘She’s been waiting for you. Pacing up and down,’ Vi said with a grin. ‘According to madam here, you’re half an hour late.’

Bess barked and wagged her tail.

Claire ruffled the golden retriever’s ears. ‘Sneak. Now your other mum’ll be on at me for putting in too many hours at the hospital.’

‘I know you want to get on, love, but there’s life outside work,’ Vi said.

‘And mine suits me perfectly. Half-shares in the best dog in the world, a good run each night and going out with friends at the weekend.’

‘Hmm.’

Claire knew exactly what Vi’s murmur meant. You need a husband and a family. But she also knew her life wasn’t going to turn out that way. And she was happy enough. She’d come to terms with what had happened—she’d even forgiven Paddy for it.

Though not quite enough to accept Brigid’s invitation to Paddy junior’s christening.

‘Come on, you. Time for your run,’ Claire said, clipping Bess’s lead to her collar.

‘And I’ll have the kettle on for when you get back,’ Vi said.

‘Thanks, Vi.’

Five minutes of a steady pace, with Bess loping beside her, was enough to restore Claire’s equilibrium. And that was when the guilt kicked in. The look on Eliot’s face when she’d suggested that he take a break...He’d clearly overheard what she’d said to Tilly. And maybe she had been a bit harsh. Brigid’s letter had unsettled her, but she really shouldn’t have taken it out on him.

Then she remembered the rest of the conversation and her face turned bright red. Oh, no. If he’d heard Tilly trying to pair him off with Claire...Embarrassing. As well as an apology tomorrow, she’d explain to him that Tilly was a newlywed and wanted to pair off all the unattached people she knew—it wasn’t anything personal.

Personal. Now that was a dangerous word to think in the same thought as Eliot Slater.

‘Oh, get a grip,’ she said aloud. ‘He’s probably attached and, even if he isn’t, he wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m practically his boss, I’m older than he is and I don’t do relationships anyway.’ That decided, she upped the pace until she reached the park.

* * *

Claire didn’t see Eliot the next morning, but assumed he was as busy with patients as she was. When she finally took a break for lunch, she grabbed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a plate of chicken salad and a nectarine. Just as she paid she spotted him at a corner table in the cafeteria. Now was as good a time as any to apologise. Better, in fact, because at least it was on neutral ground rather than on the ward.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Eliot glanced up from the journal he’d been reading, looking surprised. ‘Sorry?’

Well, obviously he’d been concentrating—but Claire still felt her face grow hot, and was annoyed at herself. She wasn’t going to lose her cool for anyone. ‘Mind if I join you?’ she repeated.

‘No, feel free.’

‘Great.’ She plonked her tray opposite him and sat down. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.’

He frowned. ‘Apologise?’

‘I was a bit snappy with you. Bad day.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m not normally like that. Well, not unless I’m unhappy with a patient’s care—then, I growl a lot,’ she added with a grin. ‘How are you settling in?’

‘Fine. I like the unit—everyone’s friendly and it seems like a well-oiled machine.’

‘They’re a nice bunch,’ Claire said. ‘As well as being the best medics in the hospital.’

‘Not that you’re biased, of course.’

She hadn’t expected that. So far, he’d been serious whenever he’d spoken to her. A dry sense of humour and a twinkle in those green eyes...now, that was dangerous. And looking at his mouth instead of his eyes was a very big mistake—because his mouth was perfect. Wide, generous and with a killer smile. The sort of mouth she could imagine against hers. Exploring her body. Making her—

No. Even if he was free, it couldn’t work. He’d probably want a family, in time, and she couldn’t do that. Best not to start something that could only end in tears. It took a huge effort, but she managed to turn the conversation back to work and their patients.

* * *

Something had spooked her, Eliot thought. But he couldn’t think of anything he’d said that might have upset her. All he knew was that that beautiful grin—the one that had made his pulse rocket—had disappeared and she was back to being the brisk, chirpy professional he’d seen on the ward.

Professional was the only relationship they could have anyway. He knew that. He’d spent most of a sleepless night telling himself that. If it came to a choice between Claire and Ryan, there was no contest. He wouldn’t choose anyone over Ryan. But if only he could have had both...

* * *

Later that afternoon, Eliot looked at the baby in front of him and frowned. He had a nasty feeling about this. The baby had been born a few weeks early and the vernix—the waxy substance that protected the baby’s skin from the amniotic fluid in the womb—wasn’t the usual white colour: it was yellow. The baby’s skin was definitely yellow, too. And there was a definite abdominal mass which felt to him as if the spleen and the liver were both swollen, a condition known as hepatosplenomegaly. One look at the notes confirmed his suspicions.

‘Got a moment, please, Claire?’

‘Sure.’ She looked up from her notes. ‘Problem?’

He handed her the notes.

She sucked her teeth. ‘Are you thinking rhesus haemolytic disease?’

‘Looks like it. Mum’s rhesus negative, the baby’s jaundiced and there was definite hepatosplenomegaly when I examined him.’

‘Better get the cord blood tested for blood group and the Coombs test, plus haemoglobin and bilirubin levels.’

* * *

The first two tests would confirm the diagnosis of rhesus haemolytic disease, and the second two would tell them how serious the condition was. Claire shook her head. ‘How on earth was this missed? Rhesus-negative mums are supposed to be tested for D antibodies at booking, twenty-eight weeks and thirty-four weeks. She could have had anti-D injections and the baby would have been fine.’

‘First baby, and she was a bit slapdash about going to the clinic.’ He coughed. ‘Apparently the dad’s rhesus negative as well.’

Claire frowned. ‘If the mum’s blood group is negative and the baby’s blood group is positive, the dad’s must be positive, too.’ Then she bit her lip. ‘Ah. This might get messy,’ she said softly. ‘Want a hand?’

‘Please. She might tell you a bit more than she told me.’

‘Claire the dragon, scaring her into it, you mean?’ she teased.

‘Claire the woman,’ he said. Then wished he hadn’t when she blushed. Very prettily. Because again it made him want to know what she looked like when she’d just been thoroughly kissed. By him. ‘Girl power,’ he said hastily.

‘Right.’ She didn’t say anything, but he had a nasty feeling she’d been able to read his mind. The problem was, he couldn’t read hers. Claire was unattached—Tilly had told him that much—but why? Was it that she’d concentrated on her career and hadn’t met the right man yet?

Well, he wasn’t the right man for her either. Because he came as a package, the kind of package that very few women would be interested in taking on.

‘Estée, this is Claire Thurman, our senior registrar and acting consultant,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong with Miles?’ Estée asked, her face pinched and drawn.

‘We’re doing some blood tests to find out, but Eliot thinks it’s rhesus haemolytic disease. If he’s right...’ Claire took a swift look at the baby ‘...and I’m pretty sure he is, then we can help Miles and he’ll be fine.’

‘What’s rhesus haemolytic disease?’ Estée asked.

‘People’s blood type is grouped into A, AB, B or O, and then it’s either rhesus positive or negative. When you’re pregnant, some of the baby’s red blood cells leak into your system,’ Claire explained. ‘That’s perfectly normal and doesn’t usually matter at all—but if your blood group is rhesus negative and your baby’s blood group is rhesus positive, the leak of blood into your system makes your body produce antibodies. This won’t affect you at all, but it might affect your baby in any future pregnancies, because if any future baby is rhesus positive, the tiniest leak of blood will make your body produce antibodies, which can cross the placenta and attack the baby’s red blood cells. The baby’s red blood cells change in shape and don’t last for as long as they should do, so the baby can become very anaemic and jaundiced. If the baby’s really badly affected, it might turn into a condition known as hydrops fetalis—meaning that the baby’s tissues are very swollen—and there’s a much greater risk of stillbirth. So that’s why, if we knew you’re rhesus negative, we’d give you an injection of something called anti-D, which stops your body producing these antibodies.’

Estée bit her lip. ‘Right.’

‘It doesn’t usually affect first babies,’ Claire said, ‘unless you’ve had a bit of bleeding during your pregnancy, or a threatened miscarriage, or a test such as an amniocentesis. And your midwife really should have tested your blood when she booked you in, plus twice more in later pregnancy.’

‘I’m not good with needles,’ Estée said. She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s my fault. She said she needed to do it but I kept saying I’d do it next time.’

Claire sat next to Estée and held her hand. ‘Except then you missed your appointments,’ she said gently. ‘Estée, you took a risk with yourself as well as your baby. Antenatal appointments are a way of letting your midwife check that you’re OK during your pregnancy and not developing any conditions such as pre-eclampsia, which could make you or your baby very ill.’

‘But I was really well—I was hardly even sick! I didn’t show until nearly six months...’ Estée chewed her lip again. ‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

‘We’ll do our best. If it is rhesus haemolytic disease, we can give him a transfusion which will take some of the bilirubin out of his blood—that’s the chemical that’s turning him yellow—and help increase his red blood cells, which will get rid of the anaemia. We can also give him light treatment. That just means putting him under a bank of lights which will help with the jaundice.’

‘So he’s not going to die?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Claire squeezed her hand. ‘But I do need to know a couple of things, Estée. Things that will stay totally confidential, but that will help us to help Miles.’

Estée thought for a moment. ‘All right.’

‘But before we talk, I need a blood sample. I promise you, you’re not going to feel a thing.’

‘She’s brilliant,’ Eliot said. ‘If she can take blood from tiny, fragile premature babies without hurting them, just think how easy it’ll be for you.’

‘I hate needles,’ Estée said.

‘Then turn and talk to Eliot,’ Claire suggested. ‘Tell him all about the nursery you’ve got planned for Miles.’

Eliot came to sit by the other side of Estée’s bed. ‘This is the bit I like. Holding the hand of the prettiest mums,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly as good as cuddling a new baby.’

‘Oh, men!’ Estée said.

Claire gave Eliot the thumbs-up sign.

‘So, what colours are you using?’

‘Yellow,’ Estée said. ‘With teddy bears. I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, so I wimped out and played safe.’

‘Sounds great. Babies love teddies.’ He almost swapped confidences and told her that he’d stencilled Ryan’s room with teddies, but he managed to bite the words back at the last moment.

‘All done,’ Claire said, capping the sample.

Estée stared at her in amazement. ‘But—I didn’t even feel it.’

‘I told you so.’ Eliot winked at her. ‘Claire’s the best.’

‘Can you sort the tests, please, Eliot?’ Claire asked.

He nodded and left the room.

‘OK, Estée. Well done for being brave. I hate needles, too,’ Claire said. ‘So, can you tell me, is Miles your first baby?’

‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t had a miscarriage before?’

‘No.’

‘Any bleeding in this pregnancy?’

‘Just a bit of spotting. My friend said it wasn’t anything to worry about so I didn’t bother telling my midwife.’

‘Right.’ The tiny haemorrhage had probably been enough to start the antibodies; in subsequent pregnancies it could take as little as 0.03 ml of the baby’s blood to make Estée’s body produce the antibodies. ‘Do you know your husband’s blood group?’

‘He’s A negative, like me.’

‘Right.’ Claire took a deep breath. Now for the crunch question. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, Estée, but is there any chance that your husband isn’t your baby’s father?’

‘Oh, God.’ Estée’s face crumpled and she sobbed. ‘Roger mustn’t know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I found out he’d had an affair with his secretary. I wanted to pay him back, so I had a fling with his best mate one night. Mickey and I were drunk...The worst thing is, it didn’t even make me feel better. Then I found out I was pregnant. I was so sure it was Roger’s. I mean, me and Mickey...it was only once.’

‘Once is all it takes,’ Claire said drily. ‘If you and Roger are both A negative, Miles should be A negative, too. So Mickey’s blood group must be rhesus positive, and Miles must be his baby.’

‘What am I going to do? If Roger dumps me because of this...I don’t want to be a single mum. I’d never cope. He doesn’t even really want kids—so I didn’t tell him for weeks and weeks, until it was almost too late to do anything and...Oh, God. What am I going to do?’ Estée wailed.

‘It’ll sort itself out. The first thing to concentrate on is making Miles better,’ Claire said. ‘Try not to worry. We have people you can talk to here—counsellors who can help you through the problems you might face with your husband. But right now your son needs you on his side. He needs cuddles and for you to talk to him, sing to him, let him know you’re here. And as soon as we get the test results back, we’ll be able to start treatment.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry for being so wet. It’s...’

‘You’ve just had a baby. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re worried about your son, and it’s perfectly natural.’ Claire squeezed her hand again. ‘I’ll come back and see you as soon as I’ve got the results. In the meantime, if you need anything, the nurses are here to help.’

‘Thank you,’ Estée said again.

Ten minutes later, Eliot rapped on her open office door. At her nod, he walked in and closed the door behind him. ‘Well?’

‘You were right. The baby isn’t her husband’s. She had a fling to pay him back for cheating on her.’ Claire shook her head. ‘Marriage is the pits. If people thought about the possible consequences before they had an affair—and I mean really thought—they’d never do it. It causes way too much mess and pain.’

It sounded as if she was talking from the heart. She must have been married before, Eliot thought, and he guessed that her marriage had disintegrated after an affair. From what Eliot knew of her, Claire wasn’t the type to have a fling—she was way too honest. So she must have been the one to get hurt. No wonder she’d stayed focused on her career.

He couldn’t help himself. He took her hand and squeezed it. And then somehow—he really wasn’t sure how it had happened—he was holding her. Stroking her hair, hair that was as soft and silky as he’d thought it would be, and he wanted to unpin it, let it fall round her face and soften her professional doctor look.

He was close enough to inhale the fragrance of her skin, a soft, sweet scent that made him want to touch her even more. His cheek was pressed against hers and he could feel her heartbeat—slightly irregular, like his own. She must be as knocked off balance as he was. And he couldn’t stop. From nuzzling her cheek, it was only one tiny step to—

‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’

Her voice was quiet yet firm. Eliot dropped his hands immediately and backed off. Though he couldn’t help looking in her eyes, and her eyes definitely weren’t giving the same message as her mouth. She’d clearly felt the same spark of awareness that he had.

Except she was a lot more professional in the way she dealt with it.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know...’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘No. I do know.’ He wasn’t going to insult her by pretending. He shrugged awkwardly. ‘It sounded like you were speaking from experience. And I just wanted to give you a hug.’

‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl. I can look after myself,’ she said drily, sitting back down at her desk.

It was his turn to flush. She’d made her position very, very clear. ‘And I was out of order. Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. We all act on impulse from time to time.’

‘Yeah.’ She was giving him a let-out, and he seized it gratefully. ‘Call it kid-brother syndrome.’

To his relief, that made her smile. ‘I’m the youngest. So I’ll have to take your word for that.’ She coughed. ‘I’ll, um, see you when the results are back, then.’

‘OK.’ He left her office and closed the door behind him. Dismissed, in the nicest possible way. And he’d really, really blown it. Why hadn’t he kept his hands to himself?

You know why, a little voice said inside his head. Because she’s gorgeous. The kind of woman you’ve always dreamed of.

Yes. But he couldn’t have her.

Ignoring the sour taste in his mouth, he scooped up a set of notes and went to see his tiny patient.

* * *

As her office door shut, Claire leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Hell, hell, hell. Why had she let her mouth run away with her like that? She’d virtually told Eliot she’d been unhappily married. And when he’d given her a hug—what he’d said had been a kid-brother sort of hug—she’d been so near to embarrassing them both. For a mad moment she’d actually thought about moving her head, letting her lips trail over his. Kissing him. For an even madder moment, she’d thought he’d been about to do the same.

Thank God they hadn’t. Because now she knew he thought of her as his big sister; he’d only given her a hug because he’d thought she could do with one.

The problem was, she couldn’t reciprocate. She simply couldn’t see Eliot Slater as her kid brother. Not now she knew what it felt like, being held by him. And he smelled good, clean and male. And...

Stop right there, Claire Thurman, she told herself. It isn’t going to happen. Your relationship’s strictly professional. And it’s going to stay that way. He’s your junior, and you’re going to do the big-sister, kid-brother thing, even if it kills you.

* * *

When the test results came back, both Claire and Eliot managed to pretend that the near-clinch in her office had never happened. ‘Coombs is positive, baby’s blood group is A positive, mum’s is A negative.’ Eliot frowned at the haemoglobin results. ‘I think we should do the exchange transfusion now.’

Claire looked at the results and nodded. ‘The haemoglobin’s too low to wait for the bilirubin levels. Have you done this before?’

‘Once.’

‘So you want Claire the dragon to put the big bad needle in?’ she teased.

‘And I’ll get the consent form signed,’ he offered. ‘Deal?’

‘Right. I’ll get Tilly to do the monitoring.’

He checked his watch. ‘An exchange transfusion usually takes about two hours, doesn’t it?’

‘And you can’t stay that long.’

He hated the disappointment in her eyes. But how could he explain that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t anything to do with what had nearly happened between them in her office, without going into detail about his family circumstances? Detail he didn’t want to go into, because he definitely didn’t want her pity. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘No problem.’

‘Tills—case conference,’ Claire said when they reached the nurses’ station. ‘We have a little one with rhesus haemolytic disease, and we’re going to do an exchange transfusion. Which means, Eliot?’

‘It corrects the anaemia and stops the circulatory system being overloaded—at the moment the baby has a normal blood volume but the central venous pressure’s too high. We need to use warmed blood—at thirty-seven degrees—cross-matched against the baby’s and the mum’s blood. The blood we put in will replace the red blood cells which are coated with antibodies—the new blood will be compatible with the mum’s serum so the antibodies won’t coat the new red blood cells,’ Eliot recited. ‘Tilly, Claire’s going to do the cannula in the umbilical artery and vein, and we’re going to remove the blood in five-mil aliquots from the artery and replace it through continuous infusion into the vein, so there’s less risk of the baby’s blood pressure fluctuating. The baby may need some pain relief and we need to watch for rebound of the bilirubin serum level.’

Claire nodded. ‘OK, you’ve passed your viva.’ She gave him what she hoped was a big-sister grin. ‘Tills, we want to monitor Miles’s ECG, his Us and Es, bilirubin, glucose—you know there’s a risk of rebound hypoglycaemia after the transfusion—and calcium.’

‘OK. And are we doing phototherapy after that?’

‘Yes. The usual—keep him uncovered as much as possible, keep an eye on his temperature and fluid loss and keep checking the eye shields to make sure they’re not irritating his eyes,’ Claire confirmed.

‘And pinch a surgeon’s mask to use as a mini-nappy to protect his gonads from chromatic radiation damage,’ Tilly added.

‘Why don’t we use a phototherapy blanket?’ Eliot asked, referring to the fibre-optic filaments which carried a high-intensity halogen light source, woven into a pad which the baby could lie on. ‘Then he wouldn’t need an eye shield, and it’ll be easier for Estée to care for him.’

‘We don’t have any,’ Claire told him. ‘We’re fundraising at the moment. So if you want to buy some raffle tickets...’

He rolled his eyes. ‘OK, OK. Message received and understood.’

‘And you’re a doctor, so there’s a minimum purchase level of ten tickets,’ Tilly added.

‘I think I’ll go and get that consent form signed, before you two get too carried away,’ Eliot said with a grin.

‘Like I said. He’s lovely,’ Tilly muttered to Claire when Eliot had gone. ‘He’d be good for you.’

‘Like I said, it’s not going to happen,’ Claire muttered back.

If only...

CHAPTER THREE

CLAIRE managed to keep up the ‘big sister’ act for nearly a week. And then she was heading to her office to write up a patient’s notes when she saw a small boy wandering around the ward.

‘Hello. Are you lost?’ she asked.

He stared at the floor. ‘I can’t find my dad.’

Claire definitely hadn’t seen the boy before. But there was an outside chance he’d visited a younger sibling on the ward when she’d been off duty. ‘I’ll help you find him. My name’s Claire and I’m a doctor here. What’s your name?’

‘Ryan.’

‘Can you tell me your baby brother or sister’s name, Ryan?’

He shook his head, still staring at the floor.

Maybe he’d wandered in here from another ward. Or maybe...Something about him reminded her of her godson, Jed. ‘Is your baby brother or sister here, sweetheart?’ she asked gently.

Again, Ryan shook his head.

‘Is your mum or dad a patient here?’

‘Dad’s a doctor.’

He looked up and in that brief second Claire realised who the boy was. Ryan’s eyes were a deep cornflower blue and his hair was mid-brown, but his mouth was identical to a mouth she hadn’t been able to get out of her head. Eliot’s. ‘Is your dad’s name Eliot?’ she asked carefully.

‘Yes.’

Her heart clenched. Eliot had a child. Eliot was married. So either he really had meant it about the kid-brother thing, and she’d nearly made a colossal fool of herself, or...Oh, no. He couldn’t be another Paddy. He couldn’t have been a married man trying to schmooze her just when she’d been saying how affairs wrecked lives. No. He was too nice for that—wasn’t he? And Tilly, who had a radar for that sort of thing, had pronounced him unattached...

But maybe they’d both been wrong.

She took a deep breath. ‘OK, Ryan. Your dad’s seeing a patient at the moment. Would you like to come and sit in my office and wait for him?’

‘I want Dad.’

‘I know, sweetheart, but right now he’s with a tiny baby who’s very ill. I’ll get him for you, but you can’t come with me in case you have any germs.’

‘Because it’s a sterile environment and bacteria multiply rapidly.’

That one had come straight from left field—certainly not what she’d expected from a child this young. But, then again, maybe he’d heard Eliot talk about his job at home. ‘I’m impressed,’ she said. ‘Are you going to be a doctor like your dad when you grow up?’

‘No.’

Well, that was her fault for asking a closed question. She thought of Jed again. ‘How old are you, Ryan?’

‘Seven.’

‘Do you like dinosaurs?’

Another flash of those beautiful eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got some in my office. Do you want to see them while I get your dad?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What would you like?’

‘Milk, please.’

‘OK. Come this way.’

‘It’s the third door on the right,’ he said, surprising her. ‘I saw it on the map.’

‘How did you get here, Ryan?’

‘On the bus. Number 17 bus, four stops. Change to a number 20 bus to the hospital. There’s always a map of a hospital in Reception. This is the fourth floor, and all the wards on this floor start with D because D’s the fourth letter of the alphabet.’

Ryan was definitely like Jed: hated small talk, but could hold forth for hours on subjects that interested him. Facts and figures, maps and dinosaurs, sea creatures. She’d bet good money that Ryan loved trains, robots and astronomy, too. ‘Well done, you. We’re going to stop by the nurses’ kitchen on the way to get you some milk.’

‘Thank you.’

Polite, quiet and that steadfast refusal to make eye contact for more than a second. He gave information rather than having a proper conversation, and she had a feeling that Ryan would be a stickler for routine. Typical of a child with Asperger’s syndrome.

Which explained why Eliot worked the shifts he did, and why he hadn’t wanted to be late. But why hadn’t he told her himself? Was she that much of a dragon?

‘You should pour it with your right hand,’ Ryan remarked when she took the milk carton from the fridge.

‘Sorry, Ryan. I’m left-handed. If I pour it with my right, I’ll spill it everywhere.’

There was a nasty pause while the little boy digested the information. Then he shrugged. ‘OK.’

‘Tell me when to stop.’ If her suspicions were right, Ryan would be as particular as Jed about how much milk he had in a cup.

‘Stop,’ he said solemnly when the liquid was one centimetre below the brim.

‘Rightio. We’ll go to my office and get the dinosaurs, and then I’ll fetch your dad.’

‘You’ve got a shark screensaver,’ he said immediately when they walked into her office.

‘It was my birthday present from my godson,’ she said.

‘It’s cool.’

‘I like it, too.’ She rummaged in her desk and found the collection of dinosaurs, plus the set of cards she’d bought for Jed that contained facts and figures about various dinosaurs. ‘This game’s better for two or more people but you can play it on your own, against yourself, if you like. Now, are you OK to stay here while I get your dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you need anything before we get back, just go to the nurses’ station and ask for Tilly.’

‘Tilly,’ he repeated dutifully.

‘I won’t be long.’ She smiled, left and went to find Eliot in one of the side rooms. ‘Can I have a quick word, Dr Slater?’

Eliot looked up from his patient, surprised by her formality. ‘Of course.’ He followed her outside the room.

‘You have a visitor in my office,’ she said coolly. ‘Name of Ryan Slater.’

Panic gripped him, oozing out of every pore. What was his son doing here? Was he hurt? And why hadn’t Claire mentioned Fran? Eliot forced himself to calm down. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine. Right now he’s looking at my dinosaur cards. I’ve given him some milk. He wants you, so I’ll finish off here.’

‘Thanks.’ Eliot bit his lip. ‘Look, I hope he—’

Clearly his worries were written all over his face, because she cut in, ‘He’s been no trouble at all.’

‘Thanks for looking after him. Um, I’m sorry about this.’

‘Not a problem.’

It was, by the look on her face. A big problem. But he’d have to deal with that later—his priority right now was Ryan.

He almost ran to Claire’s office, and could have wept when he saw that Ryan was on his own. Had Fran got fed up with waiting and dropped him off at the hospital? ‘Ryan! Are you all right?’

‘Hi, Dad.’ Ryan was acting as if it was nothing out of the usual for him to be sitting in Eliot’s boss’s office. ‘Look, Claire’s got these dinosaur cards. It’s a game. You have to—’

‘Ryan,’ Eliot cut in, ‘what’s happened?’

‘I had some milk.’

Specific. He had to remember to ask specific questions. Ryan dealt in pure logic. ‘Where’s Fran?’

‘At home with Jon.’

‘Who’s Jon?’

Ryan shrugged.

Her boyfriend. He must be Fran’s boyfriend. ‘Does she know you’re here?’

‘No.’

Then why the hell hadn’t Fran phoned him to let him know Ryan was missing?

‘How did you get here?’

‘Number 17 bus. Four stops, change to number 20 bus to here,’ Ryan recited. ‘This is the fourth floor—’

‘Didn’t the bus drivers ask you where your mummy and daddy were?’ Eliot cut in.

Ryan shrugged. ‘I gave them the right money for my ticket.’

He would. Ryan was excellent with money—he’d grasped the concept much quicker than his classmates, and his maths skills were way ahead of his age. Then a nasty thought hit Eliot. ‘Where did you get the money?’

‘I took Fran’s purse.’

Eliot scooped up his son and sat down with Ryan firmly on his lap. Ryan wriggled, clearly uncomfortable with the close contact. ‘Ryan, sweetheart, you really can’t just take money from people and get on the bus.’

‘But I just did,’ Ryan pointed out logically.

‘OK. It’s something you’re not supposed to do. Number one, you don’t take things without asking and, number two, you always tell someone if you want to go somewhere.’ He paused. ‘What was Fran doing?’

‘Giggling. Jon was taking her clothes off.’

That explained a lot, Eliot thought grimly. ‘Has this—has Fran brought Jon to our house before?’

‘Yes.’

‘A lot?’

‘Most days.’

Eliot kept his temper, with difficulty. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault. But he was angry with Fran—angrier than he’d ever been in his life. To think he’d trusted her with his precious son, and she’d been snippy over him being late when all the time she’d been neglecting Ryan and canoodling with her boyfriend...God only knew what Ryan had seen. His mouth tightened. ‘What do you do when Jon’s there?’

‘Make models, watch telly. But I couldn’t find the remote control and Fran told me to go away. So I came to see you.’

‘I see.’

‘Did I do wrong?’ Ryan looked anxious.

‘No, sweetheart. You were right to tell me. I’ll make it all better again.’ Somehow. Maybe the school knew someone who could step in to help—just until he found another childminder. One who, this time, would look after Ryan properly. Who wouldn’t pull the wool over his eyes. And he’d check every single reference face to face. Twice.

‘Can you stay here for just a moment while I have a word with Claire?’

‘Yes, Dad. I know I’m not allowed to go near the babies in case I give them germs.’

‘Good boy.’ Eliot dropped a kiss on the top of his son’s head. ‘I’ll be back in less than five minutes.’

Remembering her formality with him a few minutes before, he didn’t quite dare use her first name. ‘Dr Thurman? May I have a word, please?’

‘Sure. I’m done here anyway.’ She joined him in the corridor.

‘I’m sorry to ask, but may I leave early? I have a...’ No. He wasn’t going to dump his problems on her. It wasn’t fair. ‘I have a personal problem that needs sorting out.’

‘Whatever.’

Brisk, professional. But there was a hint of disappointment in her face. Disappointment that he had a child? Or that he was proving her jaundiced views of locums correct? ‘I’ll make sure the hospital isn’t billed for the time I’ve had to take off.’

‘Fine.’

‘And thanks for looking after Ryan.’

She shrugged. ‘No problem.’

Clearly it was, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.

He collected Eliot, walked him to the car and then sat on the bonnet out of Eliot’s earshot while he rang Fran.

‘Hello?’

‘Fran, it’s Eliot.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded flustered, then suddenly snapped into the sullen mode he’d grown used to over the last couple of months. Ever since she’d been seeing this Jon person. ‘Are you going to be late again?’

‘No. Early, in fact. I wondered if you had anything missing?’

‘No.’

His mouth tightened. It must have taken Ryan half an hour to get here. And she still had no idea he was missing? ‘Check your handbag,’ he advised coldly.

‘What?’ She sounded slightly scared. ‘Why?’

‘Just check your handbag, then come back to the phone.’

Thirty seconds later, she was shrieking. ‘My purse has gone!’

‘It’s here. With Ryan.’

‘Ryan? I, um...No, he’s in his room, making models.’

‘He’s sitting in my car, in the hospital car park,’ Eliot corrected her. ‘I think we’ve got some talking to do—don’t you?’

‘Eliot, I’m sorry, it’s just—’

‘Save it.’ She hadn’t even asked if the boy was all right. Hell, hell, hell. How had he managed to get it so wrong when he’d hired Fran? At the time she’d seemed young but sensible and Ryan hadn’t minded her. Maybe he’d just been so desperate to find someone that he’d seen what he’d been looking for rather than what had really been there. ‘Ryan’s already explained. We’re on our way home now.’ If Fran had any sense, her boyfriend would be long gone before Eliot arrived. And he’d check the house over before she left. Get the locks changed tomorrow. And he’d need at least one day off...This was rapidly turning into a nightmare.

He consoled himself—just—with the thought that at least Ryan was OK. He’d found his way across Ludbury without any problems, he wasn’t hurt. He’d sort this mess out, one step at a time.

And then he’d face Claire.

* * *

A personal problem. He could say that again. Claire wasn’t sure whether she was angrier on Eliot’s behalf or with Eliot himself. Angry because Ryan was much too young to have travelled across Ludbury by bus on his own—particularly a journey that involved changing buses. And angry because Eliot hadn’t said a word about his personal circumstances. He’d let everyone assume that he was young, free and single.

To think that she’d nearly fallen for him...

Stick with your career, she told herself firmly. That at least won’t let you down.

All the same, she was smarting again over that near clinch with Eliot, so she was relieved when Tilly called her over to look at one of their newer babies and she could concentrate on work again. ‘Second-born twin, born at thirty-five weeks gestation,’ Tilly said. ‘The symptoms developed about an hour after birth so they’ve sent her up here in case it’s RDS.’ Respiratory distress syndrome was common in premature babies because their lungs hadn’t matured enough yet. ‘Her breathing’s fast, she’s grunting a bit, she’s got nasal flaring and intercostal recession.’

Claire noted the way the baby’s skin sucked in between and under her ribs. ‘She’s, what, two hours old now?’

‘Yes.’

Claire listened to the baby’s lungs. ‘The air entry’s reduced and I can hear creps.’ She did some more checks. ‘Heart rate 125 a minute, low blood pressure.’ They could both see that the baby was lying in the ‘frog’ position, not moving as much as they’d expect from a newborn. ‘OK. We need the usual bloods—haemoglobin, white-blood count, platelets, gases, blood group and cross-match. Check the electrolytes, creatinine and calcium so we’ve got a baseline; blood culture plus deep ear and throat swabs to rule out any infection; and a chest X-ray to check we don’t have any extra problems.’

Gently, she stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘Hang on in there, little one. I know it’s tiring, but we’ll soon help you breathe more easily.’ She looked at Tilly. ‘Is the mum downstairs?’

Tilly nodded. ‘Probably frantic—and panicking in case the other twin has the same problem.’

‘I’ll go down and see her,’ Claire said. She rang down to the maternity unit, then went to see Carla Jennings.

‘I’m Claire Thurman, senior registrar on the neonatal ward,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d like an update on Gillian.’

‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘We hope so. We’re doing some tests at the moment, but I’m fairly sure she has what we call RDS—respiratory distress syndrome. It’s fairly common in premature babies, and second-born twins are more likely than the first-born to get it. All it means is that she’s having problems breathing because her lungs aren’t mature enough. We’re going to keep her warm, give her some oxygen to help her breathe and, depending on the test results, some synthetic surfactant to make her lungs mature.’

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