Can one illicit night...

Lead to the love of a lifetime?

In this Hope Children’s Hospital story, senior pediatric surgeon Alice Baxter believes she’ll never conceive. So is stunned to find she’s pregnant after one spontaneous night with colleague Marco Ricci! She might be his buttoned-up boss but their chemistry is off the charts. And when Marco whisks Alice to his family’s Italian castello she discovers he’s determined to claim both his baby...and her heart too!

Hope Children’s Hospital miniseries

Book 1 – Their Newborn Baby Gift by Alison Roberts

Book 2 – One Night, One Unexpected Miracle by Caroline Anderson

Look out for the next two books, coming soon:

Book 3 – The Army Doc’s Christmas Angel by Annie O’Neil

Book 4 – The Billionaire’s Christmas Wish by Tine Beckett

“...Ms. Anderson has penned a delightful read filled with plenty of emotion that—at times—made me laugh, smile or want to cry and where the chemistry between this couple was powerful. The way this story ended left me completely satisfied, as this pair definitely deserved their happy ending...”

—Harlequin Junkie on The Midwife’s Longed-For Baby

“Bound by Their Babies is a sweet inspirational story of friendship and second chances. A book that will yank at any reader’s heartstrings.”

—Goodreads

CAROLINE ANDERSON is a matriarch, writer, armchair gardener, unofficial tearoom researcher and eater of lovely cakes. Not necessarily in that order! What Caroline loves: her family. Her friends. Reading. Writing contemporary love stories. Hearing from readers. Walks by the sea with coffee/ice cream/cake thrown in! Torrential rain. Sunshine in spring/autumn. What Caroline hates: losing her pets. Fighting with her family. Cold weather. Hot weather. Computers. Clothes shopping. Caroline’s plans: keep smiling and writing!

Also by Caroline Anderson

Yoxburgh Park Hospital miniseries

Bound by Their Babies

Their Own Little Miracle

Hope Children’s Hospital collection

Their Newborn Baby Gift by Alison Roberts

One Night, One Unexpected Miracle

And look out for the next two books

The Army Doc’s Christmas Angel by Annie O’Neil

The Billionaire’s Christmas Wish by Tina Beckett

Available December 2018

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

One Night, One Unexpected Miracle

Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07542-8

ONE NIGHT, ONE UNEXPECTED MIRACLE

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Alison Roberts, Annie O’Neil and Tina Beckett,

three fabulous ladies it was a privilege to work with.

Love you all! xxx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

HE COULDN’T TAKE his eyes off her.

He’d had to for a moment while he was tied up with Ryan Walker, the new neonatal cardiac surgeon who’d arrived in the UK just in time for the gala opening of Hope Children’s Hospital. Theo Hawkwood, the CEO, had asked him to introduce Ryan to people at the party, but he’d skilfully palmed him off on the head of ICU so now he was free to indulge himself again and, man, was it worth it.

She looked stunning.

What a contrast from her usual scrubs, which hung on her petite body and did a great job of hiding what he now realised was an amazing figure.

From all the time she spent in the gym when she was off duty? It wasn’t his thing, he liked the great outdoors, but he’d heard she was constantly either in the gym or in the pool, swimming for an hour at a time, and occasionally when he’d been out running in the early morning he’d seen her leave her house in tracksuit and trainers. Going to the gym, probably, and whatever she did there obviously worked.

Not for him. He hated being trapped in a room filled with pumping music and sweaty bodies. He’d grown up amongst the slopes of the family vineyards in Tuscany, and although the city of Cambridge was set in a flat landscape with barely a wrinkle, it made for good running, so he ran every morning, rain or shine, pushing himself to the limit, and sometimes his route took him past her house as he pounded the footpaths by the river and the bridleways out into the countryside.

Now, though, the only thing pounding was his heart, the heavy thud as he studied her beating in his ears. Her dress was blue, the same astonishingly brilliant blue as her eyes, and it clung to her slender frame like a second skin. It shimmered in the lights, showing every curve and hollow, so that even though the neck was high and the sleeves elbow length—typical Alice, all demure and buttoned up like a Victorian schoolmarm—it left little to the imagination.

She glanced across at him, her eyes locking briefly with his through the crowd, and he lifted his glass to her, feeling the tension that was always between them tighten like an invisible thread that ran across the room and connected them together.

It had been like that since the first day, this thing that hovered in the background so that even if he couldn’t see her, he knew when she was near him. Was it the same for her? He thought so. He’d caught the odd glimpse, a little flash of something quickly hidden, an inner battle with herself which she always seemed to win.

Like now.

She’d held his eyes for a fraction, then coolly turned away, winning the battle of wills with herself again, but the tension stayed with him like a knot in his chest.

Was she still angry with him? Maybe. She had reason to be, because he’d really pushed it this morning and the tension was tighter now than ever, the verbal sparring that had been business as usual for them since day one for some reason escalating today without warning.

They’d taken it to a whole new level, and he didn’t really understand why. When they were operating, they moved like clockwork, reading each other’s minds, two halves of a whole, and neither of them ever criticised the other’s clinical ability or judgement. But Alice Baxter was his boss, and outside the operating theatre she did things a certain way and expected him to do the same.

Which he didn’t. Not always, at least, and sometimes he deliberately didn’t just to get a rise out of her. Like today. And he teased her and flirted with her for the same reason. Was that why she’d lost it with him? That he’d gone too far just to ramp up the tension and push her to the limit?

He’d been going to apologise, but then she’d been so cutting, so short with him that he’d gone all macho Italian male on her and then stalked off because it was either that or kiss her, which was so massively unprofessional and out of line that even he, with his cheerful disregard for convention, had backed away.

Yes, he really needed to apologise.

Then someone in the crowd moved, giving him a perfect view of her, and he nearly choked on his prosecco.

The dress was backless.

Well, not entirely, of course, but backless enough to take his breath away and send his heart into overdrive. A fine strand of fabric was held together by a sparkling clasp at the nape of her slender neck, and below it the pale, smooth skin of her back was bracketed by shimmering blue, plunging all the way down to her hips, reuniting to caress the subtle curve of her bottom.

He swallowed. His hands ached to cup that sweet curve, to pull her up against his body, to feel those surprisingly generous breasts against his chest...

Time to put things back on an even keel. He’d flirted outrageously with her this morning, but he didn’t want to flirt with her now. Not any more. He wanted more than that, something else entirely, something much, much more serious.

A relationship?

Never going to happen. She was his boss, and his feelings were totally inappropriate.

But not unreciprocated, unless he’d read her wrong? Yes, they wrangled constantly, but under it all was this quiet simmer of emotion, attraction, sensuality—call it what you will, it was there in every moment of every day, unless they were operating. Well, they weren’t operating now, and maybe it was time to confront this, to apologise and get things back to normal.

He put his empty glass down on a passing tray and headed across the room.

* * *

He was watching her. She could feel it, feel the stroke of his eyes over the bare skin of her back like a caress, and the conversation around her was dead to her ears. All she could think about, all she could feel, was Marco watching her across the room.

She always knew when he was there, could always feel his presence, knew he was coming even before she heard his voice. It was like some sort of sixth sense—a sense she could gladly have done without because it was playing hell with her work life and even creeping into her dreams.

And last night the dreams had been definitely X-rated...

She laughed when the others did, took another gulp of prosecco and nearly choked on the bubbles. What was wrong with her tonight? It was all just because of that stupid dream, and she could still feel the touch of his hands on her body—

Ridiculous. Sheer fantasy. There was no way anything was going to happen between them, even if he did flirt constantly with her.

That was just Marco, and it didn’t mean anything. He flirted with every female with a pulse, from the babies up to the great-grandmothers visiting their tiny relatives, and he had them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

He probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, it was as natural as breathing—and to be fair it wasn’t so much flirting as just breaking the ice and gentle teasing. Unless it was her.

Then there was an undercurrent of sensuality that, try as she might, she couldn’t ignore.

Because she didn’t want to ignore it? Wanted to call him out on it, see if he really meant what he said? But she wouldn’t, of course, for all sorts of reasons, not least cowardice. What if she was reading much more into it than was actually there? Although it had certainly been there in her dream.

She sighed crossly, stopped pretending to listen to the conversation she should have been part of and excused herself.

She needed some air. Preferably cold and bracing and strong enough to blow some common sense into her before she did something stupid.

She was his boss, for goodness’ sake! She couldn’t let herself give in to it—which was why she’d ripped his head off earlier when he’d been pushing her buttons, and he’d drawn himself up and gone all Italian male on her and made it even worse, but it had been her fault. She’d started it by overreacting and she ought to apologise—

‘Alice.’

Even her name was a caress on his lips. She closed her eyes briefly, annoyed that her radar had failed to warn her that he was coming. Marco Ricci, her unbelievably sexy, unbelievably annoying and insubordinate subordinate. Except that had sexual connotations, and there was no room for any of that in their relationship and she was keeping it that way if it killed her.

Which it might.

She sucked in a breath, plastered a noncommittal smile on her lips and turned to face him.

‘Marco. Did you want me?’

Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Something flitted through his eyes and was gone, but his lips had twitched and she braced herself for the smart retort.

‘Nothing that won’t keep. You look beautiful tonight, Alice,’ he murmured, his voice like rough silk teasing her nerve endings.

She felt a wash of colour sweep up her throat and she looked away, shocked by the hitch in her heart rate and her body’s reaction to that deep, rich, slightly accented voice and the slow caress of his eyes that had left fire in its wake.

She was used to him flirting with her, but he wasn’t flirting now. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice went far beyond that and called to something deep inside her, long repressed, cold and lonely and desperate for attention.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, and swallowed hard. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’

Understatement of the century. He was sexy enough in scrubs. In a beautifully cut tux that showed off broad, solid shoulders to perfection, with the sharp contrast of the blinding white dress shirt against olive skin darkened by the shadow of stubble, those dark-lashed eyes simmering with latent heat, he was jaw-droppingly, unsettlingly gorgeous and she felt the impact of it in every yearning cell of her body.

‘So—Evie’s done a brilliant job organising this,’ she added hurriedly, hauling her eyes off him and groping for something uncontroversial. ‘I wouldn’t have believed the conference hall could be turned into such an amazing ballroom.’

‘No,’ he said, not taking his eyes from her face. Not that she was looking at him, but she could still feel the steady, searching gaze of those magnetic eyes and her pulse was rocketing.

She was trying to find something to say to fill the yawning void when the music started, and to her surprise he held out his hand to her.

‘Come. Dance with me. We’ve been fighting all day about nothing and it’s time to stop.’

‘Is that an apology?’

She made herself meet his eyes again, and for a fleeting instant she thought she saw regret. No. Marco never regretted anything, he wasn’t made like that. She’d imagined it. Of course it wasn’t an apology.

‘Yes, it’s an apology,’ he said softly, his Italian accent suddenly stronger. ‘Dance with me, Alice. Life’s serious enough. It’s time to have some fun.’

Fun? She hadn’t let herself have fun in years. At least, not the sort of fun she thought he was talking about.

Eyes steady, he took the glass out of her hand, handed it to one of the circulating bar staff and led her to the dance floor, turning her into his arms. She felt the heat of his hand on her bare back, the other still holding hers, curled loosely between them by her shoulder. Normally her head was level with his chest, but she was wearing heels tonight and her eyes were right by his immaculately knotted bow tie. Above it she could see the throb of a pulse beating in his throat, and he tilted his head so his cheek was against her forehead as he drew her closer.

She could smell cologne, just a faint touch of something exotic, something dangerously enticing that seemed to enter her bloodstream and invade every part of her as she swayed to the music. The hand on her back slid down, down to the base of her spine, his fingers splayed against her skin as he eased her closer still.

Too close for her sanity. Close enough to bring back the dream—

She took a step back out of his arms.

‘I need some air,’ she said breathlessly, and, turning, she made her way quickly off the crowded dance floor and out of the conference hall, her body on fire with a need she’d never felt before, hadn’t even known existed.

The lift? She couldn’t run downstairs in her heels, so there was no choice, and the lift was standing there waiting...

* * *

He watched her retreat for a nanosecond, then followed her, carving his way through the crowd, the white-blonde of her hair easy to pick out when he could find it, but even in those heels she wasn’t tall and the room was full and he kept losing her.

The doors. She was heading for the doors, and then the lift. He cut off the corner, went through another set of doors and reached the hallway just as the lift doors started to close.

Good job he was fit. He sprinted across the landing from a standing start, slammed his hand into the gap and pushed the doors open again.

She turned and met his eyes furiously—or desperately?

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, but her voice sounded odd, a little frantic.

He hit the button to close the doors. ‘What does it look like? I’m following you.’

‘Why?’

Her voice was breathless, a slight catch in it, and he smiled a little grimly. ‘Because I need to apologise properly. Not just about the fighting, but about this, too.’

He stabbed the button for the ground floor and folded his arms just to stop himself reaching out to her.

‘What this? I don’t understand.’

He sighed again. ‘Yes, you do, Alice, because it’s just here, between us, all the time,’ he told her, waving his hand back and forth between them, ‘and it’s getting in the way of our work. We need to talk about it.’

‘You’re imagining it,’ she said, but she couldn’t hold his eyes, and he unfolded his arms and reached out and turned her head gently to face him.

‘Am I?’ he murmured. ‘Am I really? I don’t think so, Alice. I think you want me as much as I want you, and what we have to do is work out how we’re going to deal with it, because we have to, one way or the other, because it’s getting in the way all the time and it can’t go on like this.’

* * *

It was there again in his eyes, that flash of something she’d seen just before he’d asked her to dance, briefly pushed aside by regret but back again now, with bells on.

Heat. Smouldering heat in the black depths of his eyes, his pupils flared, his chest rising and falling as he studied her silently, those eyes reeling her in.

‘Why would you want me?’ she asked, her voice annoyingly breathless again. ‘Of all the women in this hospital, why me, Marco?’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Why? Because you’re beautiful and sexy and funny and sharp and clever and—because you keep your distance, button yourself up, bottle up everything that I can see raging inside you, and all I can think about is unbuttoning all those tiny little buttons holding you together and seeing what would happen if I set those feelings free.’

Set them free? The thought terrified her, because he was right, they were there, raging inside her, and every day, every minute, every time she saw him, this beautiful, magnificent, tempestuous, arrogant man, she wanted him.

And it was never going to happen—

‘You’re wrong. You don’t really want me,’ she whispered, but he just laughed and took her hand and pressed it firmly against his chest so she could feel the pounding of his heart.

‘Can you feel that, cara? Can you feel how I want you? Always,’ he murmured, his eyes softening, ‘every minute of every day,’ and then he lowered his head, his hands cradling her face, just as the lift pinged a warning.

He wrenched his head up and moved away, slid his hand down her arm and threaded his fingers through hers, nodded to the people waiting to go up and walked with her briskly out of the lift, across the central foyer and into the consulting room area.

He pulled his lanyard out of his pocket, swiped the security lock with the magnetic card and opened the doors, then pushed the nearest consulting room door open and ushered her through it.

She heard it click shut, then nothing, just the suspense that swirled around them in the air and robbed her brain of oxygen.

What did he want from her?

A deep, slow sigh cut through the silence and she heard the examination couch creak behind her as he sat on it.

‘What do we do, Alice?’ he asked, his voice low and, oh, so sexy, unravelling her rigid self-control and leaving her open and vulnerable.

‘I don’t know. What do you want from me, Marco?’

He laughed softly, and the sound teased her nerve endings and sent shivers of need through her body. ‘I have no idea. Well, I have, but that’s not going to happen, we both know that.’

Was that regret in his voice? She couldn’t tell without looking into his eyes, so she turned and searched them, and then wished she hadn’t because the humour, the teasing that seemed to dance almost permanently in them was gone, leaving something far more dangerous to her self-control and peace of mind.

Desire, white-hot and irresistible. She swallowed and took a step back, bumping into the desk and sitting down abruptly on the edge of it before her legs gave out.

‘So what do we do?’

He laughed again, a wry huff of sound that unravelled her a little further, then met her eyes again.

‘I don’t know, but I know we can’t go on like this, fighting all the time about nothing and dancing round the elephant in the room. I want you, Alice, and I don’t seem to be able to put that on one side, and I don’t think you can, either.’

His eyes held her, the need in them so openly expressed she was in no doubt about it. He wasn’t toying with her. He really meant it, and his words had so accurately expressed her own feelings that she felt as if he could see into her soul.

He was right. She couldn’t put it on one side, couldn’t ignore it any longer. Didn’t want to ignore it any longer.

As if he saw the moment she crumbled, he held out his hand silently, and she stood up, her legs shaking, and walked over to him, taking his hand and letting him draw her up against him, standing between his legs as he was propped on the edge of the couch, his warmth enclosing her.

He raised a hand and traced the line of her jaw, lifting a stray lock of hair away and tucking it back behind her ear. The caress was so tender, so gentle that it made her want to cry. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like that, as if she was something precious and fragile. If ever...

She met his eyes again, and he stared into hers for an age, then drew her nearer, lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

She moaned softly against his mouth, parting her lips to him, and she felt his hands cradle her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. She met him touch for touch, stroke for stroke, their tongues searching, duelling.

They always duelled, but not like this, not—

‘Marco...’

‘I want you, Alice,’ he groaned softly. ‘Tell me you want me, too.’

‘No—yes—Marco, I—’

‘Alice, you’re killing me...’

He kissed her again, his lips coaxing, trailing fire down her throat, over her shoulders, in that delicate, sensitive place behind her ear. She arched her neck to give him better access, his name a sob in her throat. ‘Marco...’

‘Tell me, Alice,’ he said, his voice low, scraping over her senses like gravel and bringing everything to life. ‘Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this, too, before I go crazy—’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, I want you. I want you...’

He muttered something in Italian and his hands reached down, bunching up her dress as his mouth plundered hers and his body rocked against her, pressing her up against him. She could feel his hands on her skin, cradling her bottom, sliding up around her waist as he lifted her easily and turned, settling her on the edge of the examination couch where he had been.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly against her, the pressure building as her fingers found the ends of his bow tie and tugged it undone. She couldn’t do the buttons, her fingers were shaking too much, and with a little scream of frustration she ripped his shirt open, her nails raking down his chest in the process.

‘Dio, Alice—’

He buried his hands in her hair and rocked against her, his body tight against her most intimate places as his mouth took hers again, his tongue searching, delving, and she wanted him closer. Needed him closer. Needed him...

‘I want you,’ she said, her breath hissing out between her teeth. ‘Marco, please, now. I want you—’

He swore softly and pulled away a fraction. ‘Don’t move.’

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, the breath shuddering out of her body as he let her go and stepped away, and she clenched her legs together against the raging need and waited. She could hear him doing something, heard the snap of a wallet, the soft rasp of a zip, a slight rustle.

A condom. Of all the tragic ironies. She nearly laughed, only it wasn’t funny. He didn’t need it—except to protect her and himself from the other unintended consequences of random sex. Nothing else...

She opened her eyes and moaned again, her body throbbing with need as she reached for him, gripping the firm shaft of his erection and sliding her hand down it, unrolling the condom along its length. He swore softly in Italian and eased away the scrap of silk that passed for her underwear, his hips nudging her legs apart again as he slid his fingers deep inside her.

She gasped and tried to clench her legs together to quell the waves of sensation but there was no way because he was there, his body filling her at last, making her sob with need as he thrust into her, slowly at first and then faster, harder, again and again, his hands cradling her bottom and holding her tight against him, rocking as her control splintered into pieces and she convulsed around him.

He caught her cry in his mouth, his body tensing, shuddering with the force of his climax, and then as it passed he let out a long, fractured sigh, dropped his head against her shoulder and cradled her close, his mouth against her ear murmuring soft words she didn’t understand.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Her body was a seething mass of sensation so intense that even now she could feel the shockwaves rippling through her, and as he finally eased away she couldn’t look at him.

What had she done?

She’d never felt like that. Never responded like that, so wildly, so spontaneously, so freely it had felt like she was flying.

Not now, though. Not any more.

Now she’d come down to earth with a bump, crippled with self-consciousness, and she slid off the edge of the couch, rescued her underwear from the floor and pulled it on hastily. As she tugged her dress straight with shaking hands, she felt a nail catching on the delicate fabric.

‘Cara?’

Gentle fingers caught her chin, lifting her face up so he could read her eyes, and he sighed and drew her back into his arms. ‘You’re buttoning up again,’ he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, and she tried to push him away.

‘I have to. I’m your boss, Marco! I can’t just sleep with you—’

‘Who said anything about sleeping? I think we were both wide awake just then. And don’t even try and tell me you didn’t enjoy it.’

She didn’t. She wasn’t a liar, and he’d only laugh at her anyway.

‘It was a mistake,’ she said, knowing instantly that he’d argue, but he didn’t. Instead he bent his head and kissed her tenderly, nearly trashing her resolve.

‘Yes. It was. You deserved better than a—’ He broke off, and she could almost see him rearranging the words in his mouth. ‘I should have taken you for dinner, taken you back to my house and made love to you slowly, for hours. Explored every part of you, kissed every inch of your skin, made you come for me again and again and again—’

‘It would still have been a mistake,’ she said, her insides weeping at the thought of him loving her so thoroughly, so tenderly, so meticulously. ‘We can’t do this, Marco. I agree we have to find a way to work together without fighting, but this isn’t it. This isn’t the way. We can’t do it again.’

She stood motionless, and after a second or two his arms dropped and he stepped back, glanced down at his ripped shirt with a rueful smile, shrugged and opened the door.

‘I’m sorry. Not for doing it. I can’t regret that. But if that’s what you want it won’t happen again, I promise you. Goodnight, Alice.’

And with that he walked out, headed through the door at the end and left her standing there wondering what on earth she’d done, and why it suddenly felt as if, by letting him go, she’d thrown away a chance at happiness that she hadn’t even known was there...

CHAPTER ONE

Five weeks later...

‘DO YOU WANT me to close?’

‘What, because you imagine you can do it better than me?’

His eyes crinkled above his mask. ‘Because I know I can do it better than you,’ he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. It was odd, but since that night five weeks ago their sparring had changed to a mutual and much more gentle teasing, almost as if they’d called a truce and were carefully tiptoeing around each other’s feelings. Even his flirting had toned down, which was a shame. She almost missed it, but she knew why he’d done it. It was too dangerous now, after what had happened. It would be fanning the flames of a fire that had to be allowed to die. A fire that hadn’t, sadly, burned itself out.

‘You’re so arrogant,’ she said mildly, stepping away and stripping off her gloves. She tried so hard not to smile, but he just chuckled as if he could see it and held out his hand to the scrub nurse.

‘Three-oh Prolene, please,’ he said, and the nurse placed the suture in his hand and he dropped his eyes and began meticulously drawing the wound edges together, layer by layer.

He was right, he was better than her at suturing, but only by a hair and she had a feeling it was a simple matter of Italian pride that prevented him from failing. And not to be better than her would be failure in his eyes.

She dragged her gaze away. She couldn’t watch him, couldn’t watch those sensitive, intelligent hands delicately repairing the boy’s abdomen. So skilful. So focused. Just as they’d been on her body—

‘I’ll go and talk to his parents.’

‘OK. Just don’t take all the credit.’

‘Only where it’s due.’

She turned away, stripped off her mask and hat and gown and went to change. She would talk to Amil’s parents, tell them how it had gone, and then she had things to do, a patient to see, letters to write to parents, some results to review. She couldn’t just stand around looking at him simply because he was poetry in motion. Too dangerous. She was trying to keep her distance, and watching him wouldn’t help that at all.

And besides, there was something else she had to do. Something pressing. Something she’d never thought she’d need to do, and couldn’t quite believe. Couldn’t dare to believe.

She had to do a pregnancy test, because this morning she’d made herself a coffee and she’d been unable to drink it. She’d sipped it, but it had sat in her stomach like a rock and she’d had to rinse her mouth to get rid of the taste.

Maybe she’d just had too much coffee over the years and her body had started to rebel? But she was hungry, too, and although she was used to that, almost welcomed it because it was a good sign in her case, today she felt a little light-headed and woozy. And her periods, never as regular as clockwork, were an unreliable sign, but even so it had been a while.

So while he was working miracles on the child’s skin, she spoke to the boy’s parents, went to her locker, got out the test kit she’d bought on the way to work and went to the ladies’ loo.

It wouldn’t be positive. It couldn’t be. Her body didn’t do ovulation—couldn’t do it, because her ovaries were stupid.

PREGNANT

She stared at the wand for a good five minutes before she moved, her mind in freefall.

She was pregnant with Marco’s baby.

How? It couldn’t have happened. There was no way she could have conceived, and besides, he’d used a condom! But one of her nails had snagged her dress as she’d tugged it straight afterwards. Just a tiny jagged edge where she must have caught it on something. When she’d shredded his shirt and raked her nails across that strong, solid expanse of chest? Could that have been enough? And when she’d reached down and touched him right after that, helped him put the condom on, had her nail torn it maybe?

It seemed so unlikely—but what other explanation was there?

None. And, however it had happened, however unbelievable it was, it was definitely Marco’s baby, so she’d have to tell him, but how?

She closed her eyes, squeezing them hard against the well of mixed emotions, and pressed her hand over her mouth. How would he react? Would he be angry? She hoped not. Delighted? Unlikely. And then a chilling thought crossed her mind. Would he want her to keep it, or—?

No. She’d seen him with children. There was no way he’d want that. He was an Italian, and children were at the front and centre of their world. They were for her, too, which was why she’d chosen paediatrics, because it was the closest she’d thought she’d ever come to having children.

Until now. And now, totally unexpectedly, right out of the blue, she was having a baby. The thing she’d dreamed of and longed for and tried to put out of her mind ever since she’d been told it might never happen for her was happening, but she daren’t invest too much of herself in it because she knew there was a distinct possibility it might all go wrong, because it would be considered a high-risk pregnancy.

Pregnancy. A word she’d never thought she’d use in association with herself, certainly not now in her late thirties, and as she sifted through the blizzard of emotions whirling through her, she didn’t know how she felt about it.

Thrilled? Shocked? Or just plain terrified?

All of them. And add sick to that.

* * *

‘How’s Amil?’

‘Fine. He’s in Recovery, looking good. They’re moving him to PICU shortly and the anaesthetist is going to keep his pain relief topped up with the epidural so he should feel much better soon. I spoke to the parents again, filled them in a bit more.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘How about you? Get your admin done?’

Admin? She hadn’t even been in her office. ‘Some of it,’ she said—which, if you counted finding out if you’d need maternity leave as ‘admin’, wasn’t a lie. ‘We need to talk.’

‘About a patient? I’ve got time now.’

‘No. Not about a patient. About—us.’

His right eyebrow climbed into his hair. ‘Us?’

She held his eyes silently and with a huge effort, and he shrugged.

‘Sure. How about this evening over dinner? I know a nice little Italian restaurant. They do great pasta.’

Pasta. Hunger and nausea warred, and hunger won. ‘That sounds good. What time? Do we need to book?’

‘No. Seven?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘No. I’ll pick you up.’

‘You don’t know where I live.’

‘Yes, I do. I run past your house some mornings, and I’ve seen you coming out in your gym kit on your way to the hospital.’

He ran past her house? Why had she never seen him? Or had she, maybe, once or twice, and not realised who he was? There were plenty of runners in the morning. She often saw them. He must be one of them.

‘So—shall I come for you at ten to seven? The restaurant’s not far from you, it’ll only take a few minutes to get there on foot.’

‘Ten to seven is fine. Now I need to go and make some calls and write a couple of letters. I’ll see you later.’

* * *

He didn’t see much of her for the rest of the day, which was just as well because he didn’t know what to think and she’d only distract him. She always distracted him, unless he was operating. Then he was focused, but otherwise...

They should never have done what they did at the gala. Not that he regretted it, not a bit, and things between them had been easier since, in a way. She’d been less on his case about everything, but he wanted more than they’d had that night, much more, and he knew she didn’t. She’d made that perfectly clear, and he had to respect that, but the memories were playing hell with his sleep and he kept imagining her with him, sharing his bed, sharing his house—sharing his life? Never going to happen, he’d told himself, and now this.

This wanting to talk to him about ‘us’. What ‘us’? Was there going to be an ‘us’?

It drove him crazy for the rest of the day, so it was a good job he was busy checking on his post-op patients, ending with Amil Khan in PICU, and he spent a long time talking to the boy’s parents about his condition going forward. One of Theo Hawkwood’s pro bono cases, the boy had Crohn’s disease, and so far he hadn’t been in remission. Maybe they could turn it round for him at last, and this op to remove a section of badly damaged bowel had at least given him a chance of recovery. And he hadn’t needed a stoma, so he wouldn’t need a bag, which was good news.

It was after six before he left them, and he ran home, showered rapidly and got to her house a minute late. She opened her door and for once didn’t comment on his timekeeping. And she looked—nervous? Why? If she was going to suggest they had an affair, he was more than willing. And they were working better together, so it wasn’t that...

‘Ready?’

She nodded, and he stepped back and held open the little gate at the end of her path, then fell into step beside her as they walked into the centre and turned down a narrow, cobbled street, and as they walked he told her a little about the restaurant.

‘This place is a gem. I found it when I first moved here seventeen years ago, and it’s still run by the same family, but the son’s taken over and he’s every bit as good as his father. I eat here often because the food’s healthy and it’s delicious and it reminds me of home.’

‘I’m surprised we didn’t have to book if it’s that good.’

‘They were expecting me tonight anyway. Here we are.’

He opened the door and held it for her, and as she walked in she hesitated and he nearly bumped into her.

‘Are you OK?’

She nodded, her pale hair bobbing brightly in the atmospheric lighting. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

No, she wasn’t, but he couldn’t work out why and then he didn’t have time because the old man was walking towards him with a beaming smile, addressing him by name as he always did, showing them to their table, taking her coat, telling them about the specials.

‘Alice?’

‘I just want something simple,’ she said quickly. ‘Something fairly plain and light.’

‘My son cooks a wonderful fish linguine,’ Renzo said. ‘That’s light and delicate with a touch of fresh chilli.’

‘Just a touch?’

‘I can ask him to put less.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you. And could I have some iced water, please?’

‘I’ll have the same. It’s a great dish. And a glass of house white, Renzo. Grazie mille.’

He watched Renzo walk away, then propped his elbows on the table and searched her eyes, his patience finally at an end. ‘So—this “us” you wanted to talk about...’

* * *

She wasn’t sure she did. Not now, not here where he had friends. And she wasn’t sure the restaurant was a great idea for another reason, either. One she hadn’t even thought of, stupidly.

‘Alice?’

She’d looked down, knotting her hands on the edge of the table, unsure how she felt, but now she made herself look up and meet his searching brown eyes. ‘It’s about what—happened.’

‘The gala.’

She nodded and swallowed. ‘I—um—it seems it’s had...’

‘Had...?’

She dropped her eyes again, unable to hold that searching gaze while she groped for the word. ‘Consequences,’ she said at last, and held her breath.

He said nothing. Not for at least thirty seconds, maybe even a minute. Then he reached out slowly, tipped up her face with gentle fingers and gave her a slightly bemused smile.

‘You’re pregnant?’ he mouthed.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Apparently I am.’

He leant forward, his voice low. ‘But—how? I was careful.’

‘I know. I’m not sure. I might have broken a nail when I—when I ripped your shirt. Maybe that...’

‘Your nail? But...’

She could see him scrolling through what they’d done in those few frantic minutes, and saw the moment the light dawned.

He swore softly in Italian, then took her hands in his and held them firmly. ‘I am so sorry. I never meant that to happen, but of course it changes everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Sì. Because we’re definitely an “us” now. I can’t walk away from this.’

‘But it may not even—’

They were interrupted by the arrival of the steaming, fragrant linguine. Renzo set a plate down in front of Alice, and as he turned away she felt her colour drain.

She pushed back her chair and stumbled to her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t—I’m really sorry—’

Then she grabbed her bag and ran, not even waiting for her coat because if she didn’t get out it was going to be hideously embarrassing.

She headed home, half running, half stumbling on the cobbles, and as she reached her house and let herself in, the nausea swamped her and she fled for the bathroom.

* * *

He knocked on the door, rang the bell, knocked again, and then finally he heard her coming down the stairs.

He’d known she was in because the lights were on upstairs and they hadn’t been before, but when she opened the door she was as white as a sheet and trembling and he was racked with guilt.

‘Alice,’ he said softly, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and putting the bag and her coat down on the floor to take her into his arms. ‘I’m so sorry. If I’d known I would never have suggested going there. Come on, you need to sit down.’

‘Did you bring my coat?’

‘Yes. And I brought our food. Renzo put it in boxes for me.’

‘I can’t—’

‘You can. You must. You need carbs, cara. Trust me, I grew up surrounded by pregnant women and I know what works.’

He left her on the sofa, arms wrapped round her slender frame and looking miserable and strangely afraid, and he headed down the hall towards what had to be the kitchen. He’d never seen her anything but confident, so why was she afraid? Afraid of what? Of him, his reaction? Of being pregnant? Of having a child? Maybe he’d misread it. Maybe she was just unhappy about it. She didn’t looked exactly thrilled. And what was it that may not even—what? It was the last thing she’d said before she’d run out, and it was playing on his mind.

May not even be his?

He found bowls, glasses, forks, and headed back, setting the food and water down on the coffee table.

‘Come on. Try it, please. Just a little.’

She tasted it suspiciously, refilled the fork and took another cautious mouthful, then another, and he felt a wash of relief.

He picked up his own fork and joined her, but the unanswered question was still there and he had to force himself to eat.

* * *

‘Better?’

She was, surprisingly. At least the nausea was. The humiliation was another matter. ‘Yes. Thank you. And I’m so sorry about the restaurant.’

‘No, I’m sorry—’

‘Why? You didn’t know. I should have thought about it, suggested somewhere else. Here, maybe.’

‘Well, we’re here now, and we have a baby to talk about. I’m still trying to get my head around that and I guess you are, too. Unless it’s not mine?’

She stared at him, horrified that he could think that. ‘Of course it’s yours!’

‘Is it? Because in the restaurant you said, “it may not even—” and then you broke off. What was it, Alice? May not even be mine? Is that what you were going to say?’

‘No. Not that. It can only be yours, Marco. There hasn’t been anyone else for years. Please believe me. I would never do that to you—to anyone.’

His eyes searched hers, and then he nodded slowly, just once, and she looked away, the tenderness in his eyes unnerving because whatever happened, whatever he said next, she was sure it would just be out of guilt and pity and she didn’t want that, so she cut him off before he could start.

‘I was going to say it may not even happen. It’s very early days, I could lose it.’

A tiny frown flitted through his eyes. ‘That’s not likely. Many more pregnancies end in a baby than a miscarriage.’

Not necessarily in her case. But she wasn’t ready to tell him anything so personal about herself. Not now. Maybe never, because she’d seen what that did to a relationship and she never wanted to see that expression on anyone’s face again.

Disgust. Revulsion. And a rapid retraction of his proposal. And she hadn’t dated anyone since—

‘Alice?’

No. She wouldn’t tell him. She sucked in a breath and met his eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m just a pessimist. I can’t believe it’s happened. I never thought I’d ever be pregnant, especially not right after landing the job of my dreams, so I know it seems wrong but you’ll have to forgive me for not being ecstatic about it. To be honest, I have no idea how I feel. I’m still getting over the shock.’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘It wasn’t exactly in my plans, either, but a baby’s a baby, Alice. They’re pretty harmless. I should know, I’m the oldest of eight, and I spent half my childhood changing nappies and pushing prams around the vineyards with a trail of small people following after me. There were times when I felt like a cross between the Pied Piper and Mary Poppins.’

That made her smile. ‘I didn’t realise you had such a large family. You’ve never talked about them before.’

‘I don’t. I love them, of course I do, but I don’t see them very often. I disappointed them a long time ago—I was engaged to a lovely girl from a good family, and I couldn’t give her what she needed, which was to stay at home near her family and have babies, rather than follow me around from one strange place to another while I did my rotations in England, so I ended it for both our sakes because I felt we were in love with the idea rather than each other. And then my family accused me of leading her on and breaking her heart because I’d been so selfish and uncaring and put myself first as usual, so I don’t go back unless I have to. And I have to, in three weeks, because my little sister’s getting married and I need to be there.’

‘That’s the long weekend you booked off?’

‘Yes.’ He was looking at her thoughtfully suddenly, and then he said, ‘I told them I’d be bringing someone, mostly to defuse my mother’s matchmaking efforts because despite the fiasco she still wants to see me married to someone she considers suitable, and a wedding is the perfect matchmaking opportunity, so I need a plus one or she’ll be a nightmare. Why don’t you come with me? It’ll be fun.’

That shocked her. ‘To your sister’s wedding? I don’t know any of them.’

‘I know, but you need to, because they’ll be a part of our child’s life—’

‘Why? And there is no child yet.’

He frowned. ‘Why? Because they’re my family, Alice, and they’ll want to be part of their grandchild’s life.’

‘Marco, they haven’t got a grandchild yet! There’s nothing to tell them. They don’t need to know about the baby. Not for ages, maybe never if it goes wrong—’

‘No, they don’t. I agree. At this stage I’d rather they didn’t. But it might help you get to know more about me if you met them, and anyway it’s beautiful there. It’ll be cool, but it’s the end of the olive harvest and it’ll be a huge celebration. My parents do seriously good weddings. And it’ll give us time away from work to get to know each other. And whatever happens between us I think that’s important, if we’re having a child together.’

Having a child together? That sounded weird. So out of left field that she could hardly get her head round it.

‘Can I think about it? This is all a bit sudden.’

‘Yes, of course. If you decide not to come, I can always make an excuse. So—that’s my family. What about yours?’

She relaxed a fraction. ‘Oh, I have three brothers. I’m number three in the family, but we’re all close together in age and we love each other to bits. One’s a doctor, one’s a vet, the other one a dentist. We’re pretty competitive.’

‘Are you winning?’

She laughed. ‘Sort of. The vet and the dentist have their own practices, but the doctor’s a mere specialist registrar at the moment, so, yes, I’m winning as far as the doctors go but I would say we’re pretty equal. Except they’re all married with children, but at least it takes the heat off me,’ she said rashly without filtering her words, but he pounced on it.

‘Why aren’t you married?’

She blinked. ‘Why aren’t you?’

‘Because it’s not on my agenda, which I think was part of the reason it went wrong before. I’d just qualified as a registrar and I had my paeds training to complete. I needed all my focus, needed to be able to follow my career wherever it took me, and to a certain extent that’s still true.’

‘So you understand, then, why I’m single.’

He smiled wryly. ‘Yeah, I guess I do.’ He got to his feet, picked up the plates and took them through to the kitchen. She could hear him rinsing them, loading them into the dishwasher, then the tap running again, and he was back.

‘I should go. You need an early night, but I’ll see you in the morning. Make sure you eat before you get up. Toast, crackers, slivers of apple—’

‘Marco, I’ll be fine,’ she said without any confidence if today was anything to go by, and got to her feet. ‘Look—I don’t want this all round the hospital. You know how people love a good juicy story.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t talk about it. I don’t talk about private stuff, not at work, and especially not this.’

No, he didn’t. Tonight was the first time either of them had talked about their families, and it helped to explain a little of how at ease he was with the children.

He’d be a brilliant father—

‘Goodnight, Alice,’ he said softly, and bending down, he touched a gentle, tender kiss to her lips and let himself out.

A brilliant father, an amazing lover and a good husband. And she was getting horribly ahead of herself, and it was so unlikely to happen. Even if she got through the pregnancy without incident, which wasn’t likely, she’d still have to tell him about her condition, and then she’d see that look on his face and it would tear her apart.

She switched off the lights and went up to bed.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MORNING.’

Alice swallowed a wave of nausea and looked up from her desk.

‘Do you ever knock?’

He went back out of the door, knocked, walked in again and smiled mischievously. ‘Good morning. There, is that better?’

She put her pen down and leant back with a sigh, stifling the urge to smile. ‘You’re supposed to wait for an answer. I assume you want something? And shut the door, please.’

He peered closer, and frowned. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Thank you for last night—for looking after me—I appreciated it, but I’m fine now. So, what did you want?’

He shrugged as if he didn’t believe her, but he let it pass. ‘Just an update for you. I’ve checked the post-ops from yesterday, spent a few minutes with Amil and his parents in PICU—the boy with Crohn’s?’’

‘I do know who Amil is. How is he today?’

‘OK. He’s had a reasonable night, apparently, which is excellent news, and we should be able to move him out of there later onto a ward. Hopefully the surgery will have done the trick for now and once he’s on the mend we can hand him over to gastroenterology and see if they can get him a bit more settled on a new drug regime. So, boss lady, what’s on the agenda for today?’

She swallowed another wave of nausea and looked down at the file of notes on her desk.

‘Daisy Lawrence. She was diagnosed with malrotation of the gut as a toddler because she was having lots of stomach cramps without any other symptoms, but it wasn’t considered severe enough for surgery at the time and they adopted a watch and wait policy, but she’s flared up again, they’ve got private medical insurance and they wanted a second opinion so they chose us.’

He perched on the corner of her desk beside her and studied the notes. ‘So what are we doing? X-rays, MRI, CT?’

‘I’m not sure. I think we’ll start with a follow-through contrast scan to see what’s going on in there, so I’ve booked that with the imaging suite for this morning, and we’ll review the results and see where we go from there, but I think we need to go and meet them and examine her and talk it through.’

‘Are they here?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe so. They’re not due until nine. I was just going through her notes again.’

‘So—have you had breakfast?’ he asked, and she swallowed again and shook her head.

‘I couldn’t—’

‘Well, isn’t it a good job you have me to feed you?’ he said, passing her a small packet of salty wholewheat crackers.

She eyed them with suspicion. Food? Really—?

‘Eat them,’ he instructed gently, and she tore the bag open reluctantly and tried one.

Surprisingly edible. She had another.

‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—thanks.’ She took a sip of water and had another one while he flicked through the notes.

‘Apparently watermelon is good if you feel sick,’ he told her without looking up. ‘Just a little piece. I’ve put some in the fridge in the staffroom where you keep your lunch. And you need carbs.’

‘I don’t eat carbs.’

He looked up and met her eyes. ‘I noticed. That’s why you’re feeling sick, because your blood sugar is low because you’re on one of these crazy celebrity diets where your body’s in a permanently ketogenic state. It’s bad for you.’

‘It isn’t. A ketogenic diet means I maintain a healthy weight and keep my blood sugar and cholesterol under control,’ she said, feeling a little flicker of panic because he was getting too close to the truth and she didn’t want to tell him, or at least not yet.

‘Why on earth do you need to do that? You’re not overweight, you’re under if anything, and you spend your free time in the gym.’

‘How do you know that? You’re never in there.’

‘No. I don’t do gyms, but our colleagues use them, and they talk.’

She hated the idea of people talking about her. Speculating?

‘So I keep fit—and I’m not underweight, my BMI is nineteen point five.’

‘That’s borderline underweight.’ He frowned, his voice softening. ‘Alice, is food a problem for you? Do you have an eating disorder?’

She stared at him, stunned. ‘No! Of course I don’t have an eating disorder! I’ve told you, I’m just keeping healthy—’

‘Then why don’t you eat cake if it’s someone’s birthday? Why do you always say no to snacks and biscuits? They won’t kill you occasionally if you make an exception to avoid hurting someone’s feelings.’

She sighed and gave up. ‘Because I have insulin resistance,’ she said flatly, giving him a symptom rather than a diagnosis just to get him off her back, but she could see it wasn’t working. He frowned, looked thoughtful and tipped his head on one side.

‘I just don’t buy it. The only way you have insulin resistance is if you’re borderline diabetic and have metabolic syndrome, which you haven’t because you’re much too thin for that, or you’ve got a hormonal imbalance or something like PCOS...’

He trailed to a halt, frowned again and searched her face, and she could hear the cogs turning as the frown softened into concern.

‘Is that it? Is that why you were so surprised that you were pregnant, because you have PCOS?’

‘That’s a bit of a quantum leap, isn’t it, from insulin resistance to polycystic ovaries?’ she said, flannelling furiously because she wasn’t ready to have this conversation. Wouldn’t ever be ready to have it—

‘Not for a doctor. And I know I’m a paediatric surgeon, but I’m still a doctor and I haven’t forgotten everything I learned in med school. So is this why you were surprised you’re pregnant, and why you’re so convinced you could lose the baby, because of the risk of high blood pressure, pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, miscarriage—is there anything else? I’m sure there must be other things you’re torturing yourself with.’

‘So what if I have got it?’ she asked, suddenly sick of not telling him and wanting to get the revulsion over, but there was no revulsion, to her surprise. Instead he shrugged away from the desk, put his arms round her and hugged her, tutting softly.

‘Oh, Alice. Is this why you’re not married? Why you’re so defensive? Because some idiot didn’t want a wife who couldn’t be sure of giving him children?’

She eased out of his arms, her emotions all over the place, and if she stayed there with her head against him, she’d lose it and blub all over him. ‘No. I’m not married because he didn’t want a wife who was fat and hairy and had more testosterone than he did.’

He sat back on the edge of the desk, his eyes wide. ‘But that’s not you! You’re not fat, and I can’t believe you ever were because you’re far too well controlled. Besides, most people don’t have all those symptoms, if any. It’s rubbish.’

‘You don’t have to tell me that, I know, but he didn’t and once he’d researched it—which he did there and then on his phone, the minute I told him—he didn’t hang around long enough for me to put him right,’ she said, grabbing her pager like a lifeline as it bleeped.

‘Daisy’s here,’ she said, sliding her chair back, and she stood up, picked up the notes and headed for the door, pausing to look over her shoulder. ‘Well, are you coming, or are you going to stay here all day making annoying comments and quizzing me about my medical history?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, of course I’m coming.’ He straightened up, grabbed the bag of savoury crackers and followed her.

* * *

Polycystic ovary syndrome.

He never would have guessed if he hadn’t pushed her, but now so much of her defensive behaviour made sense, especially in the light of some ignorant—

His thoughts lapsed into Italian, because he had a better grasp of the language he’d need to sum up someone that ignorant and cruel. No matter. He, whoever he was, was in the past, and now was for them. He’d look after her, take care of her and the baby, go to all her antenatal appointments with her and support her in any way she’d let him.

Assuming she’d let him, which was a big assumption.

He fell into step beside her. ‘So, how old is Daisy?’

‘Four. She’s seeing us first and then being admitted to the assessment unit until we have a better idea of what’s going on, and if and when we’ll need to operate. She’s coming in without breakfast ready for the contrast scan, so I don’t want to keep her hanging about long because it’s a slow process and she’ll be hungry.’

‘OK, so we’ll go from there. Do you want me in on the consult?’

She stopped and turned to face him. ‘Yes, because if she needs surgery, I’ll want you in on it, and you’re good with the children. And besides, I value your opinion.’

He resisted the overwhelming urge to smirk, restricting himself to a slight smile and a tiny shake of the head. ‘Did that nearly kill you?’

She looked away, but not before he saw her mouth twitch. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your ego’s showing again.’

‘Oh, dear. Me and my ego. We’re always in trouble.’

He swiped his lanyard, held the door open for her and followed her through to the consulting room waiting area.

A couple were sitting there, a small girl with long blonde hair cuddled on the woman’s knee, and he thought they looked uncomfortable, strained. With worry?

‘Mr and Mrs Lawrence?’ Alice said. They got to their feet and she held out her hand to them. ‘Welcome to Hope Hospital. I’m Alice Baxter, the senior gastro-intestinal surgeon, and this is my colleague Marco Ricci. And you must be Daisy,’ she said, bobbing down to the child’s level. ‘Hi, Daisy. You can call me Alice, if you like.’

‘I’m Olive, and this is Dan,’ Mrs Lawrence said, and smiled down encouragingly at Daisy. ‘Daisy, say hello.’

But Daisy had obviously had enough of doctors, and she turned her face into her mother and hid, so Alice straightened up and smiled at her parents. ‘Shall we go on through to the consulting room and talk through what we’re planning to do today? And if it’s all right, I’d like us to have a look at Daisy.’

She ushered them into the room, and Marco scooped up Daisy’s forgotten teddy and followed them into the very room where he’d accidentally got Alice pregnant just over five weeks ago.

Was that really all it was? Thirty-eight days?

Trying not to look at the couch, he let Alice do the talking, taking the opportunity to sit on the floor and prop his back against the wall. Daisy was looking withdrawn and wary, so he hid the teddy behind his back and brought it out in surprising places. Under his other arm, behind his legs, upside down and sideways, and all the time Daisy watched him, warily at first, and then with a glimmer of anticipation.

And then finally she giggled, and he felt as if the sun had come out.

‘Does your teddy have a name?’ he asked her softly, and she nodded and moved a little nearer him—but not too near.

‘He’s called Wuzzle.’

‘Wuzzle? What a lovely name. Hello, Wuzzle. Nice to meet you. I’m Marco. So, Wuzzle, what can you tell me about Daisy?’

‘She’s my best friend,’ he said, pretending to be a ventriloquist and making Daisy giggle again.

‘And what else can you tell me, Wuzzle?’

‘She’s got a sore tummy.’

He put the teddy down and looked at Daisy. ‘Is that right, Daisy? Do you have a sore tummy?’

Daisy nodded and sat down facing him. ‘Sometimes, especially when I’ve had my dinner.’

‘Oh, no. That’s a pity. So do you just have a little bit of dinner then?’ he asked, because she was a skinny, lanky little thing and it could have been because she’d had a growth spurt or because her appetite was off. Especially if she was afraid to eat. And she was pale and wan. Worryingly so.

She nodded. ‘If I eat too much, my tummy hurts.’

‘OK, Daisy, I have an idea. Will you let me and Alice try and find out what’s wrong with your tummy?’ he asked gently. ‘Because we can’t have you hurting, can we, when you eat?’

She shook her head. ‘Wuzzle’s tummy hurts, too.’

‘Does it? Can you show me where?’

Daisy pressed her fingers gently onto Wuzzle’s soft, furry body, around about what would be his epigastric region if he wasn’t a teddy bear. ‘Here,’ she said, and pressed again to the right. ‘And here.’

‘Is that the same place as your tummy?’

She nodded, and snuggled Wuzzle tight against her chest.

‘OK. Daisy, do you mind if I have a little feel of your tummy now? See if I can feel anything wrong? Would that be OK?’

She nodded again, her brown eyes soft and wounded, and he felt his heart wrench for her.

‘Come on, then, poppet. Let’s help you up onto the bed and I can have a look at both of you, OK?’

He stood up, pulled Daisy to her feet, handed Wuzzle to her and lifted them easily onto the couch. The couch where he and Alice had made not only love, but a baby. Amazing...

‘Now, let’s have a look at Wuzzle first, shall we?’

* * *

Alice’s eyes strayed to him, to his gentle, careful hands examining first the teddy and then little Daisy, with just the same thoroughness and attention to detail he’d brought to their lovemaking right there on the edge of that couch.

Did he realise it was the same room?

‘He’s so good with her,’ Olive said quietly, and she nodded.

‘Yes, he is.’ Good with everything...

She turned away from Marco and gave the Lawrences her undivided attention. ‘Has anybody explained to you what malrotation of the gut is, exactly?’

Daisy’s mother nodded. ‘Something to do with the way she formed as an embryo, they said, and I’ve worried ever since that it was something I ate or did—’

‘No. It was nothing you did. There’s no evidence to suggest anything of the sort. What happens is that the cells that become the gut migrate up into the umbilical cord at about ten weeks of pregnancy, and then at around eleven weeks they migrate back down again, and coil into the area that becomes the abdomen. And sometimes, about once in every five hundred babies, they coil the wrong way, because our bodies aren’t symmetrical inside.

‘The liver is on the right, the spleen and pancreas and stomach on the left, and the small intestine starts at the bottom of the stomach and curls around past the liver, picking up the bile and pancreatic ducts, and then this great tangle of small intestine wriggles around inside and joins the large bowel down on the right, where we get appendicitis.

‘In children with malrotation it coils the other way, so that join in the gut can end up near their stomach or even on the other side, so diagnosing appendicitis is difficult, and that’s often when asymptomatic malrotation is diagnosed.

‘The problem arises when the part that is trying to be the right way round gets twisted somehow in a bit of a conflict of interests with the other bit, and that twisting process can lead to what’s known as a volvulus, which means the blood supply to that part is kinked and cut off by the twisting, and that’s a life-threatening emergency.

‘Daisy is not at that stage, but she may be approaching it, because she could have bands of fibrous tissue called Ladd’s bands holding her intestines in the wrong place. That’s what our tests today are going to look for, to find out exactly how her gut is coiled inside her, and where the pinch points or twists might lie so we can rearrange her gut to relieve that, if it’s what’s causing her pain. Does that make sense?’

They nodded, but she noticed they didn’t offer each other any support or interact in any way, which seemed odd.

‘Is there anything else we can tell you before we admit her and she goes down for her scan?’

They shook their heads, again not conferring.

‘OK, that’s good. Feel free to ask, though, at any time, because I know it’s a lot to take in. So, Dr Marco, what’s the verdict?’ she asked lightly, turning to face the examination couch again. ‘Do Daisy and Wuzzle need to have some pictures taken?’

He turned his head and smiled. ‘Yes, I think they do. I think we need to find out why they’ve got tummy ache. So, Dr Alice, how are we going to take the pictures?’

‘Well, Daisy, after you’ve been checked in by a nurse we’ll take you downstairs, and a lady there will give you a special drink, and then we’ll take pictures of the drink all through the morning as it moves through your tummy. It’s called a follow-through contrast scan, and it’s very good at showing us where things aren’t working quite like they should be. Is that OK?’

‘Will Wuzzle have some to drink, too?’

‘I’m sure he can. Would you like strawberry, blackcurrant or chocolate flavour?’

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