Survival Guide to
Dating Your Boss

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Praise

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Copyright

Praise for

Fiona McArthur:

‘MIDWIFE IN A MILLION by Fiona McArthur

will leave readers full of exhilaration.

Ms McArthur has created characters that any reader could fall in love with.’

—Cataromance on

MIDWIFE IN A MILLION

Praise for Fiona McArthur and her fabulous Lyrebird Lake Maternity mini-series:

‘Ms McArthur has created a series that is

powerfully moving and yet filled with characters

that could be any member of your family, because

they’re down-to-earth people who are just human like

everyone else. Thank you, Ms McArthur, for a thoroughly

enjoyable time spent in your world of Lyrebird Lake.’

—Cataromance.com

CHAPTER ONE

TILLY loved Fridays. A leisurely walk down the hill from the hospital after her last shift before days off, that first salty sniff of the ocean at the end of Hill Street, and the bonus of Mrs Bennett, immaculately made up on her front porch as she waited for her girlfriends to arrive for Friday afternoon tea.

Tilly adored Mrs Bennett and her friends. Once famous sopranos in chic dresses, designer shoes and such lovely smiles, these ladies made Tilly believe in life getting better and better.

And they never mentioned men. She really liked that.

She couldn’t wait to lift her window at the back of the house and hear the soaring notes of Verdi and Puccini from the porch at the back of Mrs Bennett’s house—it always made her smile.

Tilly wondered if Mrs Bennett pulled her window shut when Tilly and her friends had their more rowdy parties.

Maybe she was strange to prefer the company of older ladies to boys her own age but risking your heart to a fickle man in the scramble to find ‘the one’ seemed much more insane to Tilly. Of course, she’d been a slow learner with two bad experiences in twelve months until Ruby had pointed out her ‘pattern of disaster’.

Older men. She’d always been attracted by the big boys in senior school while she’d been a junior, then those in university while she’d been a senior, and now those who were out of their twenties when she’d just reached them. Searching for approval from the father she’d never known perhaps? That’s what Ruby said.

Tilly sighed. Boys her age just seemed a little … insubstantial. She would just stay away from them completely.

The waft of real scones and Mrs B.’s Sydney Royal Easter Show winning marble cake dissipated the tendrils of regret and Tilly shook herself. It was Friday. Yay!

‘Afternoon, Mrs B.,’ Tilly called as she approached.

‘Matilda. Lovely to see you.’

‘Is that window sticking again?’ Tilly drew level and Mrs Bennett smiled. ‘No. I think you’ve cured it this time, dear. There’s another one just starting to squeak and I’ll let you know when it gets bad.’

More practice. Excellent. Tilly’s last infatuation had been with a mature carpenter who’d turned out to be a secretly engaged control freak who liked to keep several women dancing off the end of his workman’s belt. She was determined to never need his skills again. Just like the interior decorator who’d had so many rules and preferences on her behaviour and had then turned out to be married.

‘No problem.’ Tilly glanced up at the two bay windows, one each side of the veranda, and noted the one only a quarter pushed up. ‘Girls coming soon?’

Mrs Bennett glanced at her watch. ‘Any time now. I’ll save you a scone.’

‘Say hello for me.’ Tilly swung open her gate and mounted the tiled steps. Home. And not a man in sight. Good.

Seventy-One Hill Street stood tall and thin with a decrepit Gothic air in need of even more TLC than Mrs Bennett’s house.

Those tall eaves, all four bedrooms at the back upstairs and the main bedroom downstairs that belonged to the absent owner, could do with a good strip and paint. Tilly decided she might have a go in her holidays.

It was a real party house. The three other girls were the sisters Tilly had never had. She couldn’t imagine life without their chaos and warmth and the fun they brought to out-of-work hours.

Tilly smiled to herself as she thought more about the girls. There was Ruby, a mental health nurse who didn’t appear nearly as chaotic now she’d found Cort, a senior emergency registrar from the hospital they all worked at.

Tilly’s need to provide a willing ear, and the occasional emergency alcohol, had decreased exponentially the longer Ruby and Cort had been together.

Ellie, an orphan, spent most of the week in sterile operating theatres, but still managed to regularly fall in and out of love, searching for Mr Right to be the father of her longed-for family.

While Jess, children’s nurse at Eastern Beaches, broke her heart every time Ruby’s gorgeous brother, and incidentally their landlord, flew in from Operation New Faces with a willowy brunette or blonde on his arm.

Funny how her flatmates gave her plenty of scope for that thwarted older-sister tendency she could finally admit she had.

Then there was her job. Tilly ran up the stairs and threw her bag on the purple quilt cover on her bed. Tilly loved being a midwife.

Women were incredible, babies so instinctually amazing, and she could mother the mothers to her heart’s content while they mothered their babies.

That’s what she told Mrs Bennett later in the afternoon. They were clearing up after the girls had gone. Tilly’s singing lessons by osmosis seemed to be working and she and Mrs Bennett were trilling away in the kitchen when the conversation came around to men.

‘To sing that aria you need to be able to sing the love.’ Mrs Bennett never joked about her music.

Tilly sighed. ‘Then I’ll probably never be good at it.’

‘Of course you will.’ Mrs Bennett’s finger pointed skywards to the future. ‘One day you’ll find your man. You can’t go on forever being single.’

Tilly laughed. ‘You are. You’re happy.’

Mrs Bennett twinkled. ‘I’m certainly content. But in a different way from when I was married to the love of my life.’ She looked at Tilly. ‘You can’t miss out on that.’

Tilly shrugged. ‘I always seem to go for the wrong guys. Seriously, I’ve nothing against men as friends but after the last two I guess I’m not really geared to be answerable to a man.’

Mrs Bennett fixed her with a stern look. ‘They were too old for you, dear. And they lied.’

‘You’re right. That’s what Ruby said. But look what falling for men does to my girlfriends. Even my mother was another casualty. I’m going to stay the sensible one cruising as a single woman for a few years. Travel the world. There’s a lot I want to do and it’s much less stressful.’

‘Very wise,’ said Mrs Bennett, and she smiled.

On Sunday morning, when Tilly caught a glimpse over the fence of a tall, black-haired stranger lurking around Mrs B.’s back window, her heart jumped at the recognition of danger.

She glanced back at her own house but the other girls were out and not due back for a while.

Her hand slid up to rest on her chest, ridiculous thought he’d hear her heartbeat, but for the moment it was up to her—someone had to protect Mrs Bennett.

Dry mouthed, she glanced around for a weapon, something, anything for protection, and then she saw it. Tilly’s fingers closed around the pointed red beanie hat of the small but stalwart garden gnome at her feet and she eased him out from the damp earth under the hydrangea. The cold concrete sat heavily in her hand.

She chewed her lip. She really didn’t want to maim the man, just slow him down a bit so he couldn’t get away before the police arrived. With her other hand she flipped her phone and dialled emergency. At least she had a back-up plan.

Mrs B.’s ground-floor window screeched in protest and the material of the man’s T-shirt stretched across his broad back as he tried to ease the window up quietly. A tall, well-built man should be throwing bricks on a truck for a living, not trying to rob defenceless old ladies. Tilly refused to be distracted by the tug of nervous suggestion that flight might be a better option than fight, judging by the ripple of musculature under the thin fabric.

He was trying to get into the house and Mrs Bennett was in there. Tilly felt a swell of pure rage surge with a helpful dose of adrenalin and she heaved the gnome with a straight-arm throw over the fence towards the backs of his legs. The gnome flew horizontally like an avenging angel and took out both backs of his knees in one blow.

Because the burglar had stretched up, his legs were locked and the muscles contracted with the blow.

Tilly stifled a nervous laugh when Goliath sat awkwardly back on the wet grass on top of the gnome and swore loudly.

Great job, Tilly congratulated the gnome, and backed back around the side of her house out of sight as she flicked the damp earth off her hand. She couldn’t help the big grin on her face and the hormones rushed around her body until she fanned her face with her phone for relief.

The police call centre chattered and her hand froze as she remembered. She brought the phone to her lips and murmured quietly. ‘Yes, I’m Matilda McPherson. I’d like to report a burglar at 73 Hill Street, Coogee. Mrs Bennett’s backyard.’

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m fixing the window, not breaking in.’ Like an avenging archangel the man had found her and his dark blue eyes blazed. ‘I’m her nephew.’

He reached his long arm out, snatched the phone, threw it on the ground and for one horrible moment Tilly thought he was going to stamp on it.

Instead he drew an enormous breath, which incidentally did amazing things to the ripples under the front of his T-shirt, and glared at her with the most virulent disgust and even loathing.

Shame, that, a tiny, impressed voice whispered as Tilly quaked just a little at his ferocity.

Now she could see his face it wasn’t the face of a criminal. He was very angry but he wasn’t going to physically assault her. She didn’t know how she knew that but despite Tilly’s brain chanting ‘Good time to leave’ in an insistent whisper, and despite the thumping in her chest that agreed in rhythmic beat with her brain, she couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated her.

Before she could say anything he ground out, ‘I should sue you for assault.’

Yep. Daunting up close, especially with steam coming out of his ears, and Tilly blinked as she rallied. Maybe it was sensible to leave. ‘Assault? A little woman like me? With a gnome?’

She tossed her hair to disguise the tensing of her muscles as she prepared to fly. ‘Should look good in the local newspaper. Maybe they’ll take your picture with the weapon?’

She watched with interest as his mouth thinned—might have been a better idea to keep her smart mouth closed—and then the moment when she was about to run was lost when Mrs Bennett poked her head over the low fence. ‘Ah. Children, I see you’ve met.’

Mrs B. smiled beatifically as she came around the corner. She carried the gnome close to her chest and handed it gently, like a tiny baby, to Tilly.

‘Look who came to visit at my house,’ she said just as a siren began to wail in the distance.

Tilly glanced at the man’s face. Apparently the siren just topped off his day.

By the time the police sergeant had laughed his way back to his patrol car Marcus was considering climbing back upstairs to his bed and pulling the lavender-scented sheets over his head to start the day again. Instead he closed his eyes. Mainly because it removed the smart-mouthed redhead from his sight before he strangled her. From the fond look on his aunt’s face the redhead was clearly a ‘favourite person’, and, to be fair, he supposed it was a good thing she looked out for Maurine.

‘I am sorry.’ The woman stood beside him on his aunt’s veranda to see the policeman off. Didn’t she have a home to go to?

He almost groaned. That’s right. She did. And it was far too close to his at the moment.

To add insult to injury, she then said, ‘Do your legs hurt?’

His lashes lifted only slightly as he glared at her. He forced the words past his teeth. ‘I’m fine, thanks. If you’ll excuse me.’

Marcus closed his eyes and sighed. If the rented flat fiasco hadn’t happened, if the closest hotel hadn’t been solidly booked for a week-long conference, if he didn’t start work on Monday, if, if …

He ground his teeth and then decided it indicated a lack of control. Marcus liked control, relished it, had seen what could happen when it was lost, and he needed control to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how he and his aunt would rub together, but if he remembered correctly from that one Christmas after his sister had died Aunt Maurine had been a safe haven in a sad world.

It would only be a week or two until he found a new flat. He’d buy one if he had to. Control. He rubbed his chin. Hmm. In fact, he liked that idea. Nobody could interfere with his plans then.

Tilly watched him go. Limping. Oops. She’d say that was a fair case of alienation there. Mentally she shrugged. Shame. He’d have made a gorgeous gene pool for Ellie’s future children. Tall, good bone structure, great body, and even related to a delightful old lady. But he had no sense of humour. And that was the most important trait as far as Tilly was concerned.

Not that she was concerned. She frowned at herself. It had nothing to do with her how cleverly amusing Ellie’s children could be.

Tilly went back inside her own house just as her flatmate Ruby arrived behind her, drifting up the stairs with a serene smile and a filmy scarf floating behind her.

‘Hi, there, Tilly.’ Ruby looked her up and down. ‘You not ready? Sunday brunch at the pub?’

‘I’d forgotten.’ She glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. ‘Give me ten.’

Twenty minutes later the girls were perched on stools looking out the Stat Bar window at the park full of football-kicking young bloods and the sea beyond. Another glorious blue-sky day in paradise.

Tilly weighed the words in her mind before she said them. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to curb her usual method of blurting stuff out. ‘Mrs B. has a nephew.’

‘Next door? Oh, my goodness, Tilly. That’s so exciting.’ Ellie sat blonde and beautiful and suddenly buoyant on the stool. ‘Is he gorgeous? Does he like you? Would he like me?’

Tilly glanced at Ellie. Blonde, petite, beautiful. Who wouldn’t? ‘Not sure about you but he can’t stand me. I took him out with a garden gnome.’

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to full interest. She certainly had their attention now, Tilly thought ruefully. ‘I had the notion he was breaking into one of the windows at the back of Mrs B.’s. He was actually fixing it.’ Tilly listened to herself, surprised at the glum note she hadn’t expected, and injected more bravado. ‘It was a good throw, though, sideways to the back of the legs.’

There was a stunned silence followed by a howl of amusement from the girls.

‘What did he say?’ From Ruby.

‘Was he hurt?’ From Ellie.

‘What did Mrs Bennett say?’ From Jess, who liked the older lady next door as much as Tilly did.

Tilly pulled the slice of lime out of the neck of her bottle of light beer and sucked it. ‘He swore, he’s got a limp, and Mrs B. got the giggles. So did the police officer who arrived.’

Ruby was impressed. ‘You called the police as well?’

‘I thought he was a burglar.’

‘Very sensible.’ Jess nodded. ‘I doubt a real burglar would be happy with being hit by a gnome.’

‘I’d bet he wasn’t happy. What’s his name, Till?’ Ellie asked, clearly feeling sorry for her future partner.

‘Marcus.’ Tilly could see him in her mind as clear as day. ‘He’s six-four, blue eyes, dark curly hair and built like a brickie’s labourer. Great genes.’

‘Ohhhh.’ Ellie’s eyes shone.

‘You sure you don’t fancy him, Till?’ Ruby was watching with those knowing eyes.

Tilly swallowed the rest of her beer and dropped the lime skin in. ‘Not my type.’

Ruby and Jess exchanged amused glances. Ellie wasn’t included because she was still off in dreamland, populating the world with miniature dark-haired brickies. ‘Sounds like everyone’s type to me,’ Jess said.

‘So how long’s he staying?’ That was Ruby.

‘No idea. Conversation flagged after the police car drove off.’ Tilly looked up and saw the laughter in her friend’s eyes and she had to chuckle. Parts of the encounter had been funny. But the fact that he obviously hated her—would like to see her boiled in oil probably—wasn’t amusing at all.

CHAPTER TWO

MONDAY morning sunshine streamed into the open bedroom window as Marcus towelled his shoulders. As he turned away from the streaky mirror he caught a glimpse of the purple bruises on the backs of his legs.

At least he wasn’t limping today, no thanks to the red-headed witch next door. He hadn’t gone for a run today just to give his legs a chance to heal. But he could have done with one to rid himself of the snatches of nightmares that had included dear Matilda. He didn’t know why she’d made such an impression on him—apart from the physical imprint of assault.

He hung the towel evenly on the rail and walked naked into the bedroom. His aunt had been twinkling at him most of last night because it was all so-o-o funny. And he’d heard enough about Matilda with the legendary handywoman skills to make him dislike her even without the gnome.

But he wasn’t wasting thought on annoyances because today was a big day. His mobile phone beeped twice, an appointment reminder that he had an hour until work, and as usual he was on time.

He’d worked hard for this. Not just the early stuff, sweating over a restaurant stove between uni classes, extra shifts right through his internship, and the study he’d put in for his O&G exams—it was the effort put in to give him the right to make policy changes.

To have a say.

To protect women and babies from idiots and poor out comes and poor practitioners. An oath he’d sworn as a heartbroken child.

Now finally to be the consultant in charge of an obstetric unit, a small one by city standards but one with a brilliant reputation, and he knew exactly how he wanted it run. His mothers and babies would be the safest in Australia.

A snatch of song, a woman’s voice drifting up from the garden below with a soft Irish melody that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He lifted his head. The tune was pure and incredibly seductive and Marcus slung the towel around his hips and leaned out of the window.

His head whipped back in when he saw who it was. St Matilda in a bikini top with a towel around her waist. Long red hair crinkled wet from the sea like a siren’s.

She was like a gnat, buzzing outside his conscious decision not to think about her, and he wanted to swat her. And that delicious backside of hers.

Whoa! Where had that come from? Heat descended to his groin and he backed farther away from the win dow.

He’d been working so hard these past few years he hadn’t had time for anything but brief flings. It was obviously just a physical need he should think about addressing again. Maybe he’d have time soon but certainly not in that neighbourly direction.

Plus she was too young for him. Though he had to admit just then he’d felt younger than he had in a while. He grinned then his leg twinged as he reached for his clothes and he thought of the gnome. Best to avoid the pain.

Two hours later Marcus surveyed his two residents, his registrar, and the MUM, Midwifery Unit Manager, in his new office as he outlined his plans. And it felt good.

They’d had a ward round on each floor, the gynae floor on top and antenatal beds next down with the antenatal clinic. Then the neonatal nursery floor and on the ground the birthing units and theatres.

He’d done a double take when Gina, the midwife in charge, had proudly pointed out the new large baths in the labour ward for pain relief in labour. Apparently they’d been put in from fundraising by one of the new graduate midwives but he hadn’t commented as yet on that. No doubt she’d noticed her announcement hadn’t been greeted with shouts of joy.

‘Diligent observation with strict documentation, a medical officer for each birth if possible, though I do understand sometimes babies come in a rush. But I’d like admission foetal monitoring on all women until the baby’s wellbeing has been proved. Risk assessment on every woman will be an area I’ll scrutinise thoroughly.’

The medical officers all nodded, though Gina didn’t look impressed. Well, tough. The buck stopped with him. ‘Any questions?’

Gina spoke up. ‘This isn’t a training hospital for midwives. My girls are all qualified and very observant, up to date and extremely diligent already.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ But … ‘Not all midwives have the same level of experience.’

Gina wasn’t finished. ‘I thought the studies said admission foetal monitoring increased a woman’s risk of unnecessary intervention?’

He’d heard it before. ‘I’m glad you asked that.’ He knew what could go wrong. ‘I’ve seen the studies but I’m not convinced. I’ll leave some less publicised clinical trials for you to look at.’

When Tilly walked in for the afternoon shift handover there seemed an unusual quietness over the ward. There were a few gloomy faces from the students, the senior midwives were in a huddle with the MUM, and the other new grad, her friend Zoe, who’d almost finished her shift, drifted across.

‘Why so glum?’ Tilly looked at her with raised eyebrows.

‘Dream’s gone,’ Zoe said sadly. ‘Our new broom has arrived and we’re not happy, Tilly. Ward meeting in five.’

Tilly frowned. At least she’d hear the worst instead of imagining it. They’d been so excited about the new consultant, too. With a younger man appointed to the post there’d been great hopes of a shift away from the medical model of over-monitoring and early intervention. How come the basic concept that women were designed to have babies had been lost somewhere in the teaching of new doctors?

Their previous consultant had been old school and a bit dithery, so you could almost understand his reluctance to change, but now it looked like they were worse off.

She followed Zoe into the meeting room. ‘So he’s not young and modern?’

Zoe pulled a face. ‘He’s young, majorly good-looking in a serious way, but not much of a sense of humour.’

Sounded like someone she’d met recently but this was not the time to think of social disasters. This was work and the thought of going backwards into a more medical mode of midwifery sucked big time.

Gina called them together and outlined the new directives. ‘Full electronic monitoring of babies on admission for the moment, please, where possible. And he doesn’t like the idea of the baths, but will tolerate them for pain relief as long as no babies are born in there, until we’ve reassessed the policy.’

Tilly couldn’t believe it. ‘After all our work? What’s to assess? New South Wales Health said, “Make pain relief in water an option.”’

Gina sighed. ‘I hear you, Tilly. Just make sure your women have been well informed, have signed consent, and agree to a land birth before they get in. We don’t want that option of pain relief taken away until we can change his mind about the actual birth.’

That double-sucked. The last thing most women about to give birth wanted was to move, especially out of a warm, buoyant bath into a cool room and a hard bed.

Tilly chewed her lip and as the meeting broke up Gina drew her aside. ‘This probably affects you most, Tilly. I know you put a lot of work into the fundraising. You have the same passion and instincts as your mother and all I can say is go slow.’

Tilly sighed and accepted she’d have to pull back. ‘Doesn’t sound like he’d appreciate Mum’s philosophy.’

Gina smiled. ‘Perhaps not that enlightened yet. We’ll work on him.’

It didn’t occur to Tilly not to grind her teeth. Control was overrated. ‘It’s offensive that we have to work on any body. Back to being handmaidens. We should all be here for the women—including him.’

‘Give him time.’ Gina was always the voice of reason—a woman aware that passion needed nurturing and sometimes steering into less controversial paths. ‘We’ll show him we can provide safety and support as well as an optimal environment. Then he’ll understand.’

The shift passed quietly, two normal births who arrived at the last minute, no time for excessive monitoring or to call for medical help, Tilly thought with satisfaction, and no sight of the new head of obstetrics.

Tilly went home consumed with curiosity and not a little disappointment. She wanted to see this man that had everyone quaking in their boots but she’d just have to wait.

The next morning, like most mornings since she’d moved into Hill Street, Tilly headed for the ocean. She couldn’t help her glance up at the guest-bedroom windows in Mrs B.’s house.

Her dreams last night had been populated by a particular tall, dark and dark haired policeman who seemed to catch her speeding every time she drove onto a particular country road. No doubt there was something deep and meaningful in there somewhere but Tilly had been left with a feeling of anticipation and the wish that she actually owned a car to give her the chance of it coming true. Shame he wasn’t younger than she was and she could try for a fling.

Maybe she should just paint the hallway. And refix the falling picture rail. That would keep her mind where it should be.

As Marcus jogged back up the hill after his run he saw three young women leave the house next door. The annoying one wasn’t with them.

The crash and muffled scream happened as he passed her gate and the repeated swear word, not a bad one in the scheme of things, floated out the window towards him. He sighed.

Obviously she was alive, but his Hippocratic oath demanded he at least check she wasn’t about to do more damage. ‘Hello?’

The swearing stopped.

He called out again. ‘It’s Marcus from next door. Just checking. You all right?’ Marcus tilted his head and listened at her front door, which he could see was unlocked. Typical. Why’d she do that? Didn’t she read the papers? Foolish woman.

‘Um. I’m okay. Thanks.’

She didn’t sound it. In fact, if he wasn’t totally mistaken he had the feeling she was almost in tears. ‘Can I come in?’

He heard the scrape of furniture and a muffled sob. Nothing else for it, he had to check.

‘I’m coming in.’

She was sitting on the floor, the ladder was on its side and the annoying one was sitting beside it with her foot in her hand. He hoped to hell she hadn’t fallen off the ladder.

He crouched down next to her. ‘Matilda, isn’t it?’ As if he didn’t remember. ‘What happened? Did you hit your head?’

‘Hello, Marcus.’ She brushed a long tangled spiral of hair out of her eyes and his hand twitched at the unexpected desire to catch a tendril she’d missed. How did it spring all over like that and still be so soft?

‘No. I wasn’t up the ladder when it fell. But the hammer was. It landed on my toe.’ She bit a decidedly wobbly lip.

He looked away, not because he wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, certainly not. He looked away to professionally assess her injury and saw one already bruising big toe. He glanced at her woebegone face then back at her toe.

Her gaze followed his. ‘It throbs.’

‘I imagine it would. I won’t touch it until you get a bit of relief.’ He glanced around the open room towards a doorway that looked like it led to the kitchen. ‘Do you have any ice?’

She almost smiled and he almost melted. ‘Always.’

He stood up. Quickly. ‘I’ll grab some from the freezer then.’ Marcus stepped around the ladder and righted it before heading for the kitchen. He couldn’t help a little peek around as he went. The house was very tidy.

He guessed that was one thing in her favour, though he supposed it could be any of the girls who had the clean fetish. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to stack up good things in Matilda’s favour and refocussed on the task at hand.

Freezer. He saw the unopened bag of frozen peas and decided it would mould better around her foot. He grabbed a tea towel that was folded on the bench.

When he crouched back down beside her she looked more composed and he mentally sighed with relief. He mightn’t have coped with her tears. ‘I’ve brought the frozen peas. Less square.’

She took them and lowered them gingerly onto her bruised toe. They both winced. ‘Ow-w …’ she murmured as the green plastic bag settled around her foot.

‘Where would you like to sit? Somewhere comfort able, maybe. With your leg up?’ She couldn’t stay there on the floor, which was cold tiles.

Her big green eyes, still shiny with unshed tears, so completely captured his attention he wasn’t sure what she was talking about when she answered. ‘Um … I’ll try for the sofa.’

So far? So far so good? Sofa. Right. Move somewhere more comfortable. What the heck was wrong with him this morning? She lifted the ice and he helped her up and he saw her grit her teeth to take a step.

This was crazy. ‘Here.’ He picked her up easily in his arms and took the few strides to the three-seater lounge. She felt decidedly pleasant against his chest and it was with strange reluctance that he put her down.

Not sensible. He knelt down and looked quickly at her toe again as she prepared to replace the ice. The bruising was mainly below the start of the nail and he ran his finger along her slender, cute phalanges. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken. Just bruised.’

She nodded then looked away from him and he suddenly realised he was still holding her foot. He almost dropped it in his haste to stand up. ‘Well, if nothing else is hurt, I’ll be on my way.’ He unobtrusively wiped his hand on his trousers to rid himself of that warm and tingly feeling.

Big, solemn eyes looked up at him. ‘Thanks for checking on me.’

The sooner he got out of here the better. ‘My aunt would kill me if I didn’t.’

She nodded. ‘Of course. Thanks anyway.’

Marcus left. Quickly.

Tilly watched him go, her toe a dull throbbing ache that was being replaced by a dull throbbing ache from the cold peas, but the rest of her was still dazed from being picked up and carried as if she were a baby.

Scoop and go with no effort at all from him. It had been a very strange feeling to be held against that solid, manly chest and one she would have liked to have savoured for maybe a little while longer just for interest’s sake.

Only to see why women liked it, of course. She al most got the reason. She could still smell the faint scent of virile man. Maybe guys did have some short-term advantages.

She glanced around at the flat-headed copper nails that had spilled out of the box and the hammer lying beside them. No more repairs this morning. Her toe was feeling better already and she’d be sensible to keep it up before work that afternoon.

She needed to remind herself that this guy qualified as an ‘older man’ and he pressed too many of her attraction buttons to be anywhere near safe as a platonic friend.

CHAPTER THREE

TILLY‘s toe wasn’t too bad by afternoon, probably that quick packet of peas, because she squeezed into her shoe with only a little tenderness before she caught the bus up the hill to work, rather than walk.

Tilly, along with the rest of the afternoon staff, had just finished their walk around the ward to meet the patients and for clinical handover when the phone rang.

Gina picked it up, listened, and then waved. ‘There’s a patient with foetal distress, first baby, coming in by ambulance.’ Gina assessed the staff on duty. ‘Home birth. Probable emergency Caesarean. You take her, Tilly.’

‘Yep. Thanks.’ Tilly felt the clutch of sympathy in her stomach and glanced at her watch. ‘How far away?’

Gina looked at the wall clock. ‘Ten minutes. Josie Meldon’s the mum, from Randwick, and the midwife is Scottish Mary.’

Tilly was already moving. ‘Who’s the doctor on call?’

‘The new consultant.’

So she’d get to meet the man. ‘I’ll page him and get the papers ready for Theatre.’ More than anyone, Tilly understood the efficiency and reliability of home-birth midwives. And Mary was one of the best.

Tilly’s mother and grandmother had both been heavily involved in the home-birth movement all their lives and Tilly had been born at home, naturally, as well as growing up holding placards at dozens of home-birth rallies.

She’d known Mary for years and if Mary said Caesarean, which she hated with a passion, that was what was needed.

She dialled the pager number for the new consultant then scooped a pile of preprepared theatre papers from the drawer on her way to the filing cabinet.

The cabinet held all the bookings of pregnant women in their catchment. Eastern Beaches Maternity Wing, or EB as it was known, had great rapport with the local independent midwives and in the last six months since Tilly had graduated she’d made extra efforts to liaise between the two areas of maternity care.

Tilly’s goal had been to increase the mutual respect between hospital and private midwives, and while not missing, rapport hadn’t flourished either.

Gina, a progressive manager and long-standing friend of Tilly’s mother, had encouraged her. Now EB had brief admission papers of even the home-birth clients in case of emergencies such as this to streamline unexpected admissions. This benefited everybody, especially the incoming mums.

As Tilly lifted Josie Meldon’s file the phone rang and Tilly picked it up. ‘Maternity, Tilly. Can I help you?’

There was a brief pause and Tilly glanced at the light on the phone to check the caller was still on the line. Then a voice. ‘Dr Bennett. You paged?’

‘Yes.’ She frowned at the fleeting illusion that she recognised the voice and then shrugged it off. ‘We’ve a woman in need of emergency Caesarean coming in from home. Full-term baby. Foetal distress and her midwife is with her. I’m about to ring Theatre.’

‘A failed home birth?’

The thinly veiled scepticism in the new doctor’s response scratched against Tilly’s nerves like a nail on a blackboard and she wouldn’t have called the words back if she could have.

‘Not really the time for labelling, do you think?’

He ignored that. ‘She hasn’t arrived for assessment yet? Hold the alert to Theatre until I assess her.’

Tilly frowned fiercely into the phone. ‘That’s your call but I’ll still prepare the theatre notes.’

Another pause while he digested that and Tilly’s flushed face glared at the phone. She wanted to get Theatre going.

‘Who gave you permission to instigate a theatre call?’

‘The midwife in charge of the case has called it. We’re all working for the mother and baby, but just a moment,’ she said sweetly, ‘I’ll put you onto the midwifery manager.’

Tilly held the phone with the tips of her fingers as if she’d just discovered it was covered in horse manure. No wonder everyone detested this guy. She carried it at the end of a straight arm and handed it to Gina. ‘I think this is for you.’

To Tilly’s surprise Gina smiled wryly as if she’d seen this coming. Gina shooed her away to other preparations and Tilly gave no apologies for possibly upsetting the consultant. It was her job to help protect the women in her area. Thank goodness Gina knew that.

Marcus put the phone down after the brief discussion with Gina. He measured his steps to the door because what he really wanted to do was swoop down to birthing and shake his nemesis.

He couldn’t believe the gnome thrower from next door was a midwife in his ward but he had no difficulty believing she’d champion home birth.

Home birth. The taste of it was metallic in his mouth, his least favourite association with his job, but even he could see that was personal and he shouldn’t let it colour his judgement.

But he’d sort that after he assessed the new admission. ‘Page my resident and registrar to meet me immediately on labour ward, please, Sheryl.’ He spoke as he strode out the door and his new secretary nodded at his back. She was used to obstetricians in a hurry.

He briefly considered the shock he’d received when Matilda had been on the end of the phone. He tried not to think about the fact she would have told them all about the incident at his aunt’s house. He was above out-of-school gossip and could ignore that the staff would snicker at the idea of him being hit by a gnome. And that he’d picked her up from the floor that morning.

Tough. He had more important things to think about.

The midwife in charge, thank goodness, was a sensible woman, but he wouldn’t tolerate lack of respect from anyone, no matter how many windows she’d fixed for his aunt.

Marcus didn’t wait for the lift and loped down the stairs two at a time, each step more forcible than the last, until he realised what he was doing. Calm. Control.

Tilly didn’t give Dr Bennett another thought. She used a different phone to get a gurney over for her patient to transfer immediately to Theatre as soon as she had ‘his’ permission.

The ambulance arrived with her patient a minute later and Tilly directed them into the empty birthing room where she had the set-up for a catheter and IV ready to go.

Mary looked calm as usual but her hand shook slightly as she handed over her patient. ‘This is Josie. We spoke about having a Caesarean on the way in, and that we’ll have to put in a drip and catheter before surgery.’ Mary’s lilt was more pronounced with worry.

‘Hi, Josie. I’m Tilly. One of the midwives here.’ Tilly handed Mary the pre-jellied sensor from the electronic foetal monitor so they could all hear how Josie’s baby’s heart rate was.

The monitor picked up the clop-clop of the baby, a little faster than average rate but as soon as Josie started to get a contraction it slowed quite dramatically and Tilly looked at Mary. ‘I’ll just pop the drip in while we wait for the obstetrician. Dr Bennett is our new consultant and he’ll be taking over Josie’s care while she’s here.’

Tilly smiled sympathetically at the worried woman and her husband, and they all listened as Josie sighed heavily at the end of the contraction. When it was completely gone and her baby’s heart rate had slowed even more they all waited with held breath until the rate slowly picked up and finally returned to the rapid rate of a compensating baby.

Okay, baby was coping and doing a good job of conserving energy, but not for long.

Tilly went on. ‘It’s rotten luck this has happened to you, but we’ll try and keep you up to date as we go, and Mary and your husband can stay with you whatever happens.’

The door opened and a group of three doctors swarmed in like big white moths. Tilly didn’t think it was fanciful to think they seemed to shrink the room.

The tallest moth was more like an avenging angel. An archangel she’d met before. ‘I’m Dr Bennett. Fill me in, please.’

Mary stepped forward. ‘I’m Josie’s midwife.’ That was all Tilly heard for the first frozen second or two because she was staring at the disaster that stood in front of her.

She felt like slapping her forehead. Dr Bennett. Mrs Bennett. Gnome man. This was a pearler. Wait till she told the girls at home. He didn’t even look at her but somehow she knew he knew she was there.

Mary’s voice drifted back in and Tilly listened distractedly as she went back to hanging the IV flask.

‘Josie was doing beautifully, seven centimetres dilated, when we had a sudden dive of the fetal hearts with a good recovery the first time and then a repeat with a slower response.’

The chief white moth didn’t say anything and Mary hurried on. ‘Then the foetal tachycardia you can see on this graph. I’m not sure why, the response isn’t dependent on position, but in case it was a true knot or something sinister we opted to come in. Each contraction has seen a slower recovery of the deceleration in heartbeat.’

‘Of course.’ His voice gave nothing away. ‘What time did you notice the first deceleration?’

Mary glanced at her watch nervously. ‘Maybe twenty minutes ago.’

He didn’t say anything but inexcusable delay was the message everyone in the room heard. He looked away from Mary and his face softened into a reassuring smile as he leaned down and met Josie’s eyes.

‘You did the right thing, coming in.’ He nodded and rested his hand on Josie’s as she clutched the sheet. ‘We’ll have your baby out very quickly. Hang in there.’ He glanced around at the rest of the people in the room. Tilly included. ‘I want Josie on the table in ten minutes.’

Tilly felt the tiny slip of her leash and gave up on her silence. Didn’t he have any idea how attuned Mary was to her women? She struggled, but thankfully her voice came out mildly, for her, as she gave in to defence. She waved the catheter in her hand. ‘Thanks to Mary’s pre-warning, the gurney’s here and Josie’s almost ready now, Doctor.’

His glance barely acknowledged her existence as he swept out.

‘Holey dooley, thanks for the bat.’ Mary caught Tilly’s eyes and rolled them as she regathered her composure. ‘Now I know what court feels like.’

‘You do an amazing job, and have better statistics than a dozen hospitals, Mary. I don’t mind telling people. He’s new and doesn’t understand but my manager says he’s one of the best,’ she said to Josie with a grin, ‘and we’ll have you there in under ten, Josie, so bear with us.’

Josie was in Theatre in eight minutes, once she was there a very quick spinal injection that numbed her took five, and her son was born ten minutes later.

Marcus peered over the green drape that separated Josie’s upper chest from the operation site. ‘A true knot in the cord, slowly pulling tighter as he descended the birth canal.’

At least he had the grace to nod at Mary, Tilly thought. ‘You were right. Well done.’ Then he looked back at Josie. ‘A bit too dangerous for baby for a normal birth this time but he looks great now. He’ll be with you in a sec.’

At the other end, waiting to take the baby, Tilly had to admit his technique was amazing. Swift, yet sure, and by far the most gentle Caesarean she’d seen since she’d started her training.

Sometimes the tugging at the end of the operation, that time as baby’s head and body were removed after opening the uterus, could look almost brutal, but this baby had been scooped seamlessly and with a birth almost as serene as vaginal birth in water.

Tilly had to grin under her mask. No doubt another tussle she’d be having with this man.

Now that baby was safe, just waiting for his cord to be clamped and cut, Tilly could allow herself a little flutter of anticipation for the ongoing battle as she waited for Marcus to pass across their patient.

He looked calm. Calmer than he had when she’d taken him out with a gnome. Calmer than when the police car had rolled up. And to be fair, he’d been very calm and concerned and even kind when he’d come to her rescue that morning.

The surgical team had been quietly courteous and extremely efficient. The scrub sister was smiling her heart out at the pleasure of scrubbing in with him. And Tilly couldn’t help notice his eyes glance Sister’s way with a twinkle when she spoke. The silly woman was blushing over a smile and a few curling hairs at the V of his loose scrubs.

Marcus ignored the fact that he knew Matilda was watching him. He reached across and carefully laid Josie’s baby on the sterile sheet on the resuscitation trolley and stepped away from the risk of contamination as she leaned forward.

It was Marcus’s turn to watch. From the safety of his sterile field he watched the little boy wriggle on the sheet as she wiped him dry and murmured to him. It seemed she was good at her job. How annoying. He frowned at himself. That was ridiculous. That was a good thing.

He watched her as she assessed heart rate and breathing, along with colour and tone as she finished drying him.

Baby looked perfect, not distressed and she gathered him up with a deftness that spoke of experience and well-founded confidence. As she carried him around the screen to his mother, Matilda’s pleasure shone and lit up the room. He glanced away because he’d almost smiled himself.

He saw the home-birth midwife’s eyes mist as she sat beside Josie’s head on the other side of the screen, not something he would normally have noticed, and he was left with a little disquiet at how abruptly he’d dealt with her. Hopefully he’d have a chance to reassure her before she left the hospital. Had he been insensitive? At least she’d known when to call it.

The next time he looked up it was because the little boy had begun to cry loudly as Tilly unwrapped him and draped him across his mother, baby chest to mother’s breast, skin to skin. Tilly tucked one of his hands in under his mother’s armpit and settled a warmed bunny rug over both of them.

He’d got over his shock and wasn’t feeling quite as annoyed with her. But he’d have a word later. She was a militant little thing. He’d picked that up from the one comment she’d made in the birth suite. He should probably tell her he wasn’t a fan of home births.

‘Hello, my little darling. You scared us.’

Marcus heard the words as he began to suture the uterus back together. Such heartfelt relief, and he caught the moment when Josie’s husband kissed his wife’s cheek with a shuddering sigh. This was why he did this job. To keep families safe.

Half an hour later they were almost done. Baby had just let out a roar. ‘Good set of lungs,’ Marcus said as he looked over the top of the screen again and smiled warmly at the new parents, then his gaze skimmed Mary and settled on Tilly.

Tilly saw his eyes rest on her. We’ll talk later, the look said. Now baby and mum were safe he appeared to be thinking of a little discussion about her phone manner perhaps. Good.

Tilly couldn’t help the flutter under her rib cage, the flickering nervousness of a battle of wits and practice preferences, and she turned her head away from him. She looked forward to the challenge but perhaps it would be wise not to let him know.

On the return to the ward, Tilly sponged and settled Josie and her baby so Mary could go home much relieved. The rest of the ward was so busy Tilly didn’t have a chance to wonder when Marcus would come to find her.

Which was just as well because he didn’t get a chance that night, and apart from a few over-the-shoulder glances that came up empty Tilly went home with unfinished business lying between them.

Marcus woke at dawn. He didn’t know what had woken him, but he knew it was hopeless to attempt further sleep.

He rolled out of bed and stretched, seeing the sun was tinging the horizon of ocean with pink and the promise of another beautiful day. The lure of the salty tang of a sea breeze had him swiftly change into his trainers and let himself out of his aunt’s house at a slow run towards the beach.

A woman dived into the surf as he reached the sand and he couldn’t shed the ripple of anxiety as she dis ap peared under the waves. Her head popped up again and he shuddered as old memories surfaced as well. Swimming hadn’t been attractive since his sixth birthday.

Irresponsible, that’s what it was, to swim so far out and alone, he said to himself, then grimaced for sounding like a grumpy old man. Well, for goodness’ sake, there were no others on the beach and the lifesavers wouldn’t start for another hour so who would help her if she ran into trouble?

He turned his gaze to the sand in front and increased his speed until the slap of his runners on the sand beneath him banished the memories and soothed his soul.

Out past the waves the woman swam parallel to the beach from one side of the bay to the other and he sent one brief glance her way as he turned to run up the cliff path and onto the headland.

As he returned from his run he closed in on another girl, one he recognised, as she walked up the hill towards the house. One he’d meant to catch up with last night and hadn’t had a chance to.

Unfinished work business lay between them but maybe that should keep for work. All he could think of was how amazing her wet siren’s hair was, that wiggle of her walk under the towel wrapped around her that did uncomfortable things to his libido, and the strains of a haunting Irish lullaby, this time drifting backwards towards him.

Now, here was a dilemma.

He could run past and pretend he didn’t recognise her and hope he made it into the house before she called out to him.

Or he could stop now, hang back, and not catch up.

Or he could fall in beside her and pretend he didn’t care either way—which he tried but it didn’t quite come off. ‘Morning, Matilda.’

The lullaby abruptly ended and she glanced across at him. ‘Good morning, Marcus. Or should I say Dr Bennett?’

‘Only at work will be fine.’

Tilly grinned at him and he couldn’t help his smile back. Not what he had intended at all. Neither was the slow and leisurely perusal of all she had on display above the towel. But what was a man to do when she looked so good?

She had the body of an angel, now that he had a chance to admire her up close, and the long line of her neck made his fingers itch with the impulse to follow the droplet of seawater that trickled enticingly down into the hollow between her perfect breasts.

Good Lord. His mouth dried and his mind went blank. Not a normal occurrence.

‘Join me for breakfast?’ He frowned. Now, why had he said that? It was the last thing he needed before work and gave the opposite impression of what he wanted to get clear between them. ‘To discuss yesterday.’

She hesitated and he thought for a moment he’d get out of the ridiculous situation he’d created. Much more sensible to discuss work at work—like he’d decided before he’d been bowled out by his middle stump.

‘Where?’

His stupid mind went blank again. ‘Down at the beach? Pick somewhere to sit. I’ll find you. Say fifteen minutes?’

‘Something quick and light? Sounds good.’

A quick one. That’s what he fancied all right and it was a damn nuisance his sleeping libido had decided to wake up when she’d gone past.

No. This was an opportunity to clear the air. About work. Maybe find some common ground on their perceptions of theatre calls and lines that were drawn. That was the sensible thing to discuss.

Fifteen minutes later theatre calls were the last thing Marcus wanted to discuss. She’d taken him at his word and waited for him by sitting on the steps of the white wrought-iron rotunda, a picturesque place of summer bands and vocal touters, and quite a fitting place for a mischievous midwife who drove him mad but a little public if anyone from the hospital walked past. He couldn’t help glance around but nobody seemed particularly interested in them.

She almost wore an emerald sundress and up close the way it fitted her body took his breath and his brains away. Again.

He handed over the dish of fruit and yoghurt he’d chosen without thinking but thankfully she looked happy enough with his choice.

Then his mouth let him down. ‘You look gorgeous.’ He almost slapped his hand over it. No-o-o-o. Quick recovery needed. ‘But I’m not a fan of home births.’ The words hung starkly, like the family of swallows under the scalloped roof of the rotunda.

Her sudden smile faded. ‘I noticed. Why?’

Good. She’d heard him. At least he’d said what he had to. ‘Too dangerous. Poor outcomes if something goes wrong.’ He looked away. ‘And personal reasons. I really don’t want to discuss it.’

To his surprise she nodded with more understanding than he’d expected. ‘I can see that.’ She glanced away to the waves.

When she said, ‘Do you run most mornings?’ ridiculous relief expanded inside him. He caught her eye as she looked back.

He could laugh now. ‘When people don’t cripple me with gnomes, yes.’

She bit her lip and blushed delightfully. ‘I’m sorry. And I didn’t mention it at work.’

He couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a bonus. Not the most glorious way to introduce the new consultant. ‘I’m over it.’ Actually, he was—surprising even himself—and Matilda looked happy to hear it. He let her have a full-blown smile so she could see he was telling the truth. ‘I do have some sense of humour. Eventually.’

She looked down and smiled at the steps and he felt a frown on his forehead. Had he sounded self-indulgent? Forgotten how to talk trivia to a woman? Not usually. Maybe it was just this woman.

He forced himself on. ‘So you like to swim in the mornings. And sing.’ Her eyes lit up again, like they had in Theatre last night, and they smiled at each other like two loons. Then he remembered they worked together and he needed to keep distance. He glanced around at the people in the park. No one was looking.

There was an awkward silence and he patted the rotunda they sat on. ‘Do you sit here often?’

She glanced around, encompassing the grass of the park, the sea, and finally the rotunda. ‘When it’s empty. I can see right out over the ocean. In the spring they have white daisies around the bottom. I pretend it’s my castle and I’m a princess.’

Not too far-fetched even for his prosaic imagination. She looked like he’d always imagined a fairytale princess looked. He’d never had a thing for tiny blond-haired dolls, always dark, willowy Rapunzel-type ones, and red was close enough.

Problem was she so easily enmeshed him, like those nets hanging off the boats down on the beach, and he had to disentangle himself. A liaison with a junior midwife was the last thing he needed.

He just hadn’t wanted misunderstandings at work and especially when his aunt thought so much of her. Really his only reason for being here.

He finished his breakfast in a hurry and stood up. ‘Sorry to rush off.’

‘No. You go. I’ll stay a little longer. I often eat down here when I’m working the late shift.’

Tilly watched him go with his strong brown legs eating up the distance and the incline to his aunt’s house. He didn’t look back and his spine stayed straight and tall as he moved like a well-oiled machine, though actually he was a bit of a machine, with his running and his rules for the ward and the world. Marcus The Machine. A control freak. Which was sad.

Yet somehow she didn’t think he’d planned the invitation to have breakfast with him. She smiled to herself. She’d bet that had come out of nowhere.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN Tilly walked into work that afternoon she didn’t even get a handover. Gina shooed her straight through to Birthing as she arrived and briefed her on the way. ‘There’s a teenage mum in birth suite four. I’d like you to look after her.’

‘Yes, please.’ Tilly was happy with that and Gina grinned at her enthusiasm.

‘India Ray. Her mum’s in South Australia and the boyfriend’s outside on the street at the moment. She has a nasty history of abuse and of course she’s terrified of the birth and anyone touching her. The seniors will cover the ward until she’s delivered so concentrate on her. She’s had her monitoring done, so you can see the trace in the chart—all’s well there.’

Tilly nodded, she could almost hear her mum’s voice, ‘If a girl’s had a rotten childhood, past abuse can seriously affect the way she labours.’ It had been a passion of her mother’s that she’d passed on to Tilly, to be especially supportive and aware that labours could suddenly stop when women felt vulnerable.

Privacy and actual physical contact were huge issues.

‘Good luck.’ Gina left her to finish handover with the others and Tilly knocked on the door and slipped into the darkened room. She could hear rapid breathing coming from the bed.

‘Hello, there, India.’ Tilly peered through the dimness and waited for her eyes to adjust. ‘I’m Tilly. I’m the midwife looking after you this afternoon.’

There was no response from the young woman on the bed. Tilly tried again. ‘How’s it going?’

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