POSH DOCS

Honorable, eligible and in demand!

Meet the Honorable Radleys:

Baron Rupert Charles

The Honorable Sebastian Henry

The Honorable Victoria

Three aristocratic doctors, the very best in their field, but who just can’t avoid the limelight!

In this exciting and emotional new trilogy from bestselling author Kate Hardy, read how these eligible medics do their best to stay single—but find love where they least expect it.

His Honorable Surgeon Victoria, a hard-working and ambitious registrar in neurology meets her match in new consultant Jake Lewis.

Dear Reader,

I really enjoy the research aspects of writing medical novels, which is why His Honorable Surgeon is set in the neurology department. The Honorable Victoria Radley’s eldest brother (from Her Celebrity Surgeon) is a plastic surgeon and her middle brother (from Her Honorable Playboy) is an emergency specialist. So how could a girl who’d refused to be a debutante, top what her brothers do? You guessed it. Vicky becomes a brain surgeon.

I also wanted to explore what would happen if a posh girl falls in love with the boy next door—Jake Lewis. He’s Vicky’s complete opposite, but the attraction between them is too strong to be denied. And because I love emotional dramas, I gave them high stakes in the book. Something neither of them can walk away from. So there was only one thing that would work; true love. Which is exactly what Jake and Vicky find.

I had my editor wiping away a tear with this one, but there definitely is a happy ending.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com.

With love,

Kate Hardy

His Honorable Surgeon

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘ISN’T she the most gorgeous baby you’ve ever seen?’

Vicky cuddled her new niece and hid her grin. If anyone had told her a year ago that her middle brother would be completely besotted with a baby, she’d have laughed—Seb had been the ultimate playboy and had run a mile from children. Now he was married with a daughter. And it looked as if Chloë Victoria Radley was going to have her daddy wrapped right round her tiny little finger. ‘Yes, Seb. She’s lovely.’

‘And Alyssa and I wondered if you’d do us a favour,’ Seb continued.

Babysit? Sure—except she couldn’t see him letting his daughter out of his sight for long enough! ‘What?’ she asked.

‘Would you be her godmother?’

Godmother. It’d be the nearest Vicky would ever come to having children of her own. Her older brothers might be happily married and settled down, but it wasn’t for her. She didn’t have time to be a wife and mother—not if she wanted to become professor of neurology, because the glass ceiling was still well and truly there. To prove herself, she’d already had to work twice as hard as the men in her field. Which meant making sacrifices. That meant no serious relationships—and no baby.

Though, holding Chloë in her arms and breathing in that sweet new-baby smell, for a brief second Vicky wondered if it was worth it.

Then she banished the doubt. Of course it was. It was what she’d always wanted to be, ever since she’d been tiny. To be a senior doctor and really make a difference. And she knew she couldn’t have it all—so what was the point in wondering ‘what if’?

‘Vic?’ Seb looked worried. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re working too hard. Vic, I know you want to be professor—and I also know you’ll make it. But don’t kill yourself in the process.’

‘I’m fine,’ Vicky repeated. ‘Don’t nag.’

‘I could set Alyssa on you. Or Sophie. Or both.’

Vicky smiled. ‘It won’t work, Seb.’ Her sisters-in-law were both doctors, too—Alyssa worked in emergency medicine and Sophie was a surgeon. ‘They know the score.’

For a moment, she thought Seb was going to argue, then he gave a resigned sigh. ‘All right. I’ll shut up about that. So, will you?’

‘What?’

‘Be godmother.’ Seb rolled his eyes. ‘Hopeless. Ask you a question about neurosurgery and you’ll talk for hours. Ask you about something social…’

‘I’m not that much of a nerd. And, thank you, I’d be honoured to be godmother.’ Vicky smiled. ‘Especially as you named my very first niece after me.’

‘If she has half your qualities, I’ll be proud of her,’ Seb said.

Vicky blinked. Was she hearing things? Had her brother—who normally teased her stupid—just paid her an incredible compliment? ‘Marriage has definitely made you soppy.’

‘No. I’ve realised what’s important. And there’s more to life than your job.’

Vicky had a nasty feeling she knew what was coming next. ‘Don’t you dare try to matchmake. I’m perfectly happy as I am. I stayed out of it with you and Charlie.’

‘Liar. You arranged a fundraising raffle, offering a date with me as the prize to buy Charlie some time away from the paparazzi’s attention so he could work things out with Sophie. And you as good as told Alyssa she had to marry me.’

‘Don’t listen to your daddy,’ Vicky informed her niece. ‘I didn’t interfere at all. I just pointed a few things out and helped them see their way a little.’

‘And I’m very glad you did,’ Alyssa said, joining them in the living room. ‘Has Seb asked you?’

‘Yes. And I’m delighted to accept.’

‘Good.’ Alyssa smiled warmly at her. ‘Though what I heard Seb saying is right. You do work too hard, Vic.’

‘And I like being that way. End of discussion,’ Vicky said. Though she was canny enough to go for the ultimate distraction, where new parents were concerned. ‘Are Chloë’s official photographs back, yet?’

To her relief, both Alyssa and Seb took the bait and were soon clucking over their baby’s first official photographs—and Vicky’s personal life was left where she liked it best.

Ignored.

CHAPTER ONE

JAKE walked quietly into the neurology department in the middle of the Wednesday morning—the day before he was supposed to start. A bit sneaky, perhaps, but he knew it was the best way to see what his new department was really like. When nobody was on their best behaviour, waiting for their new consultant to turn up.

Everything seemed fine. The department was busy, but calm and quiet: clearly the team was well established. The ward was clean and there were gel dispensers by every bed: another good sign. He’d worked in some truly horrible places where the admin staff wasted money left, right and centre and important things—like basic hygiene—suffered.

There was a board to say where the doctors and senior nursing staff were, and another to show who was looking after which patient, so communications were good, too. It was definitely a well-run department.

And then a woman stepped out in front of him. She was clearly a doctor, because she was wearing an open white coat and there was a hospital identity badge round her neck on a lanyard. Though she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever set eyes on. Tall—nearly five feet ten, he’d guess, because in heels she could look him in the eye. Long, long legs, and her dark suit didn’t hide the fact that she was all curves. Dark wavy hair, caught back at the nape of her neck. Slate-blue eyes. And the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen.

Every nerve in his body hummed. For a moment, he forgot where he was. Who he was. He just wanted to take that one step forward, pull her into his arms, loosen her hair, bend her back over his arm and kiss her. Just like in the movies.

‘Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?’

The plummy accent shattered the dream and brought him back to reality. Sex goddesses didn’t have silver spoons in their mouths, and this one was definitely posh—and rich, because on closer inspection that suit looked as if it was a designer cut. Plus, in his experience, doctors of that class who weren’t working in private practice were usually just waiting in a cushy niche until something better came along.

Add the fact that she was just about to become his colleague, and that put her way off limits. On the rare times he did date, it was never another member of staff in his department. He’d seen first-hand what a mess it made at work when the relationship ended. Awkwardness at work, the headache of working out new rotas so the once-close couple were on opposite shift patterns…It just wasn’t worth it.

Even if she was the first woman in a long time to make his skin tingle like that.

‘Thank you, but I’m fine,’ he said coolly.

Though he couldn’t just pretend he’d wandered in off the street. He’d have to work with her—Dr Victoria Radley, according to her ID card—tomorrow, and playing games now would just make things awkward later on. Better tell the truth. ‘I’m Jake Lewis.’ He held out his hand.

‘You’re a day early.’

He felt the flush steal over his cheekbones, and was cross with himself for it. He was her senior, for goodness’ sake. Why was he acting as if he were the naughty schoolboy and she was the headmistress? ‘I was passing, so I thought I’d drop in.’

Drop in? More like he was giving them the once-over before he started, Vicky thought.

Which was just what she would have done, in his shoes.

She took his hand and shook it briefly. Firm grip, dry palm—good. But there was something else. Something odd. Even though he wasn’t touching her any more, she could still feel his skin against hers. And although it had been a businesslike handshake, it had felt somehow intimate. Almost caressing.

She shook herself. How ridiculous. She never, ever had fantasies like this. Particularly about co-workers.

As consultants went, Jake Lewis was a little…different. Cheap suit, cheap shoes. Most of the ones she’d met were keen to show off their tailor-made clothing and hand-made Italian shoes. Maybe Jake Lewis wasn’t interested in fashion; maybe, refreshingly, he was more interested in medicine.

Not that it should bother her either way. She’d already placed him neatly in his pigeonhole. The one marked ‘C’ for colleague. Not ‘L’. That pigeonhole was nailed up, and she intended it to stay that way. No distractions.

She summoned up her professionalism. ‘You’ve just missed a ward round. But I can round up the staff who are in if you’d like to meet them.’

‘No, I’ll leave it until tomorrow.’

Abrupt. Hmm. She just hoped his people skills were a bit better when it came to patients. Shame. If he smiled, he’d be very nice-looking. Tall enough to look her in the eye. Dark, soulful eyes. Dark hair that flopped over his forehead and was just a little too long at the back. And a mouth that made her want to reach out and touch…

Um, no. Apart from the fact that he was going to be her colleague in less than twenty-four hours’ time—a senior colleague, at that—she didn’t do this sort of thing. Work 1, Relationships 0. That was the score: the way it had always been and always would be, at least until she became a professor of neurology. Then she might reassess the situation. But absolutely not until then.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to see?’ Ugh. That sounded as if she was flirting with him. Which she wasn’t. Gritting her teeth, she added, ‘What I mean is, it might save time tomorrow if I show you where the staffroom is, the lockers and the kitchen.’

Anything else you’d like to see? Jake really was going to have to drag his mind out of the gutter. He just hoped he didn’t have a dopey look on his face. Mind you, Victoria Radley was probably used to men falling at her feet. Any man with red blood in his veins would have a bad case of lust within seconds of meeting her. ‘No, I’ll leave it.’ Basically because he couldn’t trust himself. If he followed her, he’d be assessing the way she walked. Watching the curve of her bottom. Wanting to touch. Wanting to spin her round and kiss her. ‘I just dropped by on impulse.’

The look on her face said she didn’t believe a word of it.

‘And I’m sure you’ve got things to do,’ he added.

The amusement vanished from her face, and he realised what he’d said. He’d meant it as ‘I don’t want to take up your time’, but she’d clearly taken it as ‘You’re slacking’. Hell.

Before he could explain, she said coolly, ‘You’re quite right. No doubt I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Lewis.’

And she turned on her heel and walked away.

Jake swore to himself. If he left it, she’d be all ice towards him tomorrow—and she’d probably tell her colleagues that the new boy was going to throw his weight around. If he chased after her and explained himself, he’d end up sounding like a gibbering idiot. Either way, he lost.

Well, icy professional was marginally better than fool. They’d soon find that he thawed out. So he’d take the lesser of the two evils. And he’d sort it out with Victoria Radley tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I WONDER if Jake’s single?’ Gemma, the ward sister, asked.

Vicky shrugged. ‘I’m more interested in whether he’s good at his job.’

Gemma gave Vicky a searching look, which Vicky ignored. Honestly. When would her colleagues understand? She wasn’t interested in having a relationship until she’d got where she wanted to be in her career. And she really wasn’t interested in Jake Lewis, their new consultant. She was still annoyed with him about yesterday—she’d tried to make him feel welcome, and he’d made her feel as if she were slacking.

He’d find out his mistake soon enough. Victoria Charlotte Radley was far from being a slacker. And although part of her wanted to see him eat humble pie, the sensible part of her knew it was best to just ignore it and get on with her job. Emotions of any sort—except where her brothers and new niece were concerned—just weren’t part of her life.

‘He seems nice. And you have to admit, he’s good-looking,’ Gemma continued. ‘Tall, dark and handsome to a T! And those eyes—they’re really come-to-bed. Like melted chocolate.’

Vicky sighed inwardly. Either Gemma hadn’t got the message or she didn’t want to. Before Vicky had a chance to explain—firmly but politely—that she really couldn’t care less if every other woman in the hospital thought Jake Lewis was sex on legs, because it really wasn’t relevant, her pager bleeped.

She glanced at the display. ‘I’m needed in ED. I’ll finish the ward round later and I’ll ring down when I know which theatre I’m in.’

‘OK. I’ll fill the board in for you,’ Gemma said.

‘Thank you.’ Vicky smiled at her and headed for the emergency department.

‘Dr Radley—you paged me,’ she said to the receptionist.

‘Yes—it’s one of Hugh’s patients. I’ll just get him for you.’ She returned with a doctor in tow.

‘Hugh Francis, SHO. Thanks for coming, Dr Radley,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I’ve got a ten-year-old with a suspected subdural haematoma.’

‘Did he fall?’ Vicky asked.

‘Tripped up and hit his head on a skateboard ramp.’

Vicky frowned. ‘Wasn’t he wearing a helmet?’

‘I couldn’t get much out of him,’ Hugh admitted. ‘He was pretty scared. But he told Ruth—one of our staff nurses—that he’s been having some problems with bullies. A gang of them waylaid him in the park this morning on the way to school, kept on and on about how useless he was and how he couldn’t do some move or other on the skateboard ramp. They goaded him into trying it—but, of course, he didn’t have a helmet with him and they said he was a coward if he didn’t do it without.’

Vicky groaned. ‘And he thought they’d lay off if he did what they wanted.’

‘Something like that.’

But bullies never let up. If you proved yourself and did what they said you couldn’t do, they’d find something else. On and on. Nag, nag, nag—until you finally snapped. And girls were probably worse than boys, because they went for mental torture. Being clever and being an Hon. had marked Vicky as a major target at school. She hadn’t said a word to her mother, knowing that Mara had been too self-absorbed to do anything about it. But Charlie had found Vicky crying one afternoon after school and had made her tell him what was wrong. He and Seb had taught their younger sister the rudiments of judo so she could defend herself—and Vicky had practised on them enough to make sure that when she finally gave in to the demands for a cat-fight on the playing field, she’d left the bullies flat on their backs and crying. She’d had detention every lunch-time for half a term afterwards, but it had been worth it. The bullying had stopped.

‘Poor kid,’ she said feelingly. ‘Was he knocked out, do you know?’

‘He says not. But he was late for school, and the teacher picked up that he seemed a bit confused and drowsy. She wondered if he’d been sniffing glue or something and sent him to the first-aid room. He said he had a headache but wouldn’t tell anyone anything.’

Of course not. If you told, it just drove the bullying underground. They were sweetness and light in front of the teachers, and when you were on your own you were really in for it. No more nasty letters, because they could be traced back—but there would be name-calling, deliberately breaking your things, accidentally-on-purpose tripping you up, or taking something precious and playing ‘catch’ with it until you were running frantically around like a hamster on a wheel, desperate to get it back.

She forced the memories back and stiffened her backbone. ‘Lucky the first-aider sent him to us, then,’ she said.

‘She couldn’t smell any substances. So she called his parents and told them to get him here, stat.’

‘Good. What have you done so far?’

‘GCS 11, pupils equal and reactive, ears OK.’ Hugh frowned. ‘But I’m not happy with his blood pressure, pulse or respirations.’

‘Checked the eyes with an ophthalmoscope?’ she asked.

‘Yep. I think the intracranial pressure’s rising, but I want a specialist’s opinion.’

‘OK. I’ll take a look. I think a CT scan’s a good idea—can you organise one?’

‘Already booked.’

Vicky smiled. Just what she liked to see: a junior doctor who knew what he was doing and who had the confidence to act on his own initiative. If this was the way Hugh Francis usually worked, he’d be in the running for the next registrar’s post in ED. ‘Well done.’ She walked with him to the cubicles. A pale, gangling boy was lying on the bed, and a worried-looking woman was sitting next to him.

‘Mrs Foster, this is Dr Radley. She’s a neurology specialist,’ Hugh introduced her. ‘Dr Radley, this is Declan.’

‘Hello, Declan—Mrs Foster.’ Vicky sat down on the side of Declan’s bed and held the boy’s hand. ‘My name’s Vicky, and I’m going to be looking after you for a bit. I hear you’ve had a bit of an argument with a skateboard ramp. I’m just going to have a look in your eyes, if that’s all right with you, and then we’re going to send you for a scan to see if there’s anything making you feel rough.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Don’t want to be any trouble.’

‘Hey, that’s what I’m here for.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll sort it out, sweetheart.’

Hugh handed her the ophthalmoscope. She checked in Declan’s eyes, and nodded. ‘Yes, I definitely want to see a scan. Do you know what a CT scan is, Declan?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a special sort of X-ray that takes pictures of your head from lots of different angles—it pictures slices inside your head. I’ll show you them later on a computer, if you like—not many people get to see inside their own heads. And I might be able to arrange a film to be printed for you so you can show your mates later.’

‘Haven’t got any mates.’

It was said without any emotion, as if he didn’t care, but Vicky would bet otherwise. She remembered that feeling herself, only too well. Being an outsider, the last person picked for a team, and trying to pretend to everyone else that it didn’t matter…when it did. ‘Do you go to an all-boys school?’ she asked.

‘No.’

Half her problems had stemmed from going to a single-sex school where she just hadn’t fitted in. If she’d gone to a co-ed school, things might have been very different. ‘Let me give you a little bit of advice,’ she said softly. ‘Try chatting to the girls.’ Ten was an awkward age: boys still thought that girls were silly, and it was uncool to be seen talking to them. But what did Declan have to lose? Nothing but his loneliness. ‘You might find some of them like the same things you do.’

‘Girls don’t like Game Boys,’ Declan said. ‘Or the Romans.’

‘I liked computers when I was your age,’ Vicky told him. ‘So I reckon you might be in for a nice surprise. Give it a try. What have you got to lose?’ She smiled at him. ‘Now, Hugh here’s going to take you off for a scan, and I’m going to have a chat with your mum.’

‘Don’t tell school,’ Declan said. ‘Don’t tell them.’ He nearly choked. ‘Don’t say what I told you. Please, don’t.’

‘It’s OK,’ Vicky soothed. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.’

Mrs Foster had clearly only just been holding it together, because a tear leaked down her face when Hugh wheeled Declan out. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping a hand across her face. ‘I just feel so useless. I had no idea he was being bullied—what kind of parent does that make me?’

‘A normal one,’ Vicky reassured you. ‘Believe me, it can be very hard to tell if kids are being bullied. Sometimes they go a bit quiet, sometimes they go the other way. But until they’re ready to tell you, you won’t know.’ She’d done that herself. Kept it in, because she’d believed it was her fault and if anyone knew they’d despise her and treat her like dirt, too.

‘Oh, God. I don’t know what those little bastards have done to him. Or how long it’s been going on—he won’t say.’

‘When you’re bullied, you try to hide it—you don’t want anyone knowing, in case the bullies get in trouble, because you’re scared that then it’ll get worse,’ Vicky said gently. ‘Or that somehow it’s your fault, because you’re different in some way—whether it’s the way you talk, the colour of your hair, or you’ve got freckles. Whatever distinguishes you. But at least you know now, so you can help him. Keep his self-esteem high by praising him and making it specific so he knows you mean it and you’re not just being nice, and maybe get him some martial arts lessons.’

‘So he can hit back, you mean?’

‘So he can defend himself against physical stuff,’ Vicky corrected her dryly. ‘Mrs Foster, I need to know a few things about Declan before I can do anything to treat him. Would you mind answering a few questions for me, please?’

Mrs Foster nodded. ‘If I can.’

‘Has he had any previous head injuries?’

‘Not that I know of.’

Good. ‘Is there any family history of easy bruising, or bleeding that doesn’t stop?’

‘No.’

Even better. ‘Has Declan ever had a cerebral shunt?’

‘What’s one of those?’ Mrs Foster asked.

‘If he’d had hydrocephalus as a child, we would have operated to put a special valve in his head to drain off excess fluid—and it would have been replaced several times before now as he grew bigger,’ Vicky explained. And Mrs Foster would definitely have known what a cerebral shunt was—the fact she’d asked meant it was highly unlikely Declan had had one.

Mrs Foster shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Does he have any allergies—penicillin or anything like that?’

‘No. He’s always been so healthy.’

Even so, Vicky needed to ask the last question. ‘Is he taking any medication?’

‘No. What’s wrong with him?’

‘I’ll know more when I see the results of his scan, but I think he’s got a subdural haematoma. That’s a blood clot between the tissue of his brain and the membrane called the dura mater, which goes between his brain and his skull. It sometimes happens after someone bangs their head hard—the bridging veins between the brain and the membrane stretch and tear, a bit of blood leaks out and forms a clot.’

Mrs Foster’s face turned a shade paler. ‘Does that mean you’ll have to operate?’

‘I won’t know until I see the scan,’ Vicky answered honestly. ‘Sometimes we can treat it without operating—just by careful monitoring—because smaller ones tend to go away on their own, but sometimes we need to operate before it puts too much pressure on the brain.’

‘Oh, my baby,’ Mrs Foster whispered.

‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’

‘M-my husband’s on his way.’

‘Good. If you want me to run through anything with you again, or you’ve got any questions, just let me know. That’s what I’m here for.’

Mr Foster had arrived by the time Declan had had his scan. Vicky reviewed the files and pointed out one area to Hugh. ‘I’m really not happy about this. I’m going to have to take him to Theatre.’ She went back in to see Declan and his parents.

‘Was the scan all right?’ Mr Foster asked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Vicky said gently. ‘It showed me there’s a clot forming between Declan’s brain and the membrane covering it. It’s pressing down on the brain and causing pressure, which makes the brain swell and not enough oxygen gets to it—that’s why Declan’s finding it a bit difficult to see and why he’s sounding a bit confused. The good news is that I can operate—he’ll have a general anaesthetic, and I’ll cut a tiny lid into his skull so I can get the clot out. He’ll need to be in here for about a week so we can keep an eye on him, but he should be fine.’

‘Is he going to die?’ Mrs Foster mouthed, turning her face away so Declan wouldn’t see the question.

‘There are risks, yes, but it’s much safer to do the operation than to leave it,’ Vicky said quietly. ‘He’ll have a headache afterwards, but he won’t be in any real pain.’

‘I’ll kill them,’ Mr Foster said between gritted teeth. ‘I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to our Declan. Just leave me on my own with them with a cricket bat.’

‘Neil, no,’ Mrs Foster said. ‘You can’t do that. That makes you as bad as they are.’

‘Well, they’re not going to get away with it,’ Mr Foster declared.

‘There are things you can do,’ Vicky said quietly. ‘But, right now, let’s concentrate on getting Declan sorted.’

While Declan was being prepped for Theatre, Vicky rang up to the ward. ‘I’m going to be in Theatre Five.’ And this was the bit she’d been dreading and looking forward to at the same time. ‘Could you page Mr Lewis?’ It didn’t really matter whether she led or assisted: this was where she’d see what he was made of, and whether he was better with patients than he was with the staff. Or, at least, than he was with her.

She’d just scrubbed up when he came into the room. ‘What have we got?’

‘Craniotomy, to remove a subdural haematoma. The files are there, if you want to take a look.’

Jake reviewed the files swiftly. ‘Good call. Have you done a craniotomy before?’

She nodded. ‘I’d use a linear incision rather than the standard reverse question-mark incision in this case. We’ve pinpointed exactly where the haematoma is—and a linear incision will mean we spend less time controlling bleeding and it reduces surgery time.’

Jake’s dark, dark eyes appraised her—and she thought she saw the glimmering of respect. But luckily she was prepared for his next comment. ‘Good call. I’ll lead, you assist.’

She’d told herself it didn’t matter: but it did. ‘How about I lead,’ she said, ‘and if you don’t like the way I do it, you can take over?’

He finished scrubbing up before he answered her. ‘All right. But you talk me through exactly what you’re doing and why.’

Her mouth tightened behind her mask. ‘Like a junior?’

‘Like any other senior registrar on their first operation with a new consultant. It’s a quick way of getting to know how we both work.’

Fair enough. He was still a bit abrupt for her liking, but maybe he’d discovered that she was the daughter of a baron and thought she was just playing at being a doctor. This was her chance to prove to him that she was serious—and she wasn’t going to blow that chance.

As part of the preparation, Declan’s head had been completely shaved. Instead of making him look like a thug, the haircut made him look like a defenceless little boy. Which was exactly what he was.

But there was no room for sentiment or emotion here in Theatre. Vicky had a job to do. And she was going to do it well.

‘This is where I’m going to cut,’ she said, indicating the area on Declan’s head.

‘OK,’ Jake said.

Deftly, she cut through the layers of skin, muscle and membrane at the site. ‘Burr-holes next,’ she said, drilling a series of tiny holes. ‘The bone’s not too thick at this point, so I don’t need to drill them very, very close together.’

She talked him through the rest of the operation—using a Gigli’s saw, passed between the burr-holes using a malleable saw guide, then lifting the lid of bone back on a hinge of muscle so she could open the dura mater to reveal the inner membranes. ‘Here’s the clot. Suction and irrigation,’ she said, working carefully to remove the clot. ‘Here’s the ruptured blood vessel. I’m going to clip it here.’

When she’d finished and was sure the blood vessel had stopped leaking, she gently replaced the bone, ready to sew the membranes, muscles and skin back into position.

‘Want me to close?’ Jake asked.

It wasn’t really a question. He’d assessed her; now it was time for her to see how he worked. She nodded and stood back.

He was good. Fast, thorough and very deft. She’d never seen such neat stitching—and said so.

‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head slightly at the compliment, but didn’t allow anything to detract from his focus.

That, Vicky thought, was impressive. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy working with Jake Lewis. A like mind, focused on his job. He really didn’t care what people thought about him—the patient came first. Refreshing.

When they’d finished, he walked back to the ward with her. ‘Do you want me to talk to his parents?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll do it. They know me from the emergency department, and it’s better that they have continuity of care as far as possible.’

‘I agree. You know where I am if you need me.’

Meaning that he trusted her. Quite why that should make her feel enveloped in a warm glow, she had no idea. She already knew she did her job properly, so it shouldn’t matter what he thought.

She went into the relatives’ room, where the Fosters were waiting anxiously. ‘I’m pleased to say the operation was a success. Declan should be coming round in a few minutes and you’ll be able to see him straight away. We’ll need to keep him flat for the next day or two so his brain can settle down again, and gradually we’ll raise the head of the bed. We’ll be assessing him very, very frequently and he’ll have more CT scans over the next few days, so we can keep an eye on how he is and pick up on any little niggles before they turn into problems.’ She decided not to mention the fact that the CT scan would pick up extra fluid; it was perfectly routine, but would sound scary to the Fosters and they were already upset enough.

‘So he’s going to be all right?’ Mrs Foster asked.

‘He should be,’ Vicky said with a smile.

‘Oh, thank God. Thank you.’

‘And my consultant. If you have any questions, please, ask for me or Mr Lewis and we’ll do our best to reassure you.’

‘So that’s everyone—oh, except Vicky, but you were with her in Theatre,’ Gemma said.

‘Dr Radley.’

Gemma grinned. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony. She doesn’t even use her title around here.’

‘Title?’ That was news to Jake. What title?

‘She’s an Hon.—the Honourable Victoria Radley,’ Gemma explained. ‘Though she’s always made it very clear she’s a doctor first.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve probably heard of her brother, Charlie. Baron Radley.’

The name rang a bell, though Jake wasn’t sure why. He never bothered with celebrity magazines or gossip pages in the paper.

‘But don’t go thinking she’s a snob or anything like that. I mean, she doesn’t tend to go on ward nights out, but it’s not because she thinks she’s too good for us. It’s because she’s writing a paper or she’s got the chance to shadow someone on a particularly interesting case.’ Gemma sighed. ‘She works too hard.’

‘Nothing wrong with being dedicated,’ Jake said. He’d had that accusation thrown at him a few times, too. And if Vicky was dedicated, that explained why she’d been so confident during the craniotomy.

But an Hon….

It was only then that Jake realised he had been thinking about acting on his attraction to Vicky. Asking her out for a drink, perhaps. He already knew she wasn’t married so he didn’t think he’d be treading on anyone’s toes. But being an Honourable put her miles out of his league socially. Someone who was used to mixing with the likes of royalty wouldn’t want to go out with a boy who’d grown up on a council estate.

Better to know now before he made a fool of himself. And that would teach him for thinking about breaking his personal rules. Vicky was a colleague, so she was off limits. For good.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a fortnight at the Albert Memorial Hospital in Chelsea, Jake felt as if he’d been there for years. He’d been accepted as part of the team and he’d been included in invites to drinks to celebrate a staff nurse’s twenty-fifth birthday, as well as the team night out at the local Indian restaurant. He’d gone to both and had had a great time—though he’d noted that Vicky hadn’t been to either event. Technically, she’d been on duty, covering for other staff—but after a couple of glasses of wine Gemma had let it slip that Vicky always covered staff nights out. Vicky worked on bank holidays, Christmas and Easter, too, so staff with children could spend time with their families. And when she did take time off, she was booked onto a course or had arranged to shadow someone and get more experience.

And he still hadn’t apologised to her, he remembered, feeling guilty. Not that he’d had the chance. She’d kept all conversation to a minimum, and what she’d said had focused entirely on their patients. But he didn’t think she was a snob: her manner with patients was too good for that. So was she just avoiding him? And was that because he’d been rude to her the very first time they’d met—despite the fact he’d given her a genuine compliment on her surgical skills since?

He’d do something about it today, he decided, and did the last five reps on the lateral raise machine before leaving the weights room for the pool. Twenty lengths, and he’d hit the shower. Then a bacon sandwich and a strong, sweet cup of coffee in the staff canteen, and he’d be ready to start the day on the ward.

And he’d talk to Vicky. Today.

There were already three or four people in the pool. But only one of them arrested his attention. She was doing lengths—but the front crawl she used was a precise and neat stroke, rather than flashy. She looked as if she’d been trained professionally, to get the maximum speed from the minimum stroke, and her whole attention appeared to be focused on her swim. Up and down, up and down, face in the water, turned to the side for a breath between strokes, then straight again. Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about her drew him.

He dived cleanly into the pool when she was part way through a length. Surfaced beside her. And nearly forgot to swim when she turned her face towards him for a breath and he recognised her.

Victoria Radley.

Well, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Clearly she was as focused when doing exercise as she was at work. But one thought wouldn’t go out of his head: was she that focused when she made love?

Oh, for goodness’ sake. They were both professionals. She was his colleague. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her in those terms. He didn’t have room in his life for a relationship right now.

But the thought wouldn’t go.

And when she climbed out of the pool—how on earth could she manage to look so elegant, scrambling out of the pool?—Jake found himself swimming straight for the side, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t done the twenty lengths he’d promised himself, and also climbed out of the pool.

He fell into step with Vicky just before she reached the entrance to the changing rooms, and tried his best to sound casual. ‘Hi.’

‘Oh. Hello.’ Cool, no flicker of friendliness.

‘I didn’t know you were a member here.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s the nearest gym to the hospital.’

Mmm, he’d worked that one out, too. And it meant no wasted time travelling to the gym—so he wouldn’t have to get up at an unearthly hour or rush to the ward after a training session.

Her words were perfectly polite, but there was no hint of invitation in her voice. She was just the cool, calm professional he knew from the hospital.

And he wanted to know what lay beneath the smooth, unruffled mask. What made Victoria Radley tick? What made her smile? What made her eyes light up? What made her angry, and what made her laugh?

‘Will you have breakfast with me?’

Those beautiful blue eyes widened. Clearly she hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected it either. His mouth had worked before his brain had gone into gear.

‘I really ought to get to the ward,’ she said.

‘You’re on the same shift as I am. Which doesn’t start for…’ he glanced at the clock ‘…forty minutes. We’ve got time for a shower and breakfast.’

There was the slightest, slightest flush against her cheekbones. And it vanished before he was really sure that she’d blushed. But he hadn’t said anything out of place…had he?

Unless she’d interpreted ‘shower’ and ‘breakfast’ rather more intimately than he’d intended.

And that thought alone set his whole body tingling, as if champagne instead of blood was whooshing through his veins. He pulled himself back together with an effort. ‘I hear the staff canteen does an excellent bacon sandwich,’ he said.

And it’d be just his luck that she was vegetarian.

She said nothing.

Still sore at him? ‘My shout,’ he said, ‘because I need to talk to you about something.’

That got a reaction. ‘What?’ She sounded suspicious and her eyes were slightly narrowed.

‘Work.’

It was almost as if he’d waved a magic wand, because she seemed to relax again. ‘OK. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes?’

Most women he knew would take at least half an hour to get ready after a workout. But he was beginning to realise that the Hon. Victoria Radley wasn’t like any other woman he’d met. ‘Ten minutes,’ he agreed.

And then she did something that threw him completely. She smiled. A proper smile. And his heart rate practically doubled.

He’d only just got his pulse back to normal when he reached the lobby, still slightly damp, nine minutes later. Precisely sixty seconds after that, Vicky joined him.

‘I had a call from the hospital CEO yesterday,’ he said as they walked down to the hospital.

‘Oh?’

‘About Declan Foster. His parents wrote in and said how good you’d been.’

Vicky shrugged. ‘Just doing my job.’

‘And a bit more besides. I’ve noticed your paperwork is meticulous and you always make sure that the patients, as well as their relatives, know exactly what’s going on. And I think teaching a small boy to play chess might not be in your job description.’

‘It was as good a way as any to spend a lunch-break,’ Vicky said lightly.

‘Several lunch-breaks,’ he corrected. He’d noticed.

She frowned. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘No, as long as you’re not overdoing things. We all need time to recharge our batteries, Victoria.’ At her sharp look, he added, ‘May I call you Victoria? I prefer working on first-name terms.’

For a moment, he thought she was going to say no.

Then she nodded. ‘It’s Vicky.’

‘Vicky.’ He could actually taste her name. Crisp, slightly astringent. And it made his mouth water.

Oh, he needed coffee. Before he said something stupid. ‘You’re supposed to take breaks.’

‘I’m fine.’

There was a slight edge to her voice, and he sighed inwardly. ‘I’m making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. When we first met…I didn’t mean to imply you were a slacker. You caught me on the hop, doing a recce. I was embarrassed, and I said the first thing that came into my head.’

‘I see.’

Clearly she wanted him to eat humble pie. OK. As long as it meant she kept talking to him, he’d do it. ‘You’re dedicated. Very dedicated. I’ve never met anyone who works this hard before.’

‘It’s the only way to break through the glass ceiling,’ she said as they walked into the canteen.

The glass ceiling? That was something he hadn’t even considered. ‘This is the twenty-first century. It’s supposed to mean equal opportunities.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘How many female heads of department do you know? How many women professors?’

He thought about it. ‘Not many.’

‘Exactly. If they have a family, they’re expected to take a career break, which holds them back because they’ve spent five years raising children and need to brush up their skills again—not to mention the years of experience they’ve lost and the fact their male colleagues are now five years ahead of them. If they don’t take a career break, they get a reputation as hard women who don’t care enough about their families, and it’s held against them.’

He frowned. ‘Discrimination is illegal.’

‘But it happens.’

He had no answer to that. ‘So I take it you don’t have children?’

‘No.’

He just about managed to stop himself asking the next question. And what does your partner do? Because it was none of his business whether she was involved with someone or not. And he’d already told himself he wasn’t going to act on his attraction to her. He needed to talk about something neutral. Fast. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he asked as they reached the canteen.

‘Coffee, fruit and yoghurt, please.’

Polite and distant again. Which was what the professional in him had wanted—but what the man in him hadn’t wanted. ‘Do you mind if I have a bacon sandwich?’

She gave him a wry look. ‘They’re your arteries.’

When they sat down, he added tomato ketchup to his sandwich. ‘Lycopene,’ he said with a grin.

‘Which doesn’t negate all the cholesterol,’ she shot back.

‘Don’t care.’ He bit into the sandwich. ‘Oh, yes. This is seriously good.’ He nodded towards the half-sandwich on his plate. ‘Sure you don’t want to share?’

Vicky adored bacon sandwiches. Had it been Seb or Charlie opposite her, she wouldn’t even have waited to be asked. But sharing a sandwich was intimate. She barely knew Jake—and it was going to stay that way. She couldn’t afford a relationship. Not when she was so close to getting a consultant’s post. If she let herself get distracted, her career would go straight down the plughole. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let that happen now. ‘Quite sure, thank you.’ She poured yoghurt over her fruit. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about besides Declan?’

‘I did the getting-to-know-you bit with the rest of the staff on team nights out.’

And because she’d been covering the ward, he hadn’t had the chance to have that kind of chat with her. She sighed. ‘I’m sure my personnel file will tell you all you need to know about me.’

‘That you’re a senior registrar, that your exam results were superb, that your appraisals have always been excellent, and you’re tipped for the next consultant’s post.’

If he’d already reviewed her files, what else did he want to know?

The question must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘I don’t know you. I’ve seen how you are with patients and staff, and I’m impressed.’

Please, don’t let him be trying to come on to her. She knew her willpower was strong, but she didn’t need the extra temptation. Jake Lewis, with his dark eyes and the floppy hair that made him look like a disreputable cherub, could be a temptation. Like rich, dark chocolate. Addictive. ‘You’ve reviewed my files and you’ve seen me work. That’s all you need to know,’ she said primly.

‘Wrong. If I’m to develop the staff on my team—so they’re happy in their jobs and work well for me—I need to know what they want out of their job. Where they want to be in five years’ time, and what they think they need to get there. Where they think they’re weak and need more experience or more training. Things that aren’t written in files.’

Was he serious?

She risked a glance. He looked serious enough.

Though he also looked good enough to eat, with his hair still slightly damp from the shower. She thought of rich, dark chocolate again and suppressed a groan. Jake Lewis was dangerous. Someone she needed to avoid.

‘So what do you want, Vicky?’ he asked. ‘To be head of department? Professor?’

‘Both.’

He nodded. ‘From what I’ve seen, you’ve got the skill and the dedication to make it.’

Was he trying to curry favour? No, he looked completely sincere. ‘Thank you.’

‘So your plan is?’

‘Consultant next year. Then a part-teaching, part-practising post—I want to do the academic side and work on some research, but I like working with patients too much to give it up. Plus, theory’s worth nothing if it’s unworkable in a real-life situation.’

‘And what experience do you think you need now?’

‘More surgery.’

‘Noted,’ Jake said. ‘When you’re in Theatre with me, I’ll try to give you the chance to lead as much as possible.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And let me have a list of the training courses you want to go on.’

‘There’s a small thing known as the departmental budget,’ Vicky said.

‘Which is why I’m not promising to send you on every course you want to go on. But when I know what everyone’s skills are, and where there are training needs, I might be able to arrange interdepartmental training. Shadowing, mentoring, that sort of thing.’

‘Provided our head of department agrees.’

‘He’ll agree,’ Jake said softly. ‘I can be very persuasive.’

Vicky looked at his mouth and thought, I just bet you can. Then she stifled the idea. She was not going to start thinking about Jake Lewis in that way.

‘And I find a cost-benefit analysis usually does the trick,’ he added.

He understood admin as well as medicine? Interesting. In Vicky’s experience, most doctors were either people-oriented or paper-oriented. They couldn’t do both. That made Jake a rarity.

‘Why did you become a doctor?’ he asked conversationally, as he added sugar to his coffee.

‘Because medicine was interesting.’ And because it was a challenge.

‘Anyone else in your family a doctor?’

Why did he want to know? It had no relevance to the way she did her job. ‘My brothers,’ she said shortly.

‘Which specialty?’

That definitely wasn’t relevant. And why did he want to know about her brothers? Charlie, with his rose-tinted glasses, would’ve said Jake was trying to be friendly. Seb—well, pre-fatherhood Seb—would’ve said Jake was a social climber, hoping that by making friends with her he’d get an introduction to the baron and invites to swish parties. Vicky was somewhere in the middle—and she wanted her brothers left out of this. ‘Not neurology.’

She’d been short with him—rude, even—but he didn’t have that you’ve-just-slapped-me-down look.

But before he could say anything else, her pager bleeped.

Perfect timing.

She glanced at the display. ‘Thanks for breakfast. I’m needed in ED.’

‘You’re not on duty yet.’ He frowned. ‘Do you always have your pager switched on?’

‘No.’ Not always. Just ninety-odd per cent of the time.

His dark eyes held a hint of amusement, almost as if he didn’t believe she’d been paged. As if he thought she’d called one of her friends from the changing room at the gym and asked them to bleep her in fifteen minutes’ time—to get her out of a potentially difficult situation.

She’d thought about it, admittedly, but she also knew it would have fuelled gossip: why did Vicky Radley want to wriggle out of having breakfast with Jake Lewis? People would speculate. Rumours would start running round the hospital. So having breakfast with him had been the lesser of two evils. And it had been work-related, anyways. ‘See you on the ward,’ she said, and headed for the emergency department.

‘Hello again,’ Hugh Francis said with a smile when she reached ED. ‘I was hoping it’d be you.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Mrs Carter, seventy years old, suspected TIA—but I’m not sure if it’s a very early stroke.’

‘OK. I’ll have a look. If I’m worried, I’ll admit her to our ward.’

‘Thanks.’ Hugh took Vicky through to the cubicle where Violet Carter was sitting on the bed, and introduced her.

‘I’m perfectly all right, you know. You don’t need to fuss over me—you go and see someone who’s really ill,’ Mrs Carter said.

Vicky smiled at her. ‘That’s very public-spirited of you, but I’d like to check you over.’

‘It was just a funny turn.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Vicky invited.

‘It was like a curtain coming down over one eye. But it’s gone now.’

Mrs Carter was describing a textbook case of amaurosis fugax, a typical symptom of a TIA or transient ischaemic attack, Vicky thought. ‘Anything else?’

‘I banged my knee when I answered the door, but that’s just clumsiness. Old age.’

Or another symptom of a TIA. ‘How about talking?’

‘Perfectly normal. I think our postman’s deaf, you know—he kept asking me to repeat things.’ Mrs Carter sighed. ‘I don’t know why he insisted on bringing me here.’

Vicky glanced down at the notes. ‘He was just worried about you. I think you might have had something called a transient ischaemic attack—called a TIA for short. It’s where the supply of oxygen is cut off to part of your brain, usually by a blood clot. Your body can restore blood flow and break down any little clots, so that’s why you feel perfectly all right now.’

‘So I can go home?’

‘Soon,’ Vicky said. ‘The thing is, if you’ve had a TIA it means you’re likely to be at risk of having a stroke in the future, so I want to check you over thoroughly before I let you escape. May I ask you a few questions?’

Mrs Carter nodded.

‘Have you had a stroke before, or any recent surgery?’

‘No.’

‘Has anyone in your family ever had a seizure or a fit?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Have you had a virus or infection lately?’

‘No.’

‘Are you taking any medication?’

‘I take water pills—the doctor says my blood pressure’s too high—but I never forget to take them, because I’ve got one of those little boxes you put your week’s supply in. My daughter got it for me.’

‘And she lives near?’

Mrs Carter sighed. ‘Yes. And she’s a worrier, so don’t you go telling her about this. I just stood up a bit too quickly when the postman rang, that was all.’

‘Did you have any pain?’

‘Not really.’

‘Where was it?’ Vicky asked.

‘You’re as bad as my daughter. She never gives up either,’ Mrs Carter grumbled. ‘Just a little bit in my chest. It’s gone now. And, before you ask, I gave up smoking years ago and I eat proper meals. None of that microwave ready-meal junk.’

Vicky grinned. She could see herself being like Violet Carter in forty years’ time. Dressed in purple and outrageously independent. ‘Mrs Carter, I respect the fact you can look after yourself perfectly well. But I need to be sure you’re not just being brave. If you do have any problems, I can give you medication for it and you’ll be fine—but if you’re not telling me something, you could end up being very ill.’ When the old lady looked recalcitrant, she added her trump card. ‘Which means I’d have to talk to your daughter, and she’d probably want you to live with her so she can keep an eye on you.’

‘God forbid!’ Mrs Carter exclaimed. ‘I’d be up in front of the bench within a week.’

‘The bench?’

‘On a murder charge. I can’t bear all that fussing. Not to mention putting up with teenagers slamming doors and listening to that rubbish they call music nowadays.’

‘Me neither,’ Vicky said feelingly. ‘So is there anything you’re not telling me?’

‘I was a bit breathless. But I told you, I just stood up too quickly.’

‘Would you let me examine you and run some tests, then?’

Violet rolled her eyes. ‘If it means you won’t tell my daughter, yes.’

Vicky smiled. From their discussion, she’d already been able to assess Violet Carter’s attentiveness, ability to interact, language and memory skills—and they were all fine. But she checked the blood pressure in each of Violet’s arms, then her respiratory rate and her temperature.

‘I’m going to look into your eyes, if you don’t mind.’ She checked for retinal plaques and the pupils’ reaction to light. Everything was fine.

Nerve testing was equally inconclusive. She started with the cranial nerves: there were no problems with Mrs Carter’s eye movements and her eyelids closed normally; there were no problems with swallowing or the movement of her tongue; and the wrinkles on her forehead were symmetrical—no sign of drooping. Somatic motor testing told her a little more—there was no sign of tremor or any problems with the major joints or shoulder girdle, though there was a slight weakness on the left-hand side. When Vicky asked Mrs Carter to walk a few steps, her movements looked fine. She was able to put her finger on her nose and her heel to her knee.

‘So are you satisfied I’m all right now?’ Mrs Carter asked.

‘Nearly. I’m going to send you for a CT scan—that’s just so I can get a better look at what’s happening inside your head.’

Mrs Carter snorted. ‘If you could read my mind right now, young lady, I think you’d be shocked.’

Vicky laughed. ‘No. I wish more people were as independent and determined as you are.’ Mara certainly wasn’t. Never had been, never would be, and Vicky was guiltily aware that too often she left Charlie to deal with their mother. Though so did Seb.

‘As well as the CT scan, I’m sending you for an ECG—that’s to check how your heart’s working.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my heart.’

‘Good. But I’m still sending you for the tests. I want to know what caused you to have your “funny turn” —and I don’t think it was anything to do with standing up too quickly. I’d like to make sure there isn’t a clot hanging around that might give you a full-blown stroke or a heart attack.’ At Mrs Carter’s mutinous look, she added, ‘Or I could just phone your daughter.’

Mrs Carter grimaced. ‘You win. And I’d never play poker against you.’

‘Chess is my game.’

‘Never played it.’

‘If your tests make me keep you in for observations, I’ll teach you,’ Vicky promised. ‘And then you can extort promises from your grandchildren. If you beat them at chess, they have to turn the volume down and not slam doors.’

Mrs Carter gave her a narrow look, then grinned. ‘You’re on.’

‘OK, Mrs Carter. I’ll come and see you when your test results are in.’

‘My name’s Violet,’ Mrs Carter said.

‘Vicky.’ Vicky held her hand out.

‘I think you and I will rub along just fine,’ Mrs Carter said, shaking her hand. ‘You’ll tell me the truth.’

‘I will if you will.’

‘And you’ll keep my daughter out of it.’

‘I’m not promising anything until I’ve seen your results,’ Vicky warned. ‘But if I can avoid worrying her, I will.’

‘That’s good enough for me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE was in the middle of reviewing patient files ready for clinic when there was a knock on his door.

‘Come in,’ he called, and blinked in surprise when he saw Vicky. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to discuss a patient with you.’ She carried some films and a file with her. ‘My ED case.’

So it had been a genuine case—not just a phone call from a friend she’d phoned earlier and asked to give her an excuse to get out of having breakfast with him. He’d wondered. And he was shocked at the rush of pleasure he felt now he knew it hadn’t been an excuse. ‘Sure.’

She quickly explained Violet Carter’s case to him. ‘From the symptoms, I thought it was a TIA. Carotid rather than vertebrobasilar. Anyways, the ECG shows I was right. There’s carotid bruit.’ Carotid bruit was a murmur over the carotid artery in the neck, showing that blood was having difficulty passing through the blood vessel.

‘And?’

‘I want to send her down to Radiology for magnetic resonance angiography to check the site of narrowing. If the stenosis is big enough, I’d recommend an endarterectomy.’

An endarterectomy was surgery to remove the lining of the arteries: a very delicate operation. Jake remembered what she’d said that morning about wanting more surgical experience. ‘Have you done any before?’

‘A couple by open surgery.’

‘How about endoscopically?’

‘No.’

‘Right. Let me have a look at the MRA results. If we can do it endoscopically, I’ll lead and you assist; if it’s open surgery, you lead and I’ll assist. If both sides are affected, maybe you can do one and I’ll do the other.’

Vicky nodded. ‘She’s a nice woman, Jake. I like her. Feisty, independent—she’s really going to hate the idea of being an inpatient.’

Yeah. Jake knew someone else like that. Except—

No. Now wasn’t the time to think of Lily. Or wish he’d known back then what he knew now. If only he’d insisted…But he hadn’t. He’d deferred to her wishes.

He couldn’t change the past. Only the future—for someone else.

‘Let me know when you’ve got the results. I’m in clinic for the rest of the morning.’

‘OK.’ She gave him an odd look. But he wasn’t in the mood to find out why. He just wanted to see his patients and get his head back to where it ought to be before he met Violet Carter.

When Vicky reviewed the results, she sighed inwardly. Eighty per cent stenosis—the arteries were severely narrowed, which meant nowhere near enough blood was getting through them. This was definitely a case for operating.

She went to see Violet Carter. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Fine. Can I go home now?’ Violet asked.

‘No. I’ve found out what caused your funny turn this morning. Your carotid arteries are narrowed.’ Gently, she ran her finger along one side of Violet’s neck. ‘They run both sides of your neck and they supply the blood to your brain. If they become narrow, not enough blood or oxygen reaches your brain.’

‘So what does that mean?’

‘They’re narrowed because some fatty material in your blood sticks to the lining of your arteries—it’s called atherosclerosis. You have a choice. We can do an operation called an endarterectomy—what that does is remove the lining of the arteries and the stuff that’s starting to block them, and the lining will grow back within a couple of weeks of surgery.’

As she’d expected, Violet caught on quickly. ‘And if I don’t have the operation?’

‘They could block completely. Which means you’ll have a full-blown stroke. If you want the figures, about half of people who have a TIA have a stroke within a year, and twenty per cent of those have a stroke within a month.’

‘And if I have a stroke, I’ll have to go into a home instead of being in my own place.’

Vicky nodded. ‘You won’t be able to look after yourself. You’ll need care.’

‘If I have the operation, I’ll be all right.’

‘There are no guarantees—but the odds are loaded in your favour.’

Violet seemed to be thinking about it. ‘Would I be awake during the operation?’

‘No, you’d have a general anaesthetic.’

Violet sighed. ‘So I’m going to have to stay in.’

‘For a few days,’ Vicky explained.

‘Which means I have to tell my daughter.’

‘If you were my mum, I’d want to know,’ Vicky said.

‘Your mum’s lucky,’ Violet grumbled. ‘She’s got a sensible one who doesn’t panic and run around like a headless chicken.’

Vicky’s common sense was nothing to do with Mara. Besides, there wasn’t room for two headless chickens in a family.

She pushed the thought away.

‘I hope she appreciates you,’ Violet said.

Vicky made a noncommittal sound. Mara didn’t understand her and always said Vicky should have been born a boy. Especially after Vicky, as a five-year-old, had taken scissors to her tutu and ballet shoes and threatened to chop off her hair if anyone made her go back to ballet lessons. Mara also hadn’t appreciated Vicky getting herself expelled from finishing school in the first week. Or finding out that she could get herself made a ward of court so she could do her A-levels if Mara tried to make her go to another finishing school.

‘I’ll ring your daughter and explain the situation,’ Vicky said. ‘I can get you on this afternoon’s list, if you’d like to sign the consent form.’

‘And you’ll be doing the operation?’

‘With our consultant, Jake Lewis. I’ll introduce you to him before the operation,’ Vicky said. ‘Oh, and in the meantime…’ She pulled a magazine out of her pocket. ‘Just to stop you getting bored.’

Violet took the puzzle book and flicked through it. ‘Oh, yes! It’s got those logic problems in it. I like them.’ She smiled at Violet. ‘Thank you, love. That’s really kind of you.’

‘Pleasure. I had a feeling you’d enjoy it.’ Because Vicky could see herself like Violet, in forty years’ time. Except she wouldn’t have a daughter fussing over her, or teenage grandchildren. She just hoped a stranger would show her that same kindness.

Vicky introduced Jake to Violet, and noted approvingly that Jake treated the elderly woman with respect, rather than talking down to her. He explained exactly what they were going to do and how long she’d need to be in afterwards, and that they were going to do the operation by keyhole surgery.

Though when they were scrubbing up, she noticed the brooding expression in his eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he said curtly.

Hmm. Maybe it was surgeon’s nerves. Every surgeon she knew was keyed up before an operation—which was a good thing, as it meant they weren’t taking their skills for granted and there was less chance of them being sloppy. Some people talked too much when they were nervous. Jake clearly went the other way and barely spoke at all.

Jake had chosen to operate to Corelli, surprising her. She’d expected him to work to pop music rather than classical. Then she was cross with herself for reacting in the same snobbish way Mara would have done. Sure, Jake had an East-End accent rather than a posh one, but since when did the way you spoke dictate your tastes in music?

He talked her through the two-hour operation, clearing one artery himself and then giving her a chance to work on the other carotid artery. She liked the way he worked: deft, neat, precise. But as soon as the operation was over he seemed to switch back to the brooding, uncommunicative man he’d been while scrubbing up.

Something was wrong. Not the operation—it had been a complete success. She didn’t think it had been anything she’d done either. So had this op brought back bad memories? A patient he hadn’t been able to save?

When Violet was out of the recovery room and had settled back on the ward—with her daughter fussing round her bedside—Vicky quietly slipped out to the canteen on her break. She bought a slice of carrot cake and two coffees—he took his black and sweet, she remembered—then headed for Jake’s office and rapped on the door.

‘Come in.’

He was doing paperwork at his desk, and there was strain in the lines of his face.

‘What’s this?’ he asked when she closed the door behind her and put the coffee and cake on his desk.

‘Carrot cake.’

Cake. The Hon. Victoria Radley had brought him cake. ‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘The men in my life are cake addicts.’

Jake tried to squash the pinpricks of jealousy. He had no right to be jealous. She was a colleague—a distant colleague at that, barely even an acquaintance. The men in my life… He didn’t think she meant that she had a string of men, but clearly she’d been good at keeping her relationships secret from the hospital grapevine. ‘Oh.’

‘Our cook made the best cake in the world,’ she said, almost as if explaining. ‘Which is why both my brothers are putty in the hands of any woman who gives them cake.’

Jake frowned. Was this her way of saying she wanted him to be putty in her hands? Or was she just explaining about the men in her life—her brothers?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, she said quietly, ‘You looked upset earlier. I wanted to make you feel a bit better. It’s also an apology for running out on you over breakfast this morning.’

He shrugged. ‘No problem. You were paged.’

‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked.

Then he realised what was going on. Vicky had made a fuss over little Declan, who’d been bullied. She’d fussed over Violet, too, but on the old lady’s terms—practical things, like bringing her a puzzle magazine. And now she was quietly adding him to her collection of lame ducks, bringing him cake and offering him a sympathetic ear.

‘I’m fine,’ he said stiffly.

‘No, you’re not. It’s something to do with Violet.’

How did she know?

She must have been able to read his mind, because she said quietly, ‘She got to me, too. I never really knew my grandparents because they died when I was very young. Violet’s the kind I would’ve liked as a gran.’ Her smile was suddenly bleak.

Jake knew exactly where she was coming from. The same place as him. Loss and loneliness. ‘She reminds me of my nan,’ he admitted.

‘You were close to her?’

He nodded. ‘She brought me up. My mum was a singer and Dad was her manager. They were always on the road, and Nan refused to let them drag me along with a home tutor or put me in boarding school. She said kids need a steady place to grow up.’ He looked away. ‘They were in America, flying interstate on my mum’s first US tour, when their plane crashed.’

He was half expecting Vicky to trot out the usual platitudes or try to work out who his mum was, but she surprised him. ‘Hard for you. How old were you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘That’s a really tough age to lose your parents.’

Something in her voice made him look at her. The expression on her face…she knew exactly how it had felt. It had happened to one of her schoolfriends, probably. Another of her lame ducks.

‘Yeah. But at least I had Nan.’ Then, to his horror, the words he’d tried to bury whispered out of him. ‘I just wish she’d seen me qualify.’

‘Missed it by much?’

‘Two terms.’

‘Ouch. But, if it helps, she’d have known from your prelims that you’d qualify.’

At least Vicky hadn’t gushed that his gran would have been proud of him. He appreciated that, because how did you ever know exactly how someone else felt—especially if you’d never met that person? That kind of reaction always drove him crazy.

Vicky Radley, on the other hand, was calm, practical and sensible.

He took a sip of his coffee to buy himself some time, and discovered that Vicky had sweetened it exactly to his taste. Which meant she was observant. He already knew she was clever, so she’d probably guess whatever he didn’t tell her. So he may as well spill the rest of it. ‘Nan died of a stroke. She had a TIA first, except she wouldn’t admit there was anything wrong. It was only when our neighbour found her that she admitted she’d had a “funny turn”. I rang home that night and got Bridget, who told me. I tried to get Nan to see her GP for a check-up at the very least. But she insisted it was nothing and I was making a fuss. Nan was one of the old school.’

‘Stiff upper lip?’

‘Sort of.’ Though not posh, like Vicky’s family. Lily Lewis had had backbone. ‘She grew up in London during the Blitz. She hated being evacuated, so she ran away and made her way back to the East End. The way she saw it, if she managed to get through the war without being hit by a flying V, she wasn’t going to let anything else throw her.’ Including losing her only child. Lily had been the rock Jake had leaned on after the plane crash, and, even though her heart must have been breaking, she’d held it together for his sake. ‘She’d just take the “funny turns” in her stride and pretend they hadn’t happened.’

‘TIAs.’

‘Yeah. She wouldn’t listen to me. And she ended up having a stroke.’

‘So that’s why you specialised in neurology?’ she guessed.

He didn’t want to answer that, though he guessed that the muscle he felt tightening in his jaw would give him away. ‘If you hadn’t persuaded Violet to let us do the endarterectomy, I’d have told her about my nan.’

‘Bullied her into having it done?’

‘Guilt-tripped her into it,’ Jake corrected. Then he saw a flicker of a grin on Vicky’s face. ‘What?’

‘Beat you to it. I told her the stats and let her work it out for herself: she could have it done and go back to her own home, or risk a stroke and being stuck in a care home. Or—worse, in her view—being fussed over in her daughter’s home.’

‘You understand your patients well.’ With a flash of intuition, Jake guessed, ‘You’re the same, aren’t you? You hate being fussed over.’

She nodded. ‘Worst nightmare. Comes of being the youngest of three—and the only girl.’

‘I remember you told me your brothers are both doctors. What are their fields?’

‘Plastics and ED. And they insist on referring to me as “our baby sister, the brain surgeon”.’

Teasing, but he’d guess that they were proud of her. And that they knew exactly what she was like: if they made a fuss over her and told her how they felt, she’d shut them out. So they teased her instead, saying the words in the way they knew she’d accept them.

Her family. People who loved her. Jake forced the surge of envy down. He’d made his decision years ago. Losing one family—his parents—had hurt enough. Losing his second, his nan, had been even harder. And he wasn’t going to risk it a third time. He’d go out with the crowd, sure. But he wasn’t letting anyone close. Wasn’t going to have another family that he could lose.

And that included Vicky Radley. Despite the fact that his whole body yearned to touch her, hold her, he wasn’t going to take the risk.

Asking her to breakfast this morning had been a mistake. He’d been listening to his libido instead of his common sense. Well, he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. ‘Thanks for the coffee and cake,’ he said, though he hadn’t touched a crumb. ‘See you later.’

‘Sure.’

To his relief, she took the hint and left his office.

Though he could still feel her presence in the room after she’d left. Still smell her perfume. And it made him ache for her.

An ache he dared not let himself soothe.

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