‘Where is the pain worst?’ Emily demanded, refusing to let herself think about the warmth of his oiled-satin skin as she ran both thumbs up his neck, one on each side of his cervical vertebrae.

Emily could feel the tension in every one of his muscles, but whether that was the result of the pain or because she was touching him she didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to help him if she could…and if he would let her.

‘Relax,’ she urged as she began to gently massage the knotted muscles at the base of his skull. ‘Is it too painful to bend your knees up and rest your forehead on them?’

Relax?

Zayed stifled a groan. Didn’t the woman know she was asking for the impossible? He hadn’t been relaxed since he’d looked up and seen her standing in the doorway.

She’d been like a ray of sunshine with her blonde hair and pale summery clothes sprinkled with flowers, and as for those eyes…their limpid green had seemed cool and soothing as they’d taken his measure across the room, even as they’d sparked something impossible deep inside him.

Josie Metcalfe lives in Cornwall with her long- suffering husband. They have four children. When she was an army brat, frequently on the move, books became the only friends that came with her wherever she went. Now that she writes them herself she is making new friends, and hates saying goodbye at the end of a book—but there are always more characters in her head, clamouring for attention until she can’t wait to tell their stories.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE DOCTOR’S BRIDE BY SUNRISE*

TWINS FOR A CHRISTMAS BRIDE

A MARRIAGE MEANT TO BE

SHEIKH SURGEON, SURPRISE BRIDE

*Brides of Penhally Bay

Welcome to Penhally Bay!

Nestled on the rugged Cornish coast is the picturesque town of Penhally. With sandy beaches, breathtaking landscapes and a warm, bustling community—it is the lucky tourist who stumbles upon this little haven.

But now Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance is giving readers the unique opportunity to visit this fictional coastal town through our brand-new twelve-book continuity… You are welcomed to a town where the fishing boats bob up and down in the bay, surfers wait expectantly for the waves, friendly faces line the cobbled streets and romance flutters on the Cornish sea breeze…

We introduce you to Penhally Bay Surgery, where you can meet the team led by caring and commanding Dr Nick Tremayne. Each book will bring you an emotional, tempting romance—from Mediterranean heroes to a sheikh with a guarded heart. There’s royal scandal that leads to marriage for a baby’s sake, and handsome playboys are tamed by their blushing brides! Top-notch city surgeons win adoring smiles from the community, and little miracle babies will warm your hearts. But that’s not all…

With Penhally Bay you get double the reading pleasure… as each book also follows the life of damaged hero Dr Nick Tremayne. His story will pierce your heart—a tale of lost love and the torment of forbidden romance. Dr Nick’s unquestionable, unrelenting skill would leave any patient happy in the knowledge that she’s in safe hands, and is a testament to the ability and dedication of all the staff at Penhally Bay Surgery. Come in and meet them for yourself…

SHEIKH SURGEON CLAIMS HIS BRIDE

BY

JOSIE METCALFE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

THE pain was unrelenting, but Zayed was almost used to that by now.

What hurt his pride was to admit that, by this time in the evening, he had little chance of disguising the unevenness in his stride as he made his way down to the stretch of water-smoothed sand at the edge of Penhally Bay.

Anyway, there was nothing he could do to switch off the agony that came with the end of a busy day, other than taking large doses of analgesia, and he wasn’t going to start down that path. If using those means to relieve his pain left him unfit to take care of one of his little ones, there would be no point to his existence.

He swore softly as his foot caught on the roughness of the granite steps and forced himself to concentrate a little harder. At least, at this time of an August evening, with the sun sliding towards the ocean, there were few people around to notice if he stumbled about like a drunk.

He smiled wryly at the thought, unable to remember the last time he’d tasted alcohol. It must have been back in the days when he’d been in medical school, indulging in that brief spell of belated teenage rebellion…before his world had become such a dangerous place, before everything had finally spiralled out of control.

‘But Penhally isn’t such a bad place to end up,’ he murmured as he paused long enough to scan his surroundings, the perfect picture postcard of a Cornish fishing village. It had been only fairly recently that the influx of summer visitors drawn to the better-than-average surfing beach had expanded the place into quite a thriving little town. He’d first visited the area one summer, in his other life, and the serenity of this little place, where almost every building looked out towards the vastness of the ocean, had called to him.

Perhaps that was because it was so unlike his own country. ‘Apart from the sand, of course,’ he added with a half-hearted chuckle, glad that there was no one at this end of the beach to hear him talking to himself.

He leant forward to deposit his towel in the sand and the renewed stab of pain was enough to take his breath away for several seconds while he waited for it to subside.

‘Stupid!’ he hissed as he stripped off his cotton shirt and trousers and started the stretching routine that began every visit to the beach, knowing that it didn’t matter how careful he was, by the time he finished, every nerve and muscle would be screaming for him to stop.

It was a great temptation to give in to it—it would be so much easier not to put himself through this agony. But that way his mobility and stamina would never improve, and that was unacceptable. If he didn’t make the fullest recovery possible, then he wouldn’t be able to help the children who needed him so badly.

Anyway, the pain was a necessary part of his life. It was a reminder…a penance…a payment he had to make for the fact that he had survived while Leika, Kashif and so many others…

Zayed deliberately blocked the thought before it went any further. His nightmares were vivid enough without allowing himself to recall those events by day as well.

It was enough for him to know that he was guilty of having allowed them to die. The pain he felt could never be enough to balance the loss of everything he’d once held most dear.

‘That is one of the good things about coming back to Penhally,’ Emily murmured aloud, mesmerised by the changing colours in the streaks of cloud against the horizon while she waited for the sun to sink into the sea at the end of another perfect summer’s day.

And there was another benefit to coming back to her home town, she added silently as a good-looking man stepped into view on the sand and proceeded to strip his clothing off.

‘Oh, yes!’ she breathed as the last golden rays outlined each new vista, from broad shoulders and a wide chest decorated with an intriguing swathe of dark silky-looking hair to a tautly muscled belly and slim hips, all covered by darkly tanned skin. ‘That is definitely a good reason for living near a beach.’

As she watched, he began an obviously well-practised routine of stretches before progressing to a seriously strenuous workout. For just a moment she wondered if he was putting on a show for her benefit, but there was no way that he could know she was there. This little alcove at the base of the rocks was one of the first places to be thrown into shadow as evening began to fall, and had been a favourite spot of hers ever since she’d come to live with her grandmother in her teens.

It wasn’t until the man finally turned to walk into the sea that she noticed that he was limping fairly heavily, and her professional interest was raised. Had he injured himself during that punishing drill he’d just put himself through, or could the disability itself be the reason for the routine?

The light level had fallen too much by now for her to see any evidence of an injury, and while he had probably come to the beach at this time so that he could have some solitude, the idea of leaving anyone to swim alone when they might get into difficulties and need assistance wasn’t something she could contemplate.

‘Well, it’s no hardship to sit here a bit longer,’ she murmured. The air was still warm and even though a playful breeze had started up as the sun began to go down, she was perfectly sheltered where she was. Then, of course, there was the fact that she would have a second chance to look at that beautiful body when whoever he was finally emerged from the water.

In the meantime, she had some serious thinking to do and a mountain of guilt to come to terms with.

She’d been away for such a long time while she’d gone through her arduous medical training and had only realised that it had been far too long when a visit had revealed the dreadful secret her grandmother had been hiding.

‘I didn’t want you to come home just to watch me die, not when you had all those exams to take,’ she’d explained stubbornly when Emily had arrived for a long weekend visit to give her the latest good news in person.

She’d been so looking forward to seeing Beabea’s face when she told her that she’d just been offered the plum job she’d been after at St Piran’s Hospital. Admittedly, it was only a six-month placement, but she had high hopes that there might be a permanent position she could apply for at the end of that time.

The taste of triumph had turned to ashes in her mouth when she’d realised just how little time she had left with the only family she possessed in the world.

With her grandmother’s permission, she’d spoken to the oncologist at St Piran’s the next day, hoping against hope that there was room for some glimmer of optimism— an operation, perhaps, or chemotherapy—but, if anything, the prognosis was worse than she’d thought.

‘She could have several months, but I really think it’s unlikely,’ the kindly man had said, leaving Emily feeling sick to her stomach. ‘With this sort of thing, the patient is usually fairly well, despite the devastation going on inside, right up until the last couple of weeks. That’s the point when she’ll need to come into hospital or transfer into a hospice—somewhere where they’ll be able to monitor the pain medication, because she’ll need it by then.’

‘If she’s put on PCA, couldn’t I take care of her at home?’ Emily had pleaded, knowing just how much her grandmother loved her little cottage. The place was full of years of love and so many happy memories, and if she was put on a morphine pump for patient-controlled pain relief, Emily wouldn’t have to worry that she wasn’t giving her grandmother the correct dose.

‘You could, initially,’ he’d agreed. ‘But we’ve found that it’s often far too stressful for the patient to stay at home right to the end, knowing that their relatives are having to do so much for them and watching them die by inches. In the end, the two of you will find that you’ll know when it’s time to make the move, for both your sakes.’

And in the meantime, Emily had started her new job under Mr Breyley and had obtained permission to spend her off-duty hours far further away than the immediate vicinity of St Piran’s.

Their little system had worked well, with Emily taking care of her grandmother’s needs before she drove the hour to St Piran’s, knowing that Beabea still had many friends in the Penhally area, including several in the medical profession in one capacity or another, who would be dropping in throughout the time she herself was away on duty.

And while her grandmother slept for longer stretches each day, Emily took herself off for walks along the harbour, past the Penhally Arms and the Anchor Hotel. Each time she glanced in she saw that holidaymakers and locals alike were enjoying themselves, and it seemed somehow wrong that they were oblivious of the life-and-death battle that was going on just around the corner.

A time or two she’d sat at the café on the end of the row, sipping a long frothy latte while she watched the holidaymakers leaning on the parapet of the bridge, who were watching the waters of the river Lanson hurrying on the final stretch of their journey to the sea.

She’d stood there a time or two herself, gazing down at the chuckling, purling waters tumbling over the rocks while she’d pondered on the timelessness of the view. So little had changed from the first time she’d balanced on the parapet on her stomach as a teenager, risking a painful dunking if she’d gone head first over the edge. And yet, even though the stones and the water hadn’t changed, everything else had.

She was a different person from that teenager, a doctor, now, with the job of her dreams. And her grandmother, who had always seemed so ageless that she might live for ever, was now a shrunken old lady with thin grey hair and papery skin and barely enough energy to breathe.

In fact, apart from working under Mr Breyley, which was everything she’d hoped for and more, the one bright spot in her day was if she managed to make it to the beach to complete her mind-numbing run along the hard-packed sand before her mystery man arrived.

Several times she’d been tempted to speak to him, to let him know that she was there and to get her first good look at his face, but that would have spoilt the fantasies she’d been weaving about him, especially if she found out that he was only someone she’d gone to school with.

Then there was the fact that he might see her as some sort of voyeur, hiding in the rocks while she watched him put himself through his nightly torment, but she could always counter that accusation by pointing out that she was doing nothing more than acting as an unofficial lifeguard. Not that she thought that would cut much ice with a man who seemed so driven and so utterly self-contained. In fact, his focus seemed so intense that she found it difficult to imagine that he was the sort who would ever relax enough to reveal a softer side to his nature.

‘But that won’t stop me imagining one,’ Emily murmured as he set off into the water again lit only by the dying rays of the sun.

Today she’d really needed the distraction of watching him, to take her mind off the fact that she’d spent the afternoon settling her grandmother into her room up in the new hospice wing of the nursing home up on Penhally Heights.

The oncologist had been right after all. She’d been utterly determined to take care of her grandmother herself, even if it meant arranging to take some time off from her job. But in the end they had both agreed that it was finally time for Beabea to move out of the bedroom that had been hers ever since the day she’d moved into it as a new bride, more than fifty years ago.

‘And as soon as my mystery man stops punishing himself, it will be time to go back to the cottage and get some sleep,’ she told herself, although she didn’t like the prospect of going back there knowing that she was going to be completely alone in the little stone cottage for the very first time.

At least she had a great job to go to in the morning, and she might hear some more gossip about that foreign surgeon who had been setting up a specialist paediatric surgical unit at St Piran’s.

The buzz had been all around her ever since she’d started working for Mr Breyley at the opposite end of the dedicated paediatric block, and when she had time, she was going to take a walk upstairs to take a look at the setup that had everybody talking. After all, paediatric surgery had been her other choice for her specialty and she hadn’t finally decided which way she was going to go at the end of her six months with Mr Breyley if she wasn’t offered the chance of a permanent post.

CHAPTER ONE

EMILY paused silently in the shadows outside the recently expanded specialist paediatric surgical unit and fell in love.

Well, she’d needed something good to happen after the shock she’d received down in her own department.

She’d barely stuck her head inside the door when Mr Breyley’s secretary had beckoned her into the office.

‘I’m sorry he’s not here to tell you about it himself, Dr Livingston,’ the rather austere-looking woman had said with a slightly frazzled glance around at the haphazard piles of paper littering her normally pristine desk. Then she had unbent enough to murmur, confidentially, ‘He and his wife flew out to New Zealand this morning. Their first grandchild is on the way. He was diagnosed with transposition of the great arteries in utero and is arriving prematurely, so they wanted to be there for their daughter…at least, until the corrective surgery’s over and done with.’

‘Completely understandable,’ Emily had agreed, even as panic had started to set in. Was she about to lose her job? With Mr Breyley on the other side of the world, she had lost her mentor and tutor. The hospital would be unlikely to be able to find someone of his calibre available at short notice.

Then there was the fact that it hadn’t only been the job that had brought her back to Penhally. Of course, it had been a terrific step up on her career path, and the fact that it had been within easy travelling distance of Beabea had been a bonus. But now that her grandmother’s condition was rapidly worsening and now she’d transferred to the hospice, the last thing Emily wanted was to have to move away, perhaps to the other end of the country for a comparable post.

She just couldn’t do that. She needed to be here, in the hospital closest to Penhally, so that she could spend as much of these last precious days with her grandmother as she could. Also, there was the fact that transferring to another hospital at short notice, and so soon after starting a placement, could look bad on her CV. Anyway, there was no guarantee that she would find a comparable post either.

With the likelihood that her perfect job was going to vanish into thin air, there were other worries to be considered, too.

It was highly unlikely that the hospital would be willing to keep paying her salary until they appointed a new surgical consultant to take her on and, no matter how much she wanted to spend time with Beabea, she couldn’t afford to take an expensive break, either financially or professionally.

But she had so little time left to be with her grandmother and didn’t want to waste any of it travelling endless hours to and fro.

‘However,’ the senior consultant’s secretary continued, breaking into her endlessly circling thoughts, suddenly all efficiency, ‘before he left, Mr Breyley had another look at the application forms you sent in when you applied for the post on his firm. He’d remembered that you’d noted an interest in the field of paediatric orthopaedics as well, so he took your references to have a word with Mr Khalil about the situation. Anyway, he has persuaded Mr Khalil to let you join his team pro tem, to see whether you fit in.’

Emily blinked a bit at that. It was amazing that Mr Breyley had found time to consider her situation when he must have been desperate to start his journey to New Zealand, but she really wasn’t certain that she liked the sound of his arrangements for her. It almost made her sound like some substandard piece of equipment being dumped on an unwilling recipient.

Mr Breyley was an acknowledged expert in his field and had thought her good enough to join his team. And considering the fact that her record throughout her training had been second to none, it was almost an insult that this Mr Khalil had needed to be persuaded to take her on, even temporarily.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more specific,’ the harried secretary continued, apparently oblivious to Emily’s chagrin at being treated as an unwanted parcel, ‘but Mr Khalil said to tell you that he’d either be in his office or in Paediatric Intensive Care.’

So here she was, on a mission to find Mr Khalil and see if she could discover why he thought his requirements so much higher than Mr Breyley’s when he was choosing new team members.

She’d started off her search at his office and found a stunningly beautiful woman with an intriguing accent manning the desk.

‘He is not available at the moment, and he will be starting his surgical list at ten this morning,’ she informed Emily coolly, as kohl-lined dark eyes flicked dismissively over her from head to toe.

Emily stifled a wry grin. It was obvious that her simple summer cotton clothes had been found seriously wanting in the elegance stakes.

Well, that was just too bad. She’d long ago decided that spending half of her time in baggy surgical scrubs, with something that looked like a pair of paper knickers on her head, meant that there wasn’t a lot of point in trying to impress her colleagues with anything other than her medical capabilities.

‘My name is Dr Livingston,’ she informed her quietly. ‘I’m the new member of Mr Khalil’s team and need to know where to find him as soon as possible.’

‘But…you’re a woman!’ she exclaimed, and grabbed for some paperwork on the top of her immaculately tidy desk. ‘We are expecting a Dr Emil Livingston, and Emil is a man’s name, no?’

‘Emil is a man’s name, yes,’ Emily agreed, almost giggling when she found herself mimicking the woman’s speech patterns. There was just something about these effortlessly flawless women that rubbed her up the wrong way, probably the fact that she would have to starve herself for weeks…months…to wear anything like the size zero designer clothes this secretary was wearing, in spite of the fact that she tried to force herself to go for a run each day. ‘But my name is Emily, with a “y”, but without the corresponding chromosome.’

‘Excuse me?’

Emily stifled a sigh as she glanced at her watch, forgoing any effort at an explanation of her attempt at humour.

‘If you could just tell me where I can find Mr Khalil, I would be very grateful.’ It wouldn’t do anything to impress her new boss if she was any later reporting for work, and she really needed to impress him if he was going to allow her to join his team properly until Mr Breyley returned from New Zealand. For Beabea’s sake, she really needed this job.

‘He will be up in PICU with the Hananis…the parents of a child who will have surgery this morning. I will ring him to tell him you are coming.’

‘Don’t bother interrupting him while he’s talking,’ Emily said quickly, loath to draw any extra attention to her tardiness. ‘I’ll find him easily enough when I get there.’

Except she hadn’t found him yet.

She’d run up several flights of steps, right to the top of the hospital where the recently expanded and refurbished PICU was situated just round the corner from the brand-new surgery suite she’d caught a glimpse of when she’d come for her interview.

She’d had to knock for admittance to the ward, not privy to the code to unlock the door yet.

‘I’m Dr Livingston, the new member of Mr Khalil’s team,’ she announced, hoping she didn’t sound too winded, but taking the stairs instead of the lift was one of the habits she’d had to adopt if she was to stand a hope of keeping her weight under control.

‘Welcome!’ the staff nurse said with a smile as she swung the door wide. ‘We had no idea we were going to be getting a woman on one of our paediatric surgical teams. I’m Jenna Stanbury.’

She, at least, had looked pleased to see her, Emily noted as she was led into the unit. Several heads looked up from what they were doing and smiled vaguely in her direction.

‘I’m afraid that Tamsin…Sister Rush…has shut herself in her office with strict instructions only to be disturbed in case of fire or flood while she fights with a mountain of paperwork,’ Jenna said apologetically.

‘Actually, I’ve been trying to catch up with Mr Khalil,’ she said with a grimace when she caught sight of the time on a clock shaped like a cat with a long tail swishing rhythmically to count off the seconds. At this rate she was going to be fired for poor time-keeping before she even started work.

‘Don’t panic,’ Jenna soothed. ‘The last time I saw Mr Khalil, he was going into the interview room with the Hananis to explain exactly what’s going to happen during their son’s operation. I sent one of the juniors in a little while ago with a tray of coffee, so you’ve probably got time to have a bit of a walk around while you catch your breath. Don’t forget infection control procedures…he’s very hot on that.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Emily said as she reached for the gel dispenser. ‘It’s bad enough when an adult gets a hospital-acquired infection, but when it’s a sick child…’ She was pleased that her new boss was as keen on good hygiene as she was. That was one thing they had in common already.

She made her way around the unit to familiarise herself with the layout, hoping that it would soon be a second home to her. It was an environment that she felt comfortable in, where post-operative patients would be continuously supervised by batteries of monitors and their needs taken care of by highly trained specialist nurses while they began their recovery after surgery.

And there he was.

Oh, she had no idea who he was, just that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with thick dark hair cut short to combat an obvious tendency to curl, dark lustrous eyes with more than a hint of the exotic about them, surrounded as they were by the thickest, longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. But the most beautiful thing about him was the way he was smiling as he was leaning over the equally beautiful child in an isolette, spending precious time with him while he was awake.

She watched him as he tenderly stroked an elegant, long-fingered hand over soft dark curls, smiling again as he murmured softly.

Her heart clenched at the sight of that smile and the way it lit those beautiful dark eyes from within. This was a man who loved his child and wasn’t ashamed who knew it, and something inside her ached that she’d never known such unconditional love from anyone other than her grandmother.

She didn’t know whether she’d made a sound or whether her presence in the doorway had finally registered on him, but suddenly she was the focus of those dark eyes…and they weren’t smiling any more.

‘Who are you? Do not come any closer,’ he ordered in a voice soft enough not to startle the little child at his side, but with the obvious stamp of authority in every exotically accented syllable. ‘What are you doing here? Do you wish to speak with me?’

‘If you are Mr Khalil, yes, I do,’ she said with a crushing sense of disappointment adding a crisp edge to the words. Where was the warm, caring father with his dark eyes full of love that she’d just lost her heart to? This man was something else entirely, the expression in his eyes almost cold enough to freeze her in her tracks in spite of the glorious Cornish summer day outside.

‘And you are…?’

He was obviously a man of few words, she thought as she took his nod as permission to approach, his commanding presence growing more overwhelming the closer she came.

For the first time since she’d embarked on her medical career she actually found herself wanting to step back from a challenge, but that wasn’t her way…had never been her way, from the day when a brusque social worker had dumped her unceremoniously on her grandmother when she’d been rescued from her parents’ crushed car.

Deliberately, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet that obsidian gaze, noticing for the first time that his face was marked with the evidence of deep- seated suffering, the eyes that had been so expressive such a short while ago now showing absolutely no emotion.

It took another second for her brain to compute all the other information it was receiving about the tall, lean man facing her from less than an arm’s span away—the arms that were bare to the elbow in compliance with the latest infection control policy, darkly tanned skin and even darker hair on well-muscled forearms, the taut skin of his freshly-shaven cheeks, the crisp freshness of his plain white shirt startling against the natural tan of his soap-scented skin.

His collar was open, in line with the hospital’s no-ties policy, and she could see a dark, delicious hollow at the base of his throat and the prominent knobs of the ends of his collar-bones and, just in the deepest part of the V of his shirt opening, a dark tangle of silky-looking hair that seemed impossibly intimate, hinting at what she might reveal if she were to reach out and unfasten more of those small white buttons.

‘Well?’ he said shortly, and she felt the warmth surge up into her cheeks with the realisation that for the first time in her life she’d been so busy looking at him that she’d completely forgotten to answer his question.

‘I—I understand that Mr Breyley told you about me before he left for New Zealand. I’m Emily Livingston, the new member of your team,’ she said, and to prove just how scrambled her brain had become in his presence, she completely forgot about infection control and held her hand out to him.

CHAPTER TWO

ZAYED blinked at the announcement that this was his newest colleague, so startled that he only just remembered in time not to reach for the slender hand hovering in mid-air.

One half of his brain was wondering whether anyone had remembered to tell her how strict he was about maintaining hygiene around his patients.

‘You should be a man!’ he exclaimed, while the other half of his brain busied itself with taking in the perfection of her barely sun-kissed, peaches-and-cream complexion and the blonde hair wound tidily away in an attempt to make her look professional. Then there was the lushness of her gently rounded body clad in the simplest of clothing that struck the first spark of sexual interest he’d felt in far too long.

Not that he would ever do anything about it. He couldn’t.

‘My secretary took down the details,’ he continued, forcing both halves of his brain to work together so that his voice came out far more harshly than he’d intended.

‘I know,’ she said calmly, and an intriguing hint of a smile hovered at the corners of a mouth that didn’t seem to have a trace of artifice deepening its soft rose colour. ‘She’d left the “y” off the end of my name and added it to my chromosomes.’

He almost chuckled at the clever play on ideas, strangely delighted when he realised that there was more to this woman than met the eye, but he ruthlessly subdued the unexpected impulse. Any attraction that he felt for her would be nothing more than a momentary aberration…it could never be more than that, not since…

‘Well, if “xx” is willing to work as hard as “xy”, I will have no cause for complaint,’ he said shortly, the old pain and the never-ending guilt gripping him anew even as he tried to banish the bitter memories from his mind.

‘In that case, where do you want me to start?’ she offered, and he felt a strange sense of disappointment when he saw the way she’d deliberately switched off any warmth in her expression, but what else did he expect when he’d been so cold with her?

A demanding cry behind him drew his attention before he could answer her question.

‘Come and meet Abir,’ he invited, and was puzzled by the arrested expression on her face, those startling green eyes of hers wide with what looked almost like surprise as they travelled from his mouth to his own eyes and back again.

He frowned, wondering what on earth was the matter with the woman as he gestured towards the child in the plastic isolette.

‘He was delivered by emergency Caesarean when his mother went into full eclampsia, but there were no adverse after-effects. Both mother and child were doing well…until she noticed that his head was not like the heads of the babies of her friends.’

By this time they’d reached the isolette and he broke off to murmur a few soothing words to the fractious infant before he continued.

‘Her doctor was not really sure what was the matter with the child, and there was no paediatric specialist nearby, so as she was the sister of a…friend…’ he prevaricated, avoiding specifying the real connection between Abir’s family and his own, ‘I was asked to see the child.’

He ran his hand over the child’s head, mourning the fact that all this silky dark hair would be gone in a matter of minutes now, as he was prepared for the life-changing surgery. He refused to let himself remember cradling another little head, little knowing just how short that precious life would be.

Abir had settled under his touch, his big dark eyes gazing up at the two of them with that strange solemnity that he sometimes saw in these little ones.

‘If you would like to clean your hands, you could make an examination of Abir,’ he invited, and stepped aside slightly to gesture towards the child, inviting Dr Emily Livingston to make her own assessment of Abir’s condition.

‘I used antibacterial gel on my hands just before I stepped inside the room,’ she said, then startled him by blushing softly. ‘And apart from trying to shake hands with you, I haven’t touched anything since then.’

‘So…’ He repeated his gesture towards the infant, who seemed almost as captivated by the woman’s blonde hair as he was.

‘Hello, Abir. Haven’t you got beautiful big brown eyes?’ she crooned as she bent down to bring her head almost to the same level as the child’s. She reached out a slender hand to stroke a gentle finger over the back of a chubby little fist and smiled when the little one immediately grabbed it and held on tightly.

‘That’s a clever boy,’ she praised as she began to stroke her other hand over the silky dark hair covering the unusually shaped skull, her voice taking on an almost sing-song quality that clearly mesmerised the child.

The tone of her voice stayed the same as she continued speaking softly to the little one so that it was a couple of seconds before Zayed realised that she was now speaking to him.

‘Without seeing any X-rays, I’m assuming that this is craniosynostosis, with some of the cranial sutures fusing before birth,’ she said with an air of steady confidence in her diagnosis that impressed him no end. Her fingertips were gently tracing the lines where the joins between the plates of the skull were already showing pronounced abnormal ridges. ‘Is there a genetic component here— any history of Crouzon or Apert in the family, for example?’

‘An uncle and a cousin,’ he confirmed. ‘But we only found that out when we started questioning the rest of the family. As neither of the affected members has survived, their disfigurement meant that they are rarely mentioned any more, and especially not in front of a pregnant woman.’

‘For fear her baby will “catch”the problem?’ she asked with a smile in the baby’s direction that had him gracing her with an answering open-mouthed, gummy grin.

‘That sort of superstition still lingers in some of the more remote villages in Cornwall, too,’ she continued, this time smiling directly up at him as though sharing a particularly delicious secret as she added, ‘At one time, it even included redheads being banned from visiting.’

‘And what would be your preferred treatment modality?’ He wouldn’t allow himself to be beguiled by a pair of sparkling green eyes. There was no point.

‘Surgery, of course, to excise the affected bone,’ she answered, so promptly that he wasn’t sure whether it was her own decision or one based on the fact she’d already been told about the impending surgery.

‘Because?’ he probed with unexpected intensity, suddenly needing her to be able to justify her assertion, although he had no idea why.

‘Because otherwise the fact that the bones had already fused before he was born will mean that there’s no room for expansion and his brain will end up terribly damaged. If I remember correctly, a linear craniotomy and excision of the affected sutures is most effective when performed in the first three months of life,’ she added.

She was looking down into those big brown eyes, and he suddenly knew that she had recognised the gleam of intelligence already lighting them, too, and understood just what a tragedy it would be if that spark were crushed out of existence.

‘What are the potential hazards of the operation?’ He forced himself to ignore the sudden feeling of connection with her by concentrating on the specifics of the procedure. This was the sort of detail that he would hope she knew backwards, forwards and inside out, having taken her latest exams so recently.

There was a sudden flash of concern in her eyes, as though she was genuinely concerned that he might not be sufficiently satisfied with her answers to give her the placement on his team. But surely he’d been mistaken. She would only have been informed of Mr Breyley’s departure when she’d arrived at the hospital that morning. It wasn’t as if this position was one that she desperately wanted or that she’d had time to become nervous about a make-or-break interview…or was it?

There was something about the tension in her feminine frame that told him there was a burning need in her to gain his approval for the placement, that there was something inside her that meant she would work every bit as hard in his department as she had in his colleague’s.

So, was there another reason why she wanted the job, a personal reason, completely separate from her career aspirations?

Perhaps she particularly wanted to stay in this part of the country, between the wild desolation of the moors and the rugged majesty of the coast. Perhaps she had family here, or a boyfriend she wanted to be close to.

He was almost grateful for the fact that she began speaking, able to ignore the sudden unexpected clutch of disappointment in his gut at the thought that some undeserving man had the right to wrap that beautiful body in his arms. He had absolutely no right to feel anything for this woman other than the need for her to be the best junior she could be.

‘During surgery, there’s the possibility of hypovolaemic shock, especially in such a young patient,’ she announced with a slight quiver in her voice that belied her apparent confidence. ‘There’s also the chance that there might be dural tears unrecognised during the procedure that can cause cerebrospinal fluid leaks. They could leave a pathway open for infection. There could also be epidural or subdural haematoma due to surgical trauma. Post-operatively,’ she continued swiftly, almost as fluently as though she were reading word for word from the relevant specialist text, ‘there will be facial swelling, of course, especially around the eyes. That usually resolves in the first few weeks, but the improvement in the head shape is almost immediate.’

‘And have you observed such surgery?’ He was careful not to reveal just how impressed he was. Not only had she made a correct diagnosis of a relatively rare condition, but had obviously recalled, verbatim, everything she had read about it.

‘Only in my teaching hospital’s video library,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve always been interested in paediatric orthopaedics.’

‘In that case, we just have enough time to introduce you to Abir’s parents before it’s time to scrub,’ he announced, suddenly eager to see how well this young woman would acquit herself in an operating theatre.

As if they were obeying some invisible signal, that was the precise moment that the Hananis chose to emerge from the interview room.

Zayed led the way towards them, touched by the matched pairs of reddened eyes that were clear evidence that both parents had obviously given in to a bout of tears in his absence.

‘Dr Emily Livingston, these are Abir’s parents, Meera and…’

Further introductions seemed unnecessary as the newest member of his team stepped forward to take the young mother’s hands in hers.

‘You have a beautiful baby,’ Emily said simply, as though she’d guessed that neither of the child’s parents had a detailed command of English. ‘I will do everything I can to help make him well.’

Athar Hanani threw Zayed a puzzled frown, obviously needing some clarification of the situation.

‘Dr Livingston will be in the operating theatre with me, assisting me while I’m operating on Abir,’ he said, and when the young man switched to his own language to question the presence of a doctor who was a female, Zayed was glad that Emily couldn’t understand this clear evidence of his countryman’s chauvinism.

Before he could find the words to set the record straight, it was Meera who did the job for him, rounding on her husband and berating him for failing to see that the young woman doctor obviously cared about their son already.

‘I put my son, Abir Hanani, in your hands,’ she said to the green-eyed woman, reverting to English and wiping away the worried expression Zayed’s new junior had been wearing while the sharp-edged conversation had whirled incomprehensibly around her.

‘I am honoured by your trust,’ Emily said, and her smile almost seemed to light up the corridor.

An hour later, Emily’s concentration on the operative procedure was broken again by her conviction that Zayed Khalil was in pain.

The doctor in her had belatedly tallied the fact that there had been a slight hitch in his stride the first time he strode away from her along the corridor. At the time, she’d been full of a mixture of trepidation and excitement that she would shortly be assisting in a major surgical procedure; she’d also been slightly distracted by her sympathy for the terrified parents. It wasn’t until the first time she noticed that Zayed seemed to be shuffling constantly from one foot to the other that she deliberately started to take notice.

Even as she marvelled at the fact that a live human brain was only millimetres away, under the softly gleaming dura, she found herself speculating that the handsome surgeon probably maintained his impressively fit physique by some form of vigorous exercise. Had he overdone the exercise last time? Or was the marked hitch in his stride the result of an accident in his youth—perhaps the spur that had set him on course towards his career in orthopaedics?

Suddenly, she realised that this was a very similar train of thought to one that she’d had not so very long ago; that this was the second man with impaired gait she’d met since her return to Penhally…although she could hardly say that she’d met the man on the beach, only ogled him from her shadowy hideaway among the rocks. Whereas Zayed Khalil…

Well, she couldn’t really imagine this man standing on a beach as the last of the sunset faded around him while he pushed his body harder and harder to perform such a punishing workout. His preference would probably be some high-tech gym now that he was an important surgeon. And, besides, his position at St Piran’s meant that he would have to live within a relatively short distance of the hospital. The other man definitely had to live somewhere close to Penhally, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to turn up at the beach at roughly the same time each evening.

And if by some impossible fluke of coincidence they happened to be one and the same person…

Well, they aren’t, and that’s that, she told herself crossly as the surgeon shifted position yet again.

Afterwards, Emily told herself it was just her impatience with her silent speculation that took the brake off her tongue but, whatever it was, she couldn’t believe it when she heard herself saying, ‘If your back aches, you might try taking those clogs off for a while.’

There was an instant deathly hush in the operating theatre and she was certain that her mask was nowhere near large enough to hide the fiery blush that swept all the way up her throat and face until it reached her hairline under her disposable hat.

‘I beg your pardon?’ His eyes were almost black, as were the eyebrows that were raised so high that they nearly reached the hat covering his close-cropped hair.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she could hear her grandmother saying, and she tipped her chin up an inch before she repeated her suggestion.

‘I said, if your back aches, you might try taking off your clogs and going barefoot…you could put disposable hats over your feet if you’re worried about contamination.’

This time the silence seemed to stretch for ever, filled only by the rhythmic bleeps and hisses of the monitors and anaesthetic regulators.

When she was beginning to wonder if she was going to be thrown out of the theatre for breaking his concentration, he gave one swift nod.

‘It is worth trying,’ he said, and in an instant there was a nurse on her knees beside him, giving a nervous giggle as she pulled a bright blue plastic hat over each of his elegant long feet before she took his theatre clogs away.

Without another word, the operation continued as seamlessly as though the last couple of minutes had never happened, the second strip of misshapen bone carefully cut out of the skull so that the prematurely fused sutures were removed entirely.

Emily was utterly absorbed in the procedure, even more so now that she was assisting than when she had merely looked at a tape.

The brutal part was over and, hopefully, would never need repeating. Now it only remained to irrigate, check for leaks and close before he’d finished. She was quite looking forward to finding out if his suturing technique was as meticulous as every other one she’d observed when he suddenly stepped back from the table.

‘Taking the clogs off helped for a while,’ he announced in a slightly rough-edged voice as he stripped off first one glove and then the other, somehow managing to tuck one inside the other without getting any fluids on either hand. ‘But now I will watch while you complete the process.’

From the electric atmosphere in the theatre Emily knew that something momentous had just happened, but she couldn’t allow it to break her concentration, not if she was going to do herself and little Abir justice.

‘You might want to rest your best feature on an anaesthetist’s stool while I close,’ she said, as she positioned herself in his place at the table and held her hand out for the gently warmed saline, hoping her tone was matter-off-fact enough not to wound his ego. ‘I’ll probably take rather longer over this than you would.’

She almost chuckled when she heard Zayed murmur ‘rest your best feature’ in obvious amazement, and allowed herself just a couple of seconds to reflect on whether she’d spoken nothing less than the truth. The ubiquitous pale green scrubs he was wearing might be the most shapeless garments in existence, but when they were washed after every use, they soon became thin, and all it had needed was for the man to lean forward over his patient for every lean, tight curve of his muscular buttocks and thighs to be lovingly outlined.

Then it was time to switch her concentration up to full power as she thoroughly irrigated both operating fields to ensure that there were no bony fragments left inside the skull, then a minute inspection of the dura to check for any inadvertent tears. Of course, there weren’t any, and the way was clear for closing the initial incisions.

‘Clips or sutures?’ said the voice with a delicious hint of accent even in those few words.

‘I prefer sutures for areas that will be on constant show, even on a scalp where they will hopefully be covered by hair,’ she explained, pausing before she inserted the first one in case he had any objections to her decision.

Although she’d been conscious that those dark eyes were watching her every move, the fact had been reassuring rather than intimidating. It had been an amazing experience to be allowed to do such a sensitive part of the procedure on her very first morning on his team. Mr Breyley had allowed her to do little more than close for weeks before he’d allowed her to lead on more routine procedures, and even then he’d hovered over her, poised to take over at the first sign that things hadn’t been to his liking.

‘I am sure he will thank you if he eventually goes bald,’ her new mentor said dryly, and she concentrated on drawing the edges of the incisions together with as neat a row of sutures as she could manage.

‘Are you happy to supervise his transfer to Intensive Care?’ he asked as she positioned protective dressings over her handiwork while the anaesthetic was reversed.

‘You’re going to have a word with his parents?’ Her quick glance in his direction told her that even sitting down for the last part of the operation hadn’t relieved his pain, if the tension around his eyes was any indication. What on earth had the man done to himself?

‘The waiting is awful, so I’ll just let them know that the operation went well,’ he explained, already on his way to the door, adding over his shoulder, ‘And tell them that they’ll be able to see him in PICU in—what—twenty minutes?’

‘Maybe half an hour, to give us time to get him settled properly?’ Emily glanced up at the experienced nurse who would be accompanying Abir on the short journey from the operating theatre to the nearby unit, and received a confirming nod.

‘That will give us long enough to put some bandages on and clean his little face up a bit,’ the older woman said. ‘Although we’re not going to be able to do anything to disguise his swollen eyes. Poor little mite looks as if he’s not even going to be able to open them when he comes round.’

‘Thank goodness that’s one of the less important side- effects of the procedure…one that will sort itself out,’ Emily murmured, even as she winced at Abir’s appearance. ‘But he does look as if he’s gone several rounds with a prizefighter, and lost.’

After transferring him to Intensive Care she reassured herself that he was receiving the right levels of sedation and pain medication. Then there was the post-operative paperwork to take care of, so it was nearly an hour before she was able to think about the sudden detour her career had taken. And as for finding time to hunt down a cup of coffee and something to put in her rumbling stomach…

‘Forget it,’ she muttered as she hurried towards the outpatients clinic in response to her first bleep.

‘Mr Khalil has been called down to Accident and Emergency, and he is very particular about his clinics starting on time,’ snapped the heavily accented voice of his disapproving secretary. ‘Some of his patients have travelled a very long way to see him.’

Unspoken, but hovering in the air like a bad smell, were the words ‘and they won’t be happy to see someone as insignificant as you when they walk in the room’, but there was nothing Emily could do about that. All she could do was dive in at the deep end and hope that she didn’t drown before he arrived.

Her heart nearly stopped when she stuck her head round the doorway to the waiting area and realised that the majority of the people waiting there were probably going to have as little command of English as the Hananis.

‘Don’t panic,’ said a reassuringly Cornish voice behind her. ‘I’ve put out the call for an interpreter, just in case.’

‘Were my thoughts that obvious?’ Emily asked as she turned to find a pair of dark eyes smiling up at her from a motherly body in a uniform that could have done with being a size larger.

‘Not your thoughts, maid, but the look on your face told me you were about to head for the nearest hideyhole.’ She chuckled richly. ‘So, shall we make a start? I’m Keren Sandercock, by the way.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you. As you’ve probably gathered, I’m Emily Livingston, the newest member of Mr Khalil’s firm.’ She gulped. ‘I know it will slow everything down, but could you possibly give me a couple of minutes with each file before you show the patient in?’ she suggested.

‘I can do better than that,’ Keren said with a smile. ‘I can introduce you to each of the patients and tell you all about them. Save you all that time trying to decipher the notes.’ She winked slyly. ‘He might be the most wonderful surgeon and the best looking man at St Piran’s but his writing’s atrocious. And anyway, I’ve been part of this unit ever since Mr Khalil set it up so I’ve already met them all.’

‘What do you mean, he set it up?’ Emily hurried in her wake and found herself obeying instantly when Keren pointed briskly at the gel dispenser.

‘You mean you’ve joined the madhouse without knowing anything about what’s going on here? You’m brave, maid.’ She chuckled richly again and hitched one ample hip on the corner of a desk that was already groaning under a mountainous pile of files. ‘Well, here’s the potted version. Mr Khalil was given permission to set up this paediatric orthopaedic unit on the understanding that he is free to treat children from his own country who would otherwise not be able to get any help. Of course, he also treats patients from the area around St Piran’s, but his special interest is the ones who wouldn’t have a hope of getting any surgery if he didn’t bring them over here.’

Emily was speechless, but before she could find the words to ask how she hadn’t heard a word about what was going on here, there was a brisk tap at the door.

‘Why are you not started?’ demanded a heavily accented voice, and Emily didn’t need to turn round to know exactly who had just marched into the room, neither did she need to see the sour expression on Keren’s face to know that the other woman shared her feelings about Zayed Khalil’s secretary.

Start as you mean to go on, she could hear her grandmother’s voice advising her when she began each new project, and she whirled sharply to face the intruder.

‘Out!’ she ordered firmly, flinging one hand out with a finger pointing directly at the door. ‘And you will never come into my room again without waiting to be invited. Is that clear?’

‘It is not your room,’ she sneered. ‘It is Zayed’s room. He is the consultant.’

‘And that is all the more reason why a secretary should never enter without an invitation,’ Emily insisted. ‘What goes on in this room is private and confidential and you will not walk in again like that or I will report your unprofessional conduct to Mr Khalil. So, unless you have brought me some important paperwork pertaining to one of the patients waiting outside, anything you have to say to me can be communicated by telephone. Please, leave. Now.’

‘Good for you, maid,’ Keren murmured as the elegant fashion plate flounced out of the room, shutting the door sharply in her wake as she no doubt muttered imprecations through clenched teeth. ‘She needed telling, but I’m afraid you’ve made yourself an enemy there, especially as she’s angling to marry our gorgeous consultant.’

Emily’s instant pang of dismay was followed by a silent admission that the two of them would look perfect together, tall and dark-haired with the same deep gold skin…

For heaven’s sake! What did it matter what he did in his private life? She had a roomful of patients to see.

‘Well, now that we’ve got rid of her, perhaps we should start on the clinic,’ Keren continued briskly as she picked the top file off the pile. ‘We’re a couple of minutes early, but I can’t see any of them complaining about that. Now, your first customer is Ameera Khan. She’s here for her final check-up before she returns home. Her operation was fairly simple and straightforward—the correction of a break which had gone untreated and had set badly, leaving her with limited movement in her right arm.’

Emily tipped the X-rays out of the accompanying envelope and slid the first set under the clips at the top of the view box. She winced when she saw the way the original break had healed so that virtually no rotational movement had been possible. The second set had obviously been taken shortly after surgery had been completed, with plates and screws much in evidence to hold everything back in the correct position while it healed. The final set had that morning’s date printed at the top and showed good progression in the healing process.

Meanwhile, Keren had flipped open the file and when the first thing Emily saw was a set of photographs of a solemn-eyed child cradling her twisted arm with a hopeless expression on her face, she could understand exactly why her new boss had been determined to help.

‘Can you show Ameera in?’ she asked while she scanned the notes as quickly as she could, looking for any problems that might have been noted at the time of the operation. There was nothing untoward—in fact, this was the sort of simple problem that should never have necessitated a child having to travel to a strange country for treatment…unless her own was so impoverished that even the most basic facilities were unavailable.

The little girl who came bouncing in through the door looked nothing like the sad-eyed waif in the photos, and the young woman who accompanied her was having trouble keeping up with her, especially as she was heavily pregnant.

‘This is Mrs Khan,’ Keren began the introductions. ‘And this is Dr Emily Livingston, who is working with Mr Khalil. She would love to see how strong and straight your arm is, Ameera.’

The interpreter had slipped into the room almost unseen behind the woman and child and, as Keren spoke, translated her words into a mixture of incomprehensible sounds that sounded almost like spoken music.

Without any hesitation, the little girl tugged her sleeve up to reveal a scar so neat that, in time, it would probably become almost unnoticeable.

It didn’t take long for Emily to gain her trust, especially when she discovered that the youngster was ticklish, and it was very satisfying to note that every test she performed confirmed that the prognosis was excellent.

‘It is good, yes?’ her mother asked, clearly worried about her daughter.

‘Yes. It is good,’ Emily confirmed with a broad smile. The flaking skin that was the result of the time spent in a cast would soon disappear, and the way Ameera eagerly completed every task Emily had set her spoke well for her regaining her full range of motion in time, even if structured physiotherapy wouldn’t be available once she returned to her own country. ‘I just wish I could take another photo to put in the file.’

‘But you can!’ Keren exclaimed as she hurried across to a cupboard at the other side of the room. ‘I’m sorry, but I completely forgot to give you the camera.’

‘Ah!’ the little girl exclaimed when she saw what Keren was fetching. She obviously knew what was expected of her and pulled her sleeve up again, this time proudly showing off her straight arm with a broad smile.

‘Thank you so much,’ her mother said, her dark eyes glittering with the threat of happy tears. ‘Everybody. Thank you so much for Ameera arm.’

‘You’d better go away before you make us all cry,’ Keren said, and when the interpreter translated what she’d said, everybody gave a watery laugh.

‘It’s a good job I didn’t have time to put any mascara on after my shower,’ Emily muttered wryly after the door closed behind them. ‘If they’re all going to be like that one, I’d have ended up with a bad case of panda eyes.’

‘Maid, that’s why mine is waterproof,’ Keren confided. ‘If it isn’t the successes like Ameera tugging at your heartstrings when you see them put right, it’s the parents arriving with their kids, terrified that no one’s going to be able to do anything to help.’

Emily suggested that she show the next patient in, suddenly conscious that being close to Beabea wasn’t the only reason why she wanted Zayed Khalil to confirm her position on his team.

In little more than half a day she’d been allowed to assist in an operation that would change a tiny child’s life expectation and had seen a little girl’s hopeless expression change to one filled with the joys of being alive. And neither would have been possible without the unit to which she was now attached, and the man whose determination had driven its inception.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D been wrong about the hair on his chest, she thought as she drove towards Penhally that evening, grateful that she hadn’t been asked to be on duty this evening.

She hoped that Mr Breyley had explained the special circumstances that had led him to absolve her from staying within easy reach of the hospital while her grandmother was so ill, but she certainly hadn’t felt up to discussing the matter with her new boss—at least, not until she’d sorted her head out and relegated her crazy awareness of the man to its proper place.

A blush heated her cheeks at the realisation that she’d actually been…what was the current term?…checking her new boss out while he’d been bending over Abir’s head on the operating table.

That was something she’d never done before, never been interested in doing, if the truth be told, but when Zayed Khalil had leant forward over Abir and the V of his top had gaped forward…

‘Well, I could hardly help seeing, unless I closed my eyes,’ she muttered defensively, and even that wouldn’t have erased the image once it had been imprinted on her retinas.

She’d wondered about his chest when she’d seen the hint of dark hair at the opening of his shirt, and had speculated about the amount of body hair he would display if she were ever to see him naked.

‘Well, it certainly isn’t a mean scattering of wiry hairs,’ she said with a strange sense of satisfaction, even as her body sizzled with heat at the idea of seeing the man totally naked. Mean was the last word she would use to describe the thick, dark pelt that had covered him as far as she could see down the front of his scrub top. As for whether it was wiry… She snorted aloud at the thought that she might ever have the opportunity to find out.

‘As if!’ she scoffed at the idea of ever becoming familiar enough with the man to run her fingers over the dark swells of his pectorals, trailing them through the thick silky-looking strands until she found the flat coppery discs of his male nipples and—

‘Enough!’ she snapped into the privacy of her little car, and leant forward to flick the radio on, loudly. ‘The last thing I need is to arrive at the home looking all hot and bothered.’ Her grandmother may be just weeks away from the end of her life but she certainly hadn’t lost her keen eyesight or her unfailing instinct for when there was something on Emily’s mind.

‘So, how’s the job going?’ Beabea asked, almost before Emily had settled into the chair beside her bed. ‘Are you still enjoying it as much as you thought you would?’

Emily smiled wryly at the fact that her grandmother had picked the one topic that she would rather not have talked about, at least until she’d banished those strange new feelings of awareness that were plaguing her.

‘By the time I got to work this morning, Mr Breyley was on his way to New Zealand,’ she announced, hoping that the ramifications of her side-tracked job would fill the time until Beabea’s next round of medication made her too drowsy to pick up anything untoward.

The story of the consultant’s concerned dash to the other side of the world so that he and his wife could be there for their daughter and new grandchild was like meat and drink to a woman who knew almost everything that happened within a fifty-mile radius of Penhally. It was testimony to the fogging effect of the analgesics that it was some time later before she suddenly realised what a disastrous effect it might have on her granddaughter’s employment.

‘But your job!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘If he’s gone away, does this mean that you’re going to have to move away? Oh, Emily! And you’ve only just moved back, and I was so enjoying being able to see you each day…’

‘Hush, Beabea, it’s not a problem,’ she soothed, squeezing her grandmother’s hand gently, almost afraid that she might shatter the delicate bones. ‘Before he left, Mr Breyley organised another job for me in the interim, until he comes back.’

‘What sort of job? There can’t be two posts for the same work, surely?’ She was still fretting.

‘Not exactly the same, no,’ Emily conceded. ‘But I’ve certainly fallen on my feet with the new post. It’s paediatric orthopaedics and I went into Theatre this morning and the consultant actually let me assist.’

‘On your first day in the job?’ Beabea was understandably amazed. She’d had to listen patiently at the beginning of Emily’s time on Mr Breyley’s firm while she had moaned about wanting to do more than observe and do endless paperwork and legwork.

‘On my very first day,’ she agreed with a triumphant grin. ‘It was an operation on a little boy. The bones of his skull had fused too soon and we had to—’

‘Don’t tell me any of the gory stuff,’ Beabea warned with a grimace. ‘I don’t like thinking about it when it’s happening to little ones. It’s bad enough when it’s adults. At least they can understand what’s happening and why.’

‘Softy,’ Emily teased. ‘But I know what you mean. I hate the idea that they’ll be in pain so I always double- check their medication.’

‘But you say this new man let you assist. Does that mean passing the tools or instruments or whatever they’re called, or—’

‘No. There’s a member of theatre staff who does that. I was allowed to irrigate the incision—’

‘Irrigate? That sounds like something I’d do in the garden,’ Beabea teased, and Emily’s heart lifted that she was in good enough spirits to joke.

‘Then I stitched everything up and put the dressings on before he was transferred to Intensive Care.’

‘And what did the consultant think of your work?’ Beabea quizzed, and Emily felt the swift tide of heat flood into her cheeks. She was so grateful that there was a knock at the door before she could find an answer that wouldn’t reveal her own thoughts about the consultant.

‘Am I intruding?’ said an unexpected male voice, and a greying head appeared round the edge of the door.

‘Dr Tremayne!’ Beabea exclaimed, and Emily was amused that her grandmother sounded almost flustered. Well, for an older man he wasn’t bad looking, she supposed, and for a woman of her grandmother’s generation, the idea of a good-looking younger man seeing her in her bed was probably plenty of reason for embarrassment.

‘I was just visiting a couple of patients and thought I’d call in on one of my favourite ladies—unless it’s inconvenient. I can always come back another time.’

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