“You’ve been staring at me all day,” Amy said

“You’ve been very attractive all day,” Tom replied.

Amy smiled. A smooth talker. He was probably very good at kissing, too.

“I’ve been thinking about that myself,” he said.

“About what?” Amy murmured.

“About this.” He moved closer, bent his head and touched his lips to hers. Amy Brooks, absent without leave from her engagement party, was kissing a total stranger in the summer house. And she had been right. He was very, very good.

He drew back from her lips slowly. “There must be something in the air. I hear that Nigel is announcing his engagement to some poor woman tonight.”

The observation had all the effect of a cold shower. “He is,” Amy confirmed curtly. “And I’m the poor woman.”

Dear Reader,

Maybe I’ve always had a secret yen to behave appallingly in a public place—with excellent justification, of course! The magic of being a writer is that I could do just that through my heroine, Amy. The justification? How about the realization that her engagement to a man she doesn’t really love is about to become official. Throw in a kiss from a total stranger, who is, in fact, the man of her dreams, and mix with one too many glasses of champagne. Perfect!

I have a passion for the world of medicine and it’s such a wonderful setting for a romance. What better way could there be to create sparks than when personal antagonism or irresistible sexual attraction simply has to be contained in the face of a medical emergency?

Amy regrets her bad behavior but soon realizes that it was the best thing that could have happened…. I hope you’ll agree.

With love,

Alison

Nurse in Need
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

RED and blue lights flashed their signal of an emergency.

The ambulance siren had been turned off on the final approach to the hospital but the beacons were still going as the vehicle turned swiftly and backed up to the doors of Christchurch’s Queen Mary Hospital’s Emergency Department. The day-shift resuscitation team stood waiting. The medical staff hadn’t needed the warning lights of the ambulance to notify them that a critically ill patient was incoming. That information had been transmitted en route ten minutes ago, and the team had rapidly assembled and prepared one of the highly equipped resuscitation areas in the emergency department.

Senior Nurse Amy Brooks cast a swift glance into Resus 1 as the stretcher was being unloaded. IV fluid bags were hanging, their giving sets already primed. Trolleys stood ready. The staff knew their patient was in severe respiratory distress. Equipment for intubation and ventilation was available. A chest-drain tray was prepared and draped.

As the circulation nurse on the resus team, it was Amy’s responsibility to have all the equipment prepared and to assist the doctors in using it. She needed to have the IV fluids ready and to assist with or insert IV lines herself, if necessary. She needed to help other nurses to remove the patient’s clothing and to record baseline observations of temperature, pulse, respiration, blood pressure and cardiac monitoring. It was the most demanding role in the nursing team, but Amy Brooks revelled in the different challenges every critically ill or injured patient provided.

Amy even welcomed the apparent initial chaos of receiving and transferring such a patient. Ambulance crew, consultants, registrars, nurses and technical staff all tackling their own tasks within the set protocols. So much happening and so much information being gathered and passed. It took a special ability to be able to assimilate the details, to focus on each task and to switch focus with speed should the situation dictate a new urgency.

‘This is Daniel Lever. He’s nineteen years old.’ The ambulance officer was reinforcing information they had previously radioed through to the department. Transmission was often patchy. ‘Car versus truck. Daniel was the single occupant of the car.’

The stretcher was positioned alongside the bed.

‘High-speed impact with vehicle rollover.’

Amy noted the cervical collar around the young man’s neck and the backboard he was strapped onto. Spinal injuries had to be high on the index of suspicion after the description of the accident.

‘Daniel was trapped in the car for approximately forty-five minutes.’ The ambulance officer shifted the portable cardiac monitor out of the way. ‘Are we ready? One, two…three!’

Amy moved to help lift the backboard. Entrapment time had already eaten well into the ‘golden hour’.

‘Systolic BP of 90, heart rate 125, respiration rate of 30. Daniel has remained conscious but confused with a GCS of 13. He has chest injuries, including a flail segment with possible pneumothorax, abdominal tenderness and a compound fracture of the left femur.’

Jennifer Bowman was the airway nurse on the team. She was first into action as their patient was transferred to the bed.

‘Hello, Daniel. Can you open your eyes for me?’ Jennifer disconnected the portable oxygen cylinder and reattached the line to the wall outlet as Daniel groaned in response. She adjusted the position of the high-concentration oxygen mask he was wearing. Amy used shears to clip away the remnants of clothing on Daniel’s chest. She glanced at the other nurse as she heard the encouraging murmur of her voice soothing their distressed patient. Jennifer was also responsible for talking to the patient and giving support. The rapport she could establish quickly with people was a strength that Amy appreciated more than most. Jennifer was perfect for the job.

Gareth Harvey, the senior emergency consultant, listened to Daniel’s chest with a stethoscope while still receiving information from the ambulance crew.

‘He’s received 1.5 litres of saline so far. He’s also had 10 mg of morphine. Cardiac rhythm’s been stable.’

Amy attached the leads for the department’s cardiac monitor. Now she wrapped the automatic blood-pressure cuff around Daniel’s arm and clipped an oxygen saturation probe over his index finger. They had been unable to get an accurate reading in the ambulance. Judging from Daniel’s colour, it wasn’t going to indicate a good level of circulating oxygen in his bloodstream. A junior nurse, Janice Healey, was struggling to cut away the denim of Daniel’s jeans. He groaned loudly as she tried to pull some fabric clear of the splint on his left leg.

‘Leave that for the moment, Janice,’ Amy advised. ‘And don’t take the dressing off the wound until a doctor is ready to look at it. The more exposure it gets, the more likely it is to get contaminated.’

Jennifer was still trying to establish communication. ‘Do you know where you are at the moment, Daniel?’

‘Can’t…breathe…’ Daniel gasped. ‘Help…me.’

Amy glanced at the monitor. Oxygen saturation was well below ninety per cent. She was reaching for the chest-drain pack before Gareth Harvey requested it. Their patient was desperate to sit up to try and ease his breathing difficulty. Being strapped to a backboard due to the possibility of spinal damage was increasing his distress.

‘Left-sided tension pneumothorax,’ Gareth informed Amy.

Amy was already drawing up the local anaesthetic. A chest drain had to be inserted as the first priority. Air had entered Daniel’s chest outside the lung, probably because of laceration from the broken ribs. The pressure had collapsed the lung and was now threatening the function of the other lung and his heart.

Jennifer had her head bent close to Daniel’s. ‘We’re going to do something to help with your breathing, Daniel,’ she told him clearly. ‘You might feel a bit of stinging. That’s some local anaesthetic going into the side of your chest.’

‘BP’s dropping,’ Amy warned Gareth. ‘Systolic’s down to 80 and we’re getting a few ectopics.’ She kept an eye on the irregular beats showing up on the cardiac monitor as she ripped open sterile packs and assisted the consultant to insert the chest drain.

Daniel’s breathing improved dramatically as the internal pressure of air was relieved but his blood pressure was still dropping. The registrar who had been busy assessing the abdominal and leg injuries looked worried. He directed Gareth’s attention to the abdominal distension that was becoming obvious. Amy changed the bag of IV fluid as the level dropped. The registrar was directed to put in a second IV line and start running Haemaccel instead of saline. Amy ripped open more sterile packs.

The team member responsible for documenting the resuscitation attempt was Peter Milne, one of the department’s nurse managers. Amy showed him the empty bag of saline.

‘That’s the third one so far.’ She glanced at the large preprinted form Peter was filling in. ‘Oxygen saturation’s come up to ninety-three per cent,’ she told him. ‘BP’s dropped to 75.’

Janice Healey was ferrying blood samples. She came back with a distraught-looking middle-aged woman beside her.

‘This is Daniel’s mother,’ she told the team nervously. ‘Is it OK if she comes in?’

The registrar had just exposed the open fracture of Daniel’s leg for assessment. Daniel’s mother lost all the colour from her face. Amy moved to help the woman but Peter beat her to it. He supported her with a firm hand on her arm.

‘Janice, take Daniel’s mother down to the relatives’ room for the moment and stay with her. I’ll come down as soon as we have all the information we need to give her the full picture.’

Janice stepped away. ‘Come with me, Mrs Lever,’ she said hesitantly. Daniel’s mother remained glued to the spot, her terrified gaze fixed on her son. Peter raised an eyebrow at Amy, who nodded. She would take over documenting the case until Peter had settled Mrs Lever somewhere a little less traumatic. Amy was confident she could remember the details and be able to record them during the lull coming up when X-rays would be taken. It took another twenty minutes until the team were satisfied that their patient was stable enough to transfer to Theatre. Surgery was certainly the next priority. The cause of the abdominal bleeding had to be found and treated if Daniel was going to survive.

‘Orthopaedics might want a look at that leg at the same time,’ the registrar suggested. ‘Limb baselines are all well down.’

At the mention of the orthopaedic department Jennifer caught Amy’s eye and winked. Amy ignored the gesture but was immediately reminded of the knot of tension she had been harbouring all morning. Not that she could do anything about it right now. The trauma case had added to an already busy shift. Amy had two other patients she needed to go back to monitoring.

The adrenaline rush of working on Daniel’s emergency admission wore off only too quickly and Amy was left feeling strangely nervous. The soft peal of laughter she heard only minutes later made her turn swiftly. She couldn’t see anything, of course. The curtain around cubicle 4, which she had entered to check on the elderly Mrs Benny, screened the rest of the department from view. Amy waited several seconds but couldn’t resist the urge to peer around the edge of the curtain as the sound was repeated. For some peculiar reason the quiet adult laughter had all the subtlety of a child’s gleeful squeal as far as Amy was concerned.

It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint the source of the sound. The man was still grinning as he straightened up from leaning on the sorting-desk counter. The unexpected speed with which his gaze shifted from the staff member he’d been in conversation with was unfortunately too sudden to allow Amy’s curiosity to remain undetected.

Amy felt the contact as their lines of vision coincided. Their gazes held only for a split second but it was quite long enough for the stranger’s mouth to soften and then to begin another curve into a new smile. A smile that was obviously intended for Amy Brooks. Amy whisked the curtain closed hurriedly, turning back to her patient as she cursed her inability to resist peeking. Mrs Benny appeared to be asleep and Amy took the opportunity both to assess her patient and calm herself.

She still felt unnerved. As though the gaze that had caught her own was still there, burning through the thin fabric of the curtain. With a deliberate effort, Amy turned her attention to the fob watch she wore pinned to her uniform. She counted Mrs Benny’s rate of breathing, consciously taking several deep breaths herself. It wasn’t the stranger’s fault she felt rattled. Neither could it be attributed to her current patient. Thanks to the heavy frost that morning, Gladys Benny was the third case of a fractured neck of femur to come through the doors of Queen Mary Hospital’s Emergency Department. Straightforward cases with no hint of the drama that had surrounded young Daniel Lever’s admission. As common and easy to deal with as the alcohol overdose case Amy was also responsible for in cubicle 2.

The sudden movement of the curtain behind Amy made her jump. The orderly, Derek, grinned widely.

‘Gave you a fright, didn’t I?’ he observed. ‘Who did you think I was?’

Amy smiled but ignored the query. She also resisted the urge to look over Derek’s shoulder to see who might be standing at the counter being amused by Laura, the sorting-desk clerk. She stifled the slight sense of annoyance that anybody could find being in an emergency department amusing, but her sense of disquiet couldn’t be displaced so easily onto some stranger or his laughter. Amy had no one to blame except herself. Her nerves were due to the fact that she was rapidly running out of time. And it wasn’t at all funny. Amy touched her patient’s hand gently.

‘Mrs Benny? Derek is here to take you up to X-ray. How’s the pain at the moment?’

Gladys Benny opened her eyes and smiled faintly. ‘Much better, thank you, dear. That injection you gave me did the trick nicely. I think I even fell asleep.’

‘That’s good. We’ll see you again as soon as you get back from X-ray.’ Amy stood aside as Derek began pushing the bed clear of the cubicle, but Mrs Benny caught hold of Amy’s hand and halted the progress.

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ she queried anxiously.

Amy squeezed the frail hand gently. ‘It seems likely that you’ve broken your hip, Mrs Benny. If the X-rays confirm that, then you’re going to need an operation, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Faded blue eyes filled with tears and the old woman’s voice wobbled. ‘Where are they going to take me?’

‘To X-ray,’ Amy reminded her patiently. ‘Then you’ll come back here and we’ll ask the orthopaedic doctors to come and see you. If you do need an operation, we’ll arrange admission to one of the wards.’

‘So I’m coming back here?’ The watery gaze fixed on Amy begged for reassurance.

‘Yes, you are, Mrs Benny.’ Amy smiled. ‘And your daughter’s on her way in. I expect she’ll be here by the time you get back.’

Amy watched the bed as it was manoeuvred between the sorting-desk counter and an empty ambulance stretcher. Her gaze continued a sweep around the emergency department. The stranger had vanished. Several cubicles and a resus area were empty and the atmosphere was relaxed, with several staff members heading towards the staffroom for a quick break. Jennifer Bowman was amongst the group, in animated conversation with a junior doctor. Amy smiled to herself at the play of expression on her colleague’s face.

Jennifer was naturally lively. Gregarious, outspoken—even outrageous at times. To a casual observer, she couldn’t have provided much more of a contrast to Amy. It often surprised people to find that the two young women were flatmates, let alone the closest of friends. Amy’s inward smile faded and she sighed audibly. It was now past lunchtime on Friday and she was still no closer to the goal she’d set herself a week ago. The pursuit of that goal would have to be postponed yet again if the noises emanating from cubicle 2 were anything to go by.

Amy donned gloves and collected some towels, one of which she dampened at the washbasin. She used the moist towel to clean the face of her patient in cubicle 2.

‘Are you feeling better now, Patrick?’

‘Aye.’ Bleary, bloodshot eyes regarded Amy and then focused to produce a hint of a familiar twinkle. ‘You’re an angel, so you are, Amy Brooks.’

‘Mmm.’ Amy shook her head as she smiled. Patrick Moore was a regular customer, a lonely old Irishman who collected his pension on a Thursday and was often brought into Emergency on a Friday morning, having been discovered hypothermic and drunk in a public park. Unlike many similar patients, Patrick was always grateful for the attention he received and he had a charm that even excessive alcohol abuse couldn’t obliterate.

‘An angel,’ Patrick repeated fervently. ‘You’ve even got a halo.’ The old man’s expression was so reverent that Amy wondered if he might be experiencing visual disturbances. She held up one hand.

‘How many fingers can you see, Patrick?’

‘Three,’ he told her promptly. ‘And beautiful fingers they are, too. Long and dainty—just like the rest of you.’ Patrick hiccuped softly and returned his gaze to her head. ‘An angel of mercy,’ he whispered contentedly. ‘With a beautiful golden halo.’

Amy’s hand went to her head despite herself. Then she chuckled. ‘It’s just my hair, Patrick.’

Patrick shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘Your hair’s all tied up in that fancy knot. It’s even speared with that little stick. And it’s dark, not shiny and golden. I know a halo when I see one, lassie.’

Amy folded back the blanket covering her patient. There wasn’t much point in explaining to Patrick that she’d run out of the hairspray that normally controlled the wispy short tendrils currently escaping her neat hairstyle, and that because it was new growth it was much blonder than the rest of her hair. Or the fact that standing in front of the light source in the cubicle had highlighted the effect. If Patrick wanted to think of her as an angel then that was OK with her.

‘It’s time to go home again, Patrick,’ Amy announced. Mrs Benny would be back from X-ray soon and the increase in general activity and noise beyond the cubicle curtain indicated that the quiet spell was over. Amy helped Patrick to his feet where he stood for a moment, swaying slightly. She pulled back the curtain, glancing up automatically as she did so.

It seemed as though the stranger had been waiting for her to appear. How else could she have caught his eye so instantly? He wasn’t laughing this time. Not even smiling, but Amy recognised him. She tore her gaze away. It was like a physical touch, that eye contact. It was too personal. Intimate, even, which was ridiculous. Amy made eye contact with perfect strangers all the time. Why on earth should this man be any different?

‘Come on, Patrick. You’re all right now.’

Amy turned so that she was side on to the stranger. He was talking to Noel Fenton, an orthopaedic registrar who was probably on his way to see Mrs Benny. Could the man be a relative perhaps? Mrs Benny’s son? Amy shook her head unconsciously. No. Mrs Benny was in her eighties and this man didn’t look much over thirty. A grandson, maybe.

Amy waited patiently while Patrick collected his hat and walking stick from the end of his bed. She was quite aware of the men in her peripheral line of vision, however. Noel was introducing the man to Gareth Harvey. Amy risked another glance as he shook hands with the consultant. He was smiling again now. His manner was as relaxed and casual as his faded jeans and the leather jacket over an open-necked shirt. Not a frantically worried relative, then.

Amy turned away quickly as the trio of men started moving towards her. Her movement coincided with Patrick’s tentative foray back into the world, and the old man staggered a little. He caught Amy’s arm and then hooked her waist with a bony hand.

‘You’re an angel, Amy Brooks,’ he proclaimed loudly. ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’

Amy prised the hand from her waist. ‘Come on, Patrick.’ She could sense the proximity of the consultant and his companions. She heard the appreciative chuckle that could only have come from one person. Amy gritted her teeth and spoke with quiet desperation.

‘Come on, Patrick.’ Amy kept hold of her charge’s arm and began to steer him very firmly towards the door. Patrick was looking back over his shoulder.

‘Sent by heaven, she was,’ he informed the department triumphantly. ‘An angel, to be sure.’

Amy’s blush had finally receded by the time she had signed Patrick out and seen him to the taxi stand outside the waiting room. The nurse manager, Peter Milne, signalled to her on her return.

‘Can you give Jennifer a hand to sort out Resus 1? It’s still a bit of a mess.’

‘Sure.’ Amy smiled willingly. ‘Any word on Daniel yet?’

‘Still in Theatre, but Noel was in there to check on the leg and things were going pretty well. The bleeding’s under control. Ruptured spleen and some liver damage. I think he’ll pull through.’

‘That’s great.’ Amy spared a thought for the relief Daniel’s mother would feel. Jennifer had the same thought when Amy relayed the information.

‘Can you believe Janice brought her in here at that point in time? You’d think she’d know enough to check first.’

‘I think she feels uncomfortable dealing with relatives,’ Amy said. ‘And sometimes it is better to let them see that everything possible is being done, especially if the outcome is likely to be bad.’

‘Hmm.’ Jennifer was counting empty drug ampoules as she slotted them into the sharps container. She didn’t sound convinced.

Amy began collecting the discarded sterile packaging. ‘Patrick just proposed to me again.’

‘So we heard.’ Jennifer grinned. ‘You’re an angel, to be sure.’

Amy returned the grin. Suddenly the moment she’d been waiting for seemed to present itself. ‘Hey, Jen?’

‘Mmm?’ Jennifer was now peering into the drugs cabinet.

‘About tonight,’ Amy said carefully. She didn’t want this opportunity to go the way all the others had. ‘I thought—’

‘No,’ Jennifer interrupted firmly. She kept her gaze on the contents of the cupboard. ‘We’re low on adrenaline in here. Pretty low on morphine as well. I’ll go and get some more.’

‘Please, Jen,’ Amy said forlornly. ‘I really want you to come to this party.’

‘No. Sorry, Amy, but I’m not going to change my mind.’

‘But you love parties.’

‘Not this one I don’t. I’d rather stay home and stick needles in my eyes.’ Jennifer glanced at Amy. ‘Which reminds me. How are those IV cannula supplies?’

‘Down on 14-gauge,’ Amy responded automatically.

‘I’ll get some of those, too, then.’

Amy straightened the ECG electrode wires and rolled up the blood-pressure cuff. She was tucking in the clean sheet on the bed as Jennifer returned. Amy accepted the bundle of cannula packages and caught her friend’s eye hopefully.

‘It won’t be that bad, you know. The party, I mean.’

‘Yes, it will.’ Jennifer was arranging the fresh supply of ampoules in the drug cabinet. ‘A pack of stuffy consultants and their wives. All geriatric,’ she continued decisively. ‘There’ll probably be a string quartet in the corner and a waiter with a tray of sherry. Everybody will be overdressed and horribly superior.’ Jennifer clicked the cabinet door shut and locked it. She gave Amy a reproachful look. ‘And your boyfriend will be the worst of the lot.’

Amy sighed. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned it at all. ‘Don’t start on Nigel,’ she begged. ‘He’s not that bad. He really wants you to come.’

‘Oh, sure.’ Jennifer’s expression was now openly sceptical. You’re talking about the man who told me, only yesterday, that if my neurons could get close enough to hold hands occasionally then I would have had those scan results available before he had to disrupt his precious schedule to come down to Emergency.’

Amy’s glance slid sideways. ‘OK, so he can be a bit sarcastic sometimes. Major trauma cases can be stressful, as you well know.’

‘He hadn’t even got anywhere near the patient,’ Jennifer countered. Her expression softened. ‘I admit he probably has his good points. He can be very charming when he wants to be.’ It was Jennifer’s turn to sigh. ‘I just can’t pretend to like him, Amy. There’s something about him that I don’t trust, and it’s more than the fact that his eyes are far too close together. I still don’t understand why you started going out with him in the first place.’

‘He asked me,’ Amy said simply. ‘Anyway, that’s months ago, now. It’s ancient history.’

‘Like Nigel.’

‘He’s only forty-two,’ Amy said impatiently. ‘And he’s a very talented surgeon. You don’t have to like him, Jen. Just come to the party. For me.’

‘No way.’ Jenny pulled back the curtain. Resus 1 was ready to go again. ‘Catch you later, Amy. Looks like there’s some work to be done out here.’

A new stretcher was coming through the automatic double doors from the ambulance bay. The bed arriving from the other end of the corridor that led into the hospital was returning Mrs Benny to the emergency department. Amy caught up with her patient.

‘That was nice and quick. How are you feeling, Mrs Benny?’

‘Dreadful. They moved my leg and the pain is ever so much worse.’

‘Is is?’ Amy helped the orderly position the bed back in cubicle 4. ‘I’ll get one of the doctors to come and organise some more pain relief for you.’

Amy’s route to notify one of the registrars of Mrs Benny’s need for more analgesia took her past Jennifer, who was helping a woman towards the toilet. The smile that the two nurses exchanged was fleeting but it was enough to reassure Amy that Jennifer was not really bothered by her persistent efforts over the last week directed at getting her to accept the party invitation.

The difference of opinion concerning Amy’s dating of orthopaedic surgeon Nigel Wesley hadn’t been enough to seriously compromise their friendship. Yet. Amy’s spirits sank a little further. That was something that could well change after tonight, and Amy dreaded that possibility. Somehow she had to warn Jennifer of developments and ensure that their friendship wasn’t going to suffer irreparably. Persuading her to attend the party and then making sure she enjoyed herself was the only plan Amy had, so far, been able to concoct.

Perhaps she should just come straight out with it and tell Jennifer the truth. If she was really confident that she was doing the right thing, then it shouldn’t be a problem, but confidence was an emotion that Amy generally associated only with her professional abilities. Anything else was too risky to be confident about, but this was a risk she was happy enough to take. It was the right thing to do. It had to be. Time was running out in more ways than one.

Maybe the doubts that were troubling her were due to the sneaking suspicion that a friendship might have to be sacrificed. Not just any friendship either. The one and only really close relationship that Amy had ever had with another person. Nobody else had ever come close. Not her school friends and definitely not her parents. Not even Nigel. Maybe especially Nigel. Jen was the one person in the world who loved Amy for who she really was. Jen made her feel good about herself and had always supported her wholeheartedly. Well, almost always. At least until Nigel Wesley had surprisingly shown an interest in Senior Nurse Amy Brooks.

Gladys Benny was transferred to a ward half an hour later. Due to her patient’s reluctance to let go of her hand, Amy accompanied the bed as far as the lift. It was on her return that she spotted the man for the third time. He was now in the emergency observation area—a mini-ward, adjacent to Emergency, that could hold non-urgent patients for up to twenty-four hours until a decision was made regarding their need for admission. Amy didn’t give him the chance to look in her direction this time. She sped on and didn’t stop until she found Jennifer. She followed her friend into the sluice room.

‘Who is that man in the leather jacket?’ Amy demanded. ‘He’s been hanging around Emergency all day.’

‘So have I,’ Jennifer groaned. She dropped the container she was carrying into the infectious waste disposal unit and stripped off her gloves. ‘My feet hurt.’ She gave Amy a concerned glance. ‘How’s your leg?’

‘Fine.’ Amy wasn’t going to be distracted. ‘You must have noticed him,’ she persisted.

‘Why? Is he cute?’

‘I suppose,’ Amy admitted grudgingly. ‘He’s tall with straight black hair. Kind of spiky.’ She eyed Jennifer’s tufts of short blonde hair. ‘A bit like yours, only longer.’

‘I like him already,’ Jennifer declared. ‘Who’s he in here to see?’

‘That’s what I was trying to find out.’ Amy shook her head. ‘He looks too happy to be a relative.’

‘If he looks happy, he can’t be a staff member either.’ Jennifer grinned.

‘I’m not sure about that. Noel Fenton was introducing him to Gareth a while ago.’

‘What?’ Jennifer’s jaw slackened. ‘You mean Noel Fenton was here and I didn’t notice?’ Her face screwed itself into total dismay. ‘Damn it! That probably means he didn’t notice me either.’

Amy looked suddenly thoughtful. ‘Noel is Nigel’s registrar.’

‘I know that.’ Jennifer leaned back against the wall, clearly grateful for a short respite. ‘Just because Noel is indescribably gorgeous doesn’t make Nigel suitable, however. You could do so much better for yourself, Amy.’

‘I haven’t so far.’ Amy lost her train of thought regarding Noel Fenton. ‘I’m nearly thirty, Jen.’

‘So? You’re gorgeous. Far too good for Mr Wesley.’ She nudged Amy. ‘You might have hazel eyes instead of blue but, as Patrick says, you’re an angel, to be sure.’

Amy laughed. ‘If I’m so terrific, how come all my romances have been such dismal failures?’ she countered.

‘You just haven’t found the right man.’

Amy took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I have now.’

‘Ha!’ Jennifer shook her head vigorously. ‘For God’s sake, Amy. Nigel Wesley still lives with his mother!’

‘It’s a huge house. She has a completely self-contained wing. They lead totally separate lives.’

Jennifer eyed her dubiously.

‘The house is awesome, Jen. You really should come and see it. There’s an indoor swimming pool and a conservatory. Six bedrooms and all of them have en suite bathrooms.’

‘You sound like a real estate agent.’

‘The garden’s well worth seeing. It got photographed for House and Garden last year.’

‘It’ll be dark.’

‘It’s floodlit,’ Amy told her enthusiastically. ‘And the kitchen’s amazing. All stainless steel and very high tech.’

‘Sounds like an operating theatre.’ Jennifer giggled. ‘Does the food come out on a tray covered with a sterile drape?’

‘There’s a breakfast room that leads into the conservatory. It has cane furniture and lots of bright cushions. It’s really rather nice.’

‘You sound like you’re planning to move in.’

Amy’s hesitation was just long enough for Jennifer’s eyes to widen in a horrified expression. ‘This party that you’re so keen to drag me along to tonight. You’re not…’ Jennifer swallowed deliberately. ‘It’s not for some special announcement, is it?’

‘Please, come, Jen.’ Amy bit her lip. ‘I need you there. I need someone on my side.’

‘If it feels like a battle then it’s not right. Don’t do it, Amy.’

‘I’m not talking about Nigel. It’s the rest of them I’m not so sure of. And I don’t think his mother really likes me.’ Desperation planted a last ray of hope for Amy as she remembered her earlier inspiration. ‘Hey, Jen? What if I got Nigel to invite Noel Fenton to the party?’

‘He’d probably bring his wife.’

‘I don’t think he’s married. In fact, I’m sure he isn’t. You could wear something gorgeous and he’d have to notice you. You’d stand out a mile amongst all those consultants’ wives.’ Amy had noticed the gleam of interest her friend was trying to disguise. ‘I can see it now,’ she said cunningly. ‘There they all are. Middle-aged and dressed in sophisticated but terribly boring black evening dresses. And there you are—wearing something—’

‘Black,’ Jennifer supplied. She grinned at Amy’s frown. ‘But black with a difference.’ She straightened and headed for the door. ‘I like it,’ she announced. ‘I think I will come to your party after all.’

Amy breathed an inward sigh of relief. A bit of moral support was all she needed to make the evening perfect.

‘You know…’ Jennifer had paused in the sluice room doorway to glance back at Amy. ‘I think tonight might just be a turning point in life.’

Amy nodded happily. ‘For both of us.’ She was still smiling as Jennifer disappeared. It was certainly going to be the turning point of her own life.

Amy Brooks had no doubt at all about that.

CHAPTER TWO

THE nudge from Jennifer Bowman’s elbow was none too gentle.

‘What is that, might I ask?’

Amy’s smile was embarrassed. ‘It’s a string quartet,’ she admitted.

‘And where is it?’

‘In the conservatory.’

‘And where is Noel?’ Jennifer asked pointedly.

‘I’m not sure.’ Amy cast a hopeful glance at the new faces appearing in the crowded drawing room. ‘He’ll be here very soon, I expect.’

‘He’d better be,’ Jennifer muttered darkly. She, too, glanced at the gathering of people. ‘This is even worse than I expected. Look—half of them are drinking sherry.’

‘I see you found the champagne, though.’

‘Of course. Where’s yours?’

‘I finished it already.’ Amy bit her lip. ‘I think I was a bit nervous.’

‘So? Have another one.’ Jennifer signalled a waiter who arrived at her side bearing a tray of crystal flutes, the pale gold liquid they contained fizzing discreetly. Jen winked at Amy. ‘I could get used to this. I’m even beginning to understand the attraction of Nigel Wesley.’

‘Shh. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.’ Amy took a sip from her glass. ‘I’m supposed to be in the foyer with Nigel, greeting the new arrivals. He’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long in the bathroom.’

‘Let him wonder,’ Jennifer advised. ‘Every woman needs a mystery or two.’

‘Where did you disappear to when I was in the bathroom?’

‘I was checking out the conservatory.’ Jennifer waved vaguely behind her then grinned at Amy. ‘You’ll never believe this, but I met a vampire.’

‘Oh, sure.’ Amy took another sip of champagne. Thank goodness Jen had agreed to come to this party. She could almost pretend she was enjoying herself despite the fact that they were being largely ignored by the people around them.

‘I’m not kidding. There was this tall, tall woman with dead white skin and jet black hair, all scraped back into a net thing. She had blood red lips and matching nails.’

Amy couldn’t stifle her smile. ‘I think you just met Lorraine.’

‘Who’s Lorraine?’

‘Nigel’s mother.’

‘No!’ Jen breathed. ‘How old is she?’

‘I don’t know. Must be in her sixties, I guess.’

Jen looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe scraping your hair back tightly enough has the same effect as a face lift. She doesn’t look that old.’ Jennifer leaned closer to Amy. ‘Then again,’ she whispered, ‘being unable to go out in daylight might work quite well, too.’

Amy giggled with genuine amusement but the pleasure died swiftly as the subject of their conversation appeared beside her.

‘I’m delighted to see you enjoying yourself, Amy.’ Lorraine Wesley didn’t look particularly delighted. Her gaze swept over Jennifer briefly with an ill-concealed flicker of distaste. Amy’s hackles rose. Jennifer might have overdone things just a little, with her black mini-skirt, tight-fitting top and the number of earrings she had chosen to wear, but she looked stunning in Amy’s opinion. She had always envied her friend’s figure.

Maybe Lorraine Wesley was envious as well. The elegant black sheath dress her prospective mother-in-law was wearing revealed a body lacking any feminine curves. Lorraine’s sharp glance landed on Amy again.

‘Shouldn’t you be with Nigel at the moment?’

‘I’m on my way, Mrs Wesley,’ Amy said quickly. ‘Have you met my friend, Jennifer?’

‘Ah!’ Lorraine Wesley made it sound as though a mystery had been finally solved. She nodded with deliberate graciousness at Jennifer.

‘Jen’s my flatmate,’ Amy said defensively. ‘It’s thanks to her I had something to wear tonight. She lent me her ballgown.’ She smoothed a nervous hand over the full skirt of the floor-length, midnight blue gown.

‘Ah!’ Lorraine repeated meaningfully. ‘No wonder the bodice looks a little big for you, my dear.’ Sculptured eyebrows creased a fraction. ‘What have you got on your feet?’

Amy didn’t dare look at Jen’s expression. She took a long swallow of her champagne before poking her foot further out from the folds of the dress. ‘What’s wrong with my shoes?’

‘Nothing at all, dear,’ Lorraine assured her. ‘Except they’re flat. One should never wear flat shoes with evening dress.’ Lorraine Wesley laughed tolerantly. ‘In fact, one should probably avoid wearing flat shoes at any time.’ The older woman was turning away as she spoke. ‘Ah, Rodney! How fabulous to see you again.’

‘I should have told her I have flat feet,’ Amy muttered rebelliously. ‘And I need the shoes to match.’

Jennifer was looking unusually serious. ‘Doesn’t she know why you wear flat shoes?’

‘Of course not.’ Amy looked uncomfortable. ‘I’d better go and find Nigel. Excuse me.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Jennifer was following her. ‘I want to know something, Amy Brooks.’

‘What?’ Amy stopped near the string quartet. The music covered their voices.

‘Has Nigel ever tried to take you dancing on one of these weekly dates you’ve been having?’

‘No. We usually have dinner or go to a concert or movie. Or both. You know that.’

‘Has he ever seen you in a short skirt?’

‘Do I ever wear short skirts?’ Amy countered.

‘Exactly.’ Jennifer lowered her voice. ‘Have you slept with Nigel Wesley, Amy?’

‘Jen!’ Amy looked quickly over her shoulder.

‘Have you?’ Jen persisted.

‘Not exactly,’ Amy admitted reluctantly.

Jennifer sighed with exasperation. ‘Amy, how could you even think of marrying a man who doesn’t even know about something that significant in your life?’

‘He knows about my leg,’ Amy muttered. ‘He just hasn’t seen it. It’s not that significant, anyway. Or it shouldn’t be.’

‘But it is,’ Jennifer contradicted. ‘You know it is, Amy. It was the reason you broke up with what’s-his-name—that chap you were almost engaged to before you moved to Christchurch.’ Jennifer sounded desperate. ‘Amy, you can’t marry Nigel Wesley.’

‘Yes, I can,’ Amy said quietly. ‘It’s my choice. He asked me and I said yes.’

‘But why?’ Jennifer wailed softly.

‘Because I want a family,’ Amy said sincerely. ‘I want children. So does Nigel. He’ll be a good father. He takes his responsibilities very seriously.’

‘That’s not enough,’ Jen told her.

‘He loves me,’ Amy said firmly. ‘And I love him.’

‘Do you?’ Jennifer’s mouth twisted doubtfully. ‘Do you really love him?’

‘I think so,’ Amy replied. ‘Who really knows for sure?’

‘I would,’ Jennifer said with conviction. ‘And so should you. This isn’t good enough.’

‘It’s all that’s on offer.’ Amy drained her glass and set it down on a side table. ‘And I’m not going to lose the only chance I might ever get.’ She could see Nigel approaching. So could Jen.

‘He looks just like his mother,’ Jennifer observed casually. ‘Except she hasn’t got the beard…yet.’

Amy had to smile, she couldn’t help herself. Nigel was tall, slim and dark like his mother. His hair was swept back to sit neatly on his head. Everything about Nigel was neat. His black dinner suit fitted perfectly. The bow tie sat perfectly straight. His beard and moustache were trimmed with military precision. The impression of intolerance to anything stepping out of line was undermined only by the charming smile he directed at Amy.

‘I thought I’d lost you, darling,’ he said. ‘Come on. There’s someone I really want to introduce you to. Stuart Latimer is visiting from London.’ He linked Amy’s arm through his, gave Jennifer an apologetic inclination of his head and pulled Amy away. ‘You haven’t got a drink yet,’ he observed in surprise. ‘Let me find you a glass of champagne.’

Stuart Latimer was a large man, currently in conversation with Lorraine Wesley. He was clearly very impressed by the canapés being offered. One hand was covered by a serviette on which several small savouries nestled.

‘Delicious,’ he explained to Amy after they had been introduced. ‘Never tasted anything so good.’

‘They’re not too bad, are they?’ Lorraine looked satisfied. ‘I expect we’ll use these caterers for the wedding.’

‘When’s that going to be?’ Stuart enquired. He winked at Amy. ‘You’re a lucky girl, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, I’m the lucky one, Stuart,’ Nigel put in quickly. He slid an arm around Amy’s waist, which reminded her of her encounter with Patrick Moore earlier that day. She took a gulp of champagne.

‘October, we thought.’ Lorraine was eager to respond to Stuart’s question. ‘In a month or so.’

‘Did we?’ Amy was startled.

‘In the garden,’ Lorraine added.

‘Really?’ Amy twisted to look at Nigel. ‘I don’t remember discussing this.’

Nigel and Lorraine exchanged a glance. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ Lorraine apologised. ‘After all, we haven’t even announced the engagement.’

‘Any chance of some more nibbles?’

‘Of course, Stuart.’ Lorraine looked relieved. ‘Come with me and we’ll find someone to look after you.’

Nigel steered Amy towards another knot of people. ‘I haven’t told you how gorgeous you’re looking tonight. Just perfect. You must wear your hair loose like that more often.’

‘I’ve got flat shoes,’ Amy confessed.

‘Of course you do. High heels wouldn’t be very practical for you, would they?’

‘Your mother thinks flat shoes should never be worn.’

Nigel smiled. ‘Don’t listen to my mother.’ He bent his head close to Amy’s. ‘She can be a bit overbearing at times.’ Nigel’s breath tickled Amy’s ear. ‘We’ll make our own decisions, Amy. You and me.’

Amy took a relieved swallow of her drink. She had nothing to worry about. Nigel could handle his mother. They would choose their own wedding arrangements. She would get married in a church, just to go against Lorraine’s wishes. They would have it catered by a restaurant. And Amy would wear completely flat shoes. Amy smiled brilliantly at Nigel before turning to the man beside him.

‘You know Murray Brownlie, don’t you, Amy?’

‘Yes.’ Amy’s smile was now shy. She had seen the eminent head of general surgery on many occasions but never on a social basis. Amy listened to the rest of the introductions and then caught the surgeon’s eye.

‘Did you operate on Daniel Lever earlier today?’

‘The young man whose car had the argument with a truck?’ Murray Brownlie nodded. ‘Indeed I did. He was lucky to survive.’

‘I hear he needed a splenectomy,’ Amy said. ‘Was that the main source of the abdominal bleeding?’

‘Hard to say whether the spleen or the liver was winning in the blood loss stakes. We ran through twelve units of whole blood before we had things finally sorted. We used autologous blood as well.’

‘That’s where you collect the patient’s own blood and give it back to them, isn’t it?’ Amy asked with interest.

The surgeon nodded. ‘You aspirate clean blood from the abdomen, anticoagulate it and return it to the patient via an IV cannula with a “cell saver” system.’

‘I’ve never seen it used,’ Amy confessed. ‘Daniel must have had some massive bleeding going on.’

‘One of the biggest liver lacerations I’ve tackled in quite a while, actually.’ Murray Brownlie glanced over his shoulder and then gave Amy the ghost of a wink as he lowered his voice. ‘My wife hates me talking shop,’ he told her. ‘Whereas I simply can’t resist.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Anyway, we sutured and ligated all the bleeding points we could find on young Daniel’s liver and then drained it all, but we still couldn’t get control. It was rather frustrating.’

‘What did you do?’ Amy was listening avidly.

‘Well, we achieved temporary control by clamping the free edge of the lesser omentum.’ Murray eyed Amy cautiously. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

Amy nodded. ‘The omentum is a fold of the peritoneum that extends from the stomach to adjacent abdominal organs. The lesser omentum connects to the liver.’

The surgeon looked impressed. ‘Precisely. We considered putting in an omental pack and suturing it in place, but it wasn’t going to work so we ended up doing a hepatic lobectomy. Took quite a chunk of the lad’s liver out but it’s an amazing organ. Young Daniel should be functioning again quite normally in no time.’ Murray Brownlie smiled at Amy kindly. ‘This really does interest you, doesn’t it?’

Amy nodded. ‘I love everything about my job. I only wish I could follow the patients up more sometimes.’

‘Feel free to come and observe in Theatre any time,’ the surgeon invited. ‘Or come and visit the wards on your days off.’

‘Oh, I’d love to do that,’ Amy said. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled excitedly at Nigel who had just finished his own conversation. Amy was keenly aware of a feeling of gratitude towards Nigel as well as the head of general surgery. Nigel’s respected position at the hospital was opening all sorts of doors for her. It was rather a heady sensation, being taken seriously by someone like Murray Brownlie.

Murray turned to Nigel. ‘If this young lady is half as keen on you as she is on her job, then you’re a lucky man.’

‘I am lucky,’ Nigel agreed, smiling. ‘But I don’t think I need to compete with a job, do I, Amy?’

‘Of course not,’ Amy said obligingly. She didn’t quite follow Nigel’s meaning but dismissed the puzzle in favour of sipping her drink. A waiter appeared with a magnum wrapped in a snowy white linen cloth. He topped up her glass as an elegant woman joined them.

‘Have you met my wife, Nigel?’ Murray enquired. ‘This is Helen.’

‘Hello Nigel.’ Helen smiled. ‘I do hope my husband’s not being a bore and talking shop. This is a stunning party.’

‘Thanks.’ Nigel allowed Helen to kiss him on both cheeks.

‘I’ve just heard about Sydney. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks,’ Nigel said again. He touched Amy’s arm. ‘I must introduce you to some more people.’ He excused them from the Brownlies’ group.

‘What’s happening in Sydney?’ Amy asked.

‘Chair of Orthopaedic Surgery,’ Nigel said proudly. ‘It’s just been announced.’ He smiled at Amy. ‘They chose me.’

‘I didn’t know you’d applied.’ Amy stopped, feeling suddenly bewildered.

‘I didn’t want to disappoint you if I missed out.’ Amy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. ‘Are you planning to live in Sydney?’

‘Of course. It’s fantastic, isn’t it? I was intending to surprise you with the news later.’

‘Oh.’ Amy felt a wave of dizziness. ‘I’m surprised, Nigel.’

‘You don’t look very excited.’

‘Where am I supposed to live, Nigel? While you’re living in Sydney?’

Nigel’s smile was contrite. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Amy. You didn’t think I was planning to leave you behind, did you? I have no intention of going until after the wedding, don’t worry. We won’t have to be separated for any length of time.’

‘And this wedding is going to be in October, right?’

‘If that’s what you’d like.’ Nigel was still smiling, pleased at having sorted out the misunderstanding.

‘You mean I get a say in this after all?’

Nigel now looked disconcerted. ‘Maybe we should talk about this later, Amy.’

‘Maybe we should,’ Amy agreed. Maybe it wasn’t just Nigel’s mother who was autocratic and overbearing. Amy felt confused. There was too much she needed to think about and her brain wasn’t functioning nearly as clearly as it had been before that last glass of champagne. ‘Excuse me, Nigel, but I really need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Again?’

Amy took pleasure in ignoring Nigel’s vaguely disapproving tone. She walked out of the drawing room, through the conservatory where she helped herself to a bottle of champagne waiting on the side table. Then she let herself out of the French doors onto a verandah that overlooked the garden. Stepping carefully, Amy negotiated the steps and turned onto a path that she knew led to the summer house.

‘What does he expect?’ Amy muttered to herself. ‘He clicks his fingers and I give up my job and trot off to Sydney?’ She paused to drink champagne and top up her glass. ‘What am I supposed to be? Robo-Wife?’

Maybe Jennifer was right and she shouldn’t marry Nigel. What did he have going for him, apart from being single, successful, usually charming and apparently madly in love with her?

‘Oh, hell.’ Amy took another mouthful of wine. He had quite a lot going for him, really. Was she going to throw it all away because she felt miffed that Nigel hadn’t asked what she’d wanted before letting his mother plan the wedding?

The floodlighting hadn’t been turned on at the summer house but the white paintwork was easy enough to see in the dark. A mossy statue to one side of the garden structure was also just visible. A sort of large garden nymph holding garlands of foliage.

‘Why is it?’ Amy asked the statue, ‘that the things that really matter to me don’t seem to be important to anyone else?’

To Amy’s astonishment, the statue answered her. ‘You tell me,’ it said.

‘It’s because I was never quite good enough,’ Amy told the statue sadly. ‘I was supposed to have been a boy, you know.’

‘Really?’ The statue seemed very interested.

‘Yes.’ Amy drained her glass. ‘My father never got over the disappointment.’

‘Well, he was a bloody idiot, then, wasn’t he?’ The statue was moving. Amy gasped in horror as the figure stepped from the shadows. Even in this dim light she recognised him. He was still wearing the same faded jeans and leather jacket. Amy’s gaze travelled up to meet his. She felt that odd physical buzz again. The only eye contact in existence with the ability to caress. There could be no doubt at all, even in her fuzzy state. It was definitely the same man.

‘You’ve been following me around all day,’ Amy said accusingly. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I heard there was a party.’

Amy eyed his clothing suspiciously. ‘Were you invited, then?’

The man grinned. ‘No. I’m gatecrashing.’

Amy narrowed her gaze. ‘So why are you out here hiding in the garden, then?’

‘I’m still trying to decide whether I want to go in or not.’ He stepped closer. ‘Do you think I should?’

‘No.’ Amy tilted the bottle towards her glass. ‘It’s not much fun.’ The slosh of champagne missed her glass and foamed over her hand.

‘Here, let me.’ The man took the bottle from her hand and held the glass as he filled it. Then he took a long swallow before setting both the bottle and glass down on the white wrought-iron table. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he took hold of Amy’s hand and wiped it.

‘I’m sorry you’re not having fun,’ he commiserated.

‘So am I,’ Amy agreed wistfully. She looked at her hand. It was dry now but was still being held. Looking up, she found his gaze fixed firmly on her face. His eyes were brown. A lovely, warm, velvety brown. Comforting but disturbing at the same time. ‘Why are you staring at me?’

‘You’re a very attractive woman.’

‘You’ve been staring at me all day.’

‘You’ve been very attractive all day.’

Amy smiled. He didn’t miss a beat. A smooth talker. He was probably very good at kissing, too. Her gaze slid down involuntarily to assess his lips.

‘I’ve been thinking about that myself.’

‘About what?’ Amy murmured. She wasn’t ready to be distracted.

‘About this.’ Smoothly, he moved closer. Bent his head and touched his lips to hers. And there was Amy Brooks, absent without leave from her own engagement party, kissing a total stranger in the summer house. And she had been right. He was very good. Very, very good. Amy didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t care about breathing any more. Who needed air when you had this?

But he did stop. He drew back from her lips slowly. Maybe he didn’t really want to stop either.

‘Sent from heaven is right,’ he said in awed tones. The soft brown gaze was locked on Amy again. ‘You are an angel.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Must be something in the air. I hear that Nigel is announcing his engagement to some poor woman tonight.’

The observation had all the effect of a cold shower. ‘He is,’ Amy confirmed curtly. ‘And I’m the poor woman.’

The man let go of her as if he’d been burnt. He took a step back. ‘What the hell were you kissing me for, then?’

‘I wasn’t,’ Amy denied hotly. ‘You were kissing me.’

‘You let me.’

‘So it’s all my fault?’ Amy queried sweetly. ‘Typical!’

‘You must be mad,’ the man told her.

‘Why, because I let you kiss me? I might be inclined to agree with you there, mate.’

‘Because you’re planning to marry Nigel Wesley.’ The gaze, still fixed on Amy, darkened. He actually looked angry. ‘What’s the attraction?’ he asked unpleasantly. ‘Money?’

‘Of course not,’ Amy snapped. ‘And it’s none of your business.’ He wasn’t the only one who could get angry. ‘Just what gives you the right to express opinions on something you know absolutely nothing about?’ Amy snorted incredulously. ‘What is it about me? Even a perfect stranger thinks he can tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.’ Amy snatched up the bottle of champagne and her glass.

‘Stay out of it,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘And stop…’ She glanced over her shoulder, causing her progress down the path to weave quite dramatically. ‘Stop staring at me.’

Amy sailed back into the house, through the conservatory towards the drawing room. Jennifer was standing in the breakfast nook near the entrance to the kitchen. A waiter stood beside her holding a large silver tray covered with bite-sized savouries.

‘What’s in the little round ones?’ Jennifer was asking.

‘Satay chicken.’ The waiter seemed to be enjoying the attention.

‘And the triangles?’

‘Sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese and olives.’

‘Have you found Noel yet?’ Amy asked Jennifer.

‘No, but I forgive you anyway, Amy. These things are delicious. Have some satay chicken.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Amy stated. She eyed the mass of humanity visible through the double doors of the drawing room. Nigel’s face appeared. He frowned at Amy. Amy sighed loudly.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jennifer spoke around a mouthful of filo pastry. She grabbed another savoury from the platter as the waiter moved towards the door. He nearly collided with Nigel.

‘Amy, where on earth have you been? Lorraine’s waiting to make the announcement.’

‘I’m sure she can wait a bit longer,’ Amy said evenly. ‘Or is it getting a bit close to dawn?’

Jennifer sputtered over the remains of her pastry. Nigel’s frown deepened.

‘What?’ His expression changed to one of calculation. ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Amy?’

‘Not much,’ Amy lied. ‘In fact, I think I’ll have some more.’ She reached out and collected a full crystal flute from the silver tray another waiter was taking into the gathering. Goodness knows what she’d done with the bottle and glass she’d been holding a few minutes ago.

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ Nigel told her.

‘Amy’s quite capable of deciding when she’s had enough to drink,’ Jennifer informed Nigel.

‘That’s right.’ Amy nodded. ‘To tell the truth, I’m getting a little bit fed up with other people deciding things on my behalf.’

‘Good for you, Amy,’ Jennifer said encouragingly.

‘Yes, good for you,’ a voice echoed.

Amy swivelled sharply. There he was again! In the kitchen!

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Nigel queried coldly.

‘That’s just what I was going to ask,’ Amy said in surprise.

‘Shut up, Amy.’ Nigel was glaring at the intruder.

‘I beg your pardon? You can’t speak to me like that, Nigel.’

The man nodded calmly. ‘Damned right he can’t. You tell him, Amy.’

Jennifer grinned at the stranger. ‘I think I like you,’ she announced.

The catering staff had all paused in their tasks. They were staring openly at the scene unfolding before them in the breakfast room.

Nigel took hold of Amy’s arm. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered curtly.

‘No,’ Amy protested but her legs were too wobbly to cooperate. She found herself being pulled across the hallway and into the throng of guests. Her support team had vanished. She was in enemy territory again. Gaps appeared in the crowd as Nigel moved purposefully forward. Greetings and conversational openings were acknowledged merely by a brisk nod from Nigel. Then the progress halted abruptly. Nigel’s registrar, Noel Fenton, was standing in front of them.

‘Noel,’ Amy said happily. ‘Jen’s been looking for you.’

‘Jen? Who’s Jen?’

‘Never mind,’ Nigel snapped. ‘Listen, Noel. Amy needs to go home. She’s over-indulged a little. Can I leave it to you to—?’

‘Jennifer Bowman, my flatmate,’ Amy told Noel earnestly. ‘She’s very keen to meet you and I promised—’

‘Amy!’ Nigel gave her arm a shake.

Amy jerked away from his hand. ‘Don’t shake me, Nigel,’ she warned sharply. ‘And don’t tell me to shut up again either.’

Lorraine glided into view. Her voice was deceptively light. ‘Goodness me! What is going on?’

‘I’ll tell you,’ Amy volunteered. ‘Nigel thinks I’m a sort of puppet. He can shake me and I’ll do whatever he thinks I should do.’

‘Nigel?’ Lorraine’s tone carried a distinct ‘please explain’ message. Amy was delighted to see the composure crack.

‘Nigel thinks I’m going to live in Sydney,’ she told Lorraine. ‘He thinks my job doesn’t matter a damn and I’ll just give it up. Just like that!’ Amy tried to click her fingers but the result was unsatisfyingly muted. She tried again.

Lorraine glanced around them. Several nearby people had fallen silent and were pretending not to be watching. She gave an apologetic laugh. ‘Really, Amy. I think you might be overreacting.’

‘You would think that,’ Amy agreed. ‘But you’re just as bad as he is. You’ve even got my wedding all planned and you didn’t bother talking to me about it, did you?’

More people were listening. The first group had given up any pretence of not being fascinated. They had been joined by Jennifer and the stranger in the leather jacket.

‘I have an announcement to make.’ Amy took a breath, hoping that the loud buzzing in her head might dissipate. She handed her glass to Noel who looked like he was trying his best not to smile.

‘I’m not going to marry you, Nigel,’ Amy said loudly. ‘I’d rather…’ She paused as a wave of dizziness threatened her upright posture.

‘Go, Amy!’ Jen crowed.

Amy smiled lopsidedly. ‘I’d rather go home and stick needles in my eyes,’ she told Nigel.

‘Definitely preferable,’ the stranger agreed. He and Jen exchanged a grin.

‘Going home is certainly a good idea,’ Nigel said coldly. ‘I’ll drive you myself.’

‘No way!’ Amy wagged a finger at Nigel. ‘You’re not doing anything for me, Nigel Wesley.’ She could feel herself swaying. ‘You know what I think you should do, Nigel?’ Amy didn’t wait for a response. Her voice rose triumphantly and she enunciated with dramatic deliberation. ‘I think you should marry your mother!’

Only Amy seemed to find this funny. The silence in the room was now absolute. Even the string quartet in the conservatory had stopped providing any background music. Jennifer and her companion exchanged another glance. Then the man stepped forward.

‘Time to go, Amy,’ he suggested firmly.

Before she could make any kind of protest, Amy found herself swept up in the man’s arms. He turned and strode out of the room. For the first time Amy became aware of the amount of attention she had drawn to herself. Shocked and disapproving faces seemed to be turned on her from every direction.

‘Oh, no!’ Amy moaned. She buried her face in the leather-covered shoulder, wrapping her arms around the man’s neck to make her defensive position more secure.

‘What have I done?’

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