The Night Before Christmas

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Praise

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

Praise for Alison Roberts:

‘Readers will be moved by this incredibly sweet story

about a family that is created

in the most unexpected way.’

—RT Book Reviews on THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

‘I had never read anything by Alison Roberts

prior to reading TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS,

but after reading this enchanting novella

I shall certainly add her name to my auto-buy list!’

—Cataromance.com on TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS

‘Ms Roberts produces her usual entertaining blend

of medicine and romance in just the right proportion,

with a brooding but compelling hero

and both leads with secrets to hide.’

—Mills and Boon® website reader review on NURSE, NANNY…BRIDE!

About the Author

ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand. She began her working career as a primary school teacher, but now juggles available working hours between writing and active duty as an ambulance officer. Throwing in a large dose of parenting, housework, gardening and pet-minding keeps life busy, and teenage daughter Becky is responsible for an increasing number of days spent on equestrian pursuits. Finding time for everything can be a challenge, but the rewards make the effort more than worthwhile.

CHAPTER ONE

‘PLEASE, Mummy … please …’

The huge blue eyes were filled with such desperate longing, it was unbearable.

‘But it’ll be horribly crowded, darling. We’ll have to stand in a big queue for heaven knows how long.’

‘I don’t mind.’

‘We might be gone for hours.’

‘Misty doesn’t mind, either. Do you, Misty?’

Another set of blue eyes but without the sparkle. Framed by the same gorgeous, golden curls, but this face was much thinner and there were shadows caused by the kind of pain no child should have to endure. The brave smile as this little girl shook her head in agreement was even more unbearable. It was enough to create the unpleasant prickle of tears at the back of Lizzie’s eyes.

She swallowed them away with a skill born of long practice.

‘It’s ‘portant, Mummy. I have to tell Santa what me and Misty want for Christmas.’

‘Christmas is weeks away, Holly. Santa will be there every day from now on. It’s the first day of the big sale today and that’s why it’ll be so crowded. We could go next week.’

‘No-o-o.’

‘Why not?’

‘Cos it’s Santa’s first day and he might ‘member what I tell him and he might forget when he’s listened to lots and lots of other girls and boys. Me and Misty’s secret might fall out of his head, like things do for Nanna.’

There was a snort from the corner of the room, but no comment. Lizzie hid a smile. She also stifled a sigh, trying to think.

It would be overheated and stuffy in the famous department store, Bennett’s. There would be a huge queue with dozens of children waiting with their parents for their turn to sit on Santa’s knee and whisper secrets. Happy, excited, healthy children and she’d have to stand there for far too long. Feeling the pull back to this small hospital room. But if she stayed, she’d feel guilty. Holly needed her too and she was going to get even less of her mother’s time in the next few weeks.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ came a firm voice from the same direction the snort had come from. ‘Go, Lizzie. You’ll be seeing more than you want of four walls like this in a couple of days. I’ll stay here with Misty.’

‘Are you sure, Mum? You’ve done so much already today. You must be exhausted. How’s your hip?’

The older woman smiled, looking up from a pile of felt fabric she was sorting in her lap. ‘I’m fine. Think about yourself for once, love. Go and have some fun with Holly. Bring me back some of that lovely Bennett’s shortbread and I’ll be happy.’

Holly was whispering in her sister’s ear and Misty was nodding. Smiling as she whispered back. They both looked at their mother and the solemn expression on two small faces told Lizzie that the secret was of the utmost importance.

She had to swallow hard again. Her two precious daughters who should look identical but were becoming more different every day.

How ironic that she’d chosen Misty as the name for the twin who was fading away before their eyes.

What was the secret wish that Santa had to know about as soon as possible?

That this was going to work? That Misty would be well again?

Hope might be a vital ingredient in what made something successful. Lizzie took a deep breath. She smiled.

‘Come on, then, Tuppence. Let’s go and see Santa.’

Jack Rousseau had no idea whether he was heading in the right direction.

Why on earth had he thought he might as well pop into Bennett’s because it was right beside the bank and get finding the only Christmas gifts he needed to purchase out of the way? He should have spent a pleasant Sunday morning in the markets last week, when he had still been in Paris, and found something original enough to make both his housekeepers smile.

Instead, he was here in London and it was freezing and grey outside and way too crowded and warm inside. And he only had an hour or so until he was due at the ‘meet and greet’ at Westbridge Park, the prestigious hospital where he was due to start his temporary specialist position tomorrow.

The sensible thing to do would be to give up and come back another time. Preferably when the sale had finished. Late at night, too, so there wouldn’t be so many noisy children and pushchairs to avoid. He should have stayed downstairs and chosen something in the perfume department and ignored the flash of inspiration that had sent him in search of kitchenware. Now he was trapped on an escalator, looking down on a sea of humanity and Christmas decorations.

Christmas.

Was anybody quite as unlucky as he was in having the whole world building up expectations to a day that held a memory as unpleasant as the spectacular ending of a marriage? He had avoided the whole business now as far as humanly possible for many years. A bonus in the form of cash had always been suitable for the people he’d needed to find gifts for so why had he chosen this year to break his routine?

There had to be a thousand trees in this store. Incroyable. There was a whole forest of them when he stepped off at the top. Green trees. Silver and white ones. Even a fluorescent blue thing that looked very wrong. They were all covered with bows and balls and twinkling lights and it was all too much. Jack ducked between two of them and found himself in, of all places, the lingerie department.

Pausing to catch his breath and find an easy escape route, he found the shapely mannequins, wearing Christmas hats and very little else, quite a pleasant distraction. Jack was rather taken with a red and black striped bustier with built-in suspenders that were holding up some fishnet stockings.

A perfect Christmas gift for the woman with the right credentials. What a shame Danielle had given him that ultimatum only last week. She knew the rules, he explained silently to the mannequin, so why had she gone and ruined everything by demanding a commitment he would never make again? With a grimace that embraced both the current emptiness of his bed and the fact that he was trying to communicate telepathically with a plastic woman, Jack sighed and turned to scan the crowds once more, looking for a ‘down’ escalator.

There was a long queue of people making a human barrier halfway across this floor and Jack turned his head to find out what the attraction might be. A fashion parade perhaps? In the lingerie department?

No such luck. He should have guessed by the fact that everyone in this queue had small people attached to them. There was a Christmas grotto over there by the lifts and a Father Christmas was enthroned on a crimson velvet chair. A photographer was adjusting lights as a mother tried to persuade a toddler to sit still on Santa’s knee to have his picture taken.

A nearby child was whining. ‘When’s my turn, Mum?’

Another was crying. The rising level of high-pitched, excited voices was starting to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable, like fingernails on a blackboard.

The stairs would be faster. Turning on all the charm he could muster, Jack edged rapidly through the press of humanity, excusing himself repeatedly. The vast majority of the people were women and they responded admirably to a bit of authority tempered with a smile. That they continued to stare at him after he’d passed by went unnoticed.

He almost made it. If it hadn’t been for the little grandma practically fainting in his arms, he would have been half way down the stairs by now.

Instead, he found himself searching for a chair. ‘Is there somewhere she could sit down?’ he asked the saleswoman who had come rushing to help.

‘Here. This way.’ The face over the trim black skirt and frilly white blouse was anxious. The woman, whose name tag said ‘Denise’, was holding aside the curtain that was being used to screen the back of the Christmas grotto.

The chair was solid and wooden and the elderly woman sank onto it with a relieved groan.

‘Keep your head down for a moment,’ Jack said. He supported her with one arm, using his free hand to find her wrist.

‘Shall I call for an ambulance?’ Denise asked.

‘No!’ The elderly woman shook her purple rinsed hair. ‘Please don’t do that.’

‘Give us a minute,’ Jack said. ‘I’m a doctor.’

‘Oh-h-h.’ Denise smiled for the first time. ‘That’s lucky.’

Jack thought of the minutes ticking past and how hard it might be to find a taxi once he made it outside but he wasn’t going to contradict Denise. He could feel a rapid and rather weak pulse in the wrist he was holding and he noted the faint sheen of perspiration on the woman’s pale face.

‘What’s your name?’ he enquired.

‘Mabel.’

‘I’m Jack,’ he told her. ‘Dr Rousseau. Tell me, has anything like this ever happened to you before?’

‘No. I’m as healthy as a horse. I don’t want any fuss. I just … came over a bit funny, that’s all.’

‘Dizzy?’

‘Oh … yes.’

‘Sick?’

‘Yes. I’m starting to feel a bit better now, though.’

‘No pain in your chest?’

‘No.’

‘You’re puffing a bit.’

‘I walked up all those stairs. My great-grandson’s here somewhere, with my daughter. He’s waiting to see Father Christmas.’

This was where the man in the red suit must come when he was allowed a breather, Jack decided. There was a small table beside the chair with a carafe of water and some glasses.

‘Do you think I could have a glass of that water, dear?’ Mabel asked.

Denise did the honours. Jack stayed where he was, thinking through his options. If he could rule out anything serious, like a cardiac event, he could probably leave Mabel and escape downstairs. Or maybe they could take her downstairs. It was rather stuffy in this small, curtained space. He was in a corner and his back was right against one edge. Right beside the red velvet throne, judging by how clearly he could hear voices.

‘Hello there, dear. What’s your name?’

‘Holly.’

‘And how old are you, Holly?’

‘I’m six.’

‘And what it is you want for Christmas?’

‘It’s not just for me.’ The six year old girl sounded so earnest she was breathless. ‘It’s for Misty, too.’

‘Who’s Misty?’

‘My sister.’

‘And how old is Misty?’

‘She’s six, too.’

‘Oh … you must be twins.’

Santa didn’t sound half as bright as Holly, Jack thought. He still had his fingers on Mabel’s wrist and her pulse was jumping a bit. Maybe he should send for an ambulance. Just because she wasn’t experiencing any chest pain, it didn’t mean she wasn’t having a heart attack. The pulse was faint enough to make him concerned about her blood pressure as well. Of course, if she’d nearly fainted, it would have dropped considerably but it didn’t pick up in the next minute or so, he’d need to do something.

‘How old are you, Mabel?’

‘Eighty-three.’

‘Are you on medication for anything?’

‘Just my blood pressure. The doctor’s given me some new pills for it. I just started them yesterday.’

‘Hmm. That might well have something to do with how you’re feeling. Can you remember the name of the pills?’ he asked.

‘They’re in my purse. Oh, no … where is my purse?’

‘You must have dropped it!’ Denise exclaimed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go and have a look right now.’

Jack watched with dismay as the saleswoman ducked through the curtain and disappeared. She might be gone for a long time and he could hardly abandon an elderly woman having a vagal episode, could he? He was trapped. Closing his eyes for a moment, he could hear that Holly was still chattering to Santa.

‘It’s cos we were born at Christmas. I’m Holly and she’s Misty. Like, you know, misty-toe.’

Misty-toe? Jack felt his lips twitch and some of his frustration evaporated. He was stuck for the moment so he might as well try and enjoy it.

‘And you and Misty want a daddy for Christmas, you said?’

A daddy? Jack blinked and started listening a lot more carefully.

‘Yes, please. Is that OK? Mummy says we don’t need one really but I’m sure she’d like it. You can manage that, can’t you? I told Misty you could. She wanted to come too but she’s too sick.’

‘Ah … I’m sorry to hear that.’

So was Mabel. Her head was up and she was clearly eavesdropping on the secret conversation behind them as well. At the mention of the sick sister, she looked straight at Jack. Horrified? More like … expectant.

As if he could do anything about it. He was a specialist surgeon, not a paediatrician. Unless they needed new body parts transplanted, he didn’t have anything to do with small people.

He had to admit he was getting curious about this child, though. It wasn’t hard to straighten a little and move his head to where there was a gap in the curtain that would allow him to have a peek.

He could see the back of Santa’s head and the arm that was around the child on his knee. He could see a mop of blonde curls around a very pretty face that was staring very intently at the man hearing her wish. She had the biggest, bluest eyes Jack had ever seen. Give her a set of wings and a little halo on a headband and this Holly would make a perfect Christmas angel.

How sad that she had a twin sister who was so sick.

Santa must be feeling the same way. He was certainly giving this child a little more time than others might have had.

‘She’s going to be all right. Mummy’s hoping she’ll get a really special Christmas present that will make her better, but you know what?’

‘What?’ The tone was wary.

Jack’s interest was firmly piqued. A special Christmas present that would make her better? It was the sort of thing a parent for a child waiting on an organ to become available might say. Bit much to expect a miracle before Christmas if they were on the kind of waiting list the majority of his patients had to rely on, though.

‘I think having a daddy would make her feel better. It would make us all feel better.’

‘I’ll … see what I can do.’

‘He has to be nice,’ Holly said firmly. ‘And kind. And he has to be really, really nice to Mummy so she’ll like him too. That’s my mummy over there, see?’

Jack’s head mirrored the turn that Santa’s head made. The woman standing beside the photographer was un-mistakeably Holly’s mother. An older version, really, with shoulder-length, blonde curly hair and a cute nose and, while it was far too far away to see the colour of her eyes, Jack just knew they would be as blue as a midsummer sky. Mummy was curvy in all the right places, too. In fact, it was a bit of a puzzle why she was alone. Looking like that, surely she’d be fighting off potential daddies? What man wouldn’t want to be really, really nice to her?

Apart from him, of course. He’d been there and done that and the failure was a huge black mark on a personal history that otherwise shone with achievement. A wise man did not repeat his mistakes.

Santa stared for a moment or two and Jack could hear him sigh as he turned back. Holly’s head turned as well. Far enough to catch sight of Jack peering through the curtain.

‘Ooh,’ she squeaked. ‘Who are you?’

Jack had to think fast. ‘Just one of Santa’s helpers,’ he whispered.

‘Are you a … nelf?’

‘Yes.’ Jack nodded. His smile seemed to come from a different place than usual. It felt … softer. ‘That’s it. I’m a nelf.’

‘Why haven’t you got a green hat?’

He was spared having to answer. The photographer was tapping his watch and the next woman in the queue was edging forward with a small boy who had a very expectant smile. It was clearly the next child’s turn to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas and Holly was distracted by the gentle nudge that was intended to dislodge her from her perch. Not that she was having any of it.

‘He has to be nice to me and Misty as well as Mummy,’ she told Santa hurriedly. ‘That’s ‘portant. Uncle Nathan liked Mummy but he didn’t like us, ‘specially when Misty got sick, so Mummy told him to go away and never come back.’

‘O-kay,’ said Santa. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. But now it’s time for—’

‘Mummy said she wasn’t sad because she loves us so much she doesn’t need anybody else. She said we’re the two best little girls in the whole world and I’m trying to be extra-good even when it’s hard and everybody’s crying because if you’re good, you get want you want for Christmas, don’t you?’

Why was everybody crying? Jack wondered. Was Misty’s case hopeless?

He glanced at Mabel. She was crying.

‘The poor wee pet,’ she whispered.

‘Mummy looks after everybody.’ The voice was wobbling now. ‘Me and Misty and Nanna. But there’s nobody to take care of Mummy, is there? I’m still too little.’

The photographer was talking to Holly’s mother, who nodded and marched forward.

‘Come on, Holly. You’ve had your turn now.’

‘But—’

‘No “buts”. Come on, we’ll go and find that shortbread for Nanna.’

It was a grown-up version of the determination he’d been hearing in Holly’s voice.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Santa intoned, but he didn’t sound nearly as jolly as he probably should. ‘Ho, ho, ho.’

Denise came back. She had a middle-aged woman with her who turned out to be Mabel’s daughter.

The elderly woman was feeling much better. Her daughter said they were going to go straight to the doctor’s on the way home. She thanked Jack profusely for his medical assistance. So did Denise as she dashed back to her duties.

Jack was free at last. He escaped from the back of the grotto. Heading for the stairs, he passed Denise, who’d been stopped by a customer’s query.

The customer was none other than Holly’s mother. Holly gave him a suspicious stare and must have communicated something through the hand she was holding because her mother turned her head to stare at him as well.

The eye contact was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. As though they knew each other. Intimately. A prickle of something he couldn’t identify traced the length of his spine. His step faltered inexplicably. He covered the odd blip by glancing at his watch and seeing the time was more than enough incentive to keep moving. He had no choice, if he was going to have any chance of making his meeting on time.

Weirdly, what he was feeling now was a strong sense of disappointment. Because he would never know the end of the story about Holly and Misty and whether they would get what they wanted for Christmas.

No. It felt like more than that.

Almost as though he’d just lost something.

Something ‘portant.

‘He’s not really a nelf,’ Holly muttered. ‘He hasn’t got a hat and he’s too big.’

Lizzie was only half listening because Denise was trying to direct her to where she would find the shortbread she needed to take back to the hospital.

Who was too big?

That astonishingly good-looking man who’d just given her the oddest look? He had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Chocolate brown and … interested? No. It had been more than the kind of appreciative glance she was used to getting from men. It had been more like he was surprised to see her here. As if he knew her from somewhere else. That thought was just about as strange as whatever bee Holly had in her bonnet about elves.

If she’d met him before she would have most certainly not forgotten the encounter.

Keeping a firm hold on her daughter’s hand, Lizzie went in search of shortbread. Holly was happy and so was she. In a little while their mission would be accomplished and she could get back to where she really needed to be.

Maybe later … much later, when she had a minute or two to herself, she would indulge in remembering those dark eyes. Relive that frisson of something amazing that she’d felt in that heartbeat when his eyes had touched hers.

A secret smile tweaked the corner of Lizzie’s mouth. She’d have to save it for later but there was no reason not to indulge in a harmless little daydream. After all, who didn’t need a touch of fantasy in their lives now and then?

CHAPTER TWO

THIS was payback.

On a cosmic scale. Punishment for the very real pleasure Lizzie had found last night, dreaming about a pair of chocolate-brown eyes.

She had never expected to see them again. Certainly not at close range. But here they were, on the other side of Dr Kingsley’s desk.

‘Who are you?’

Oh … Lord … It was supposed to come out as ‘Who are you?’ and not ‘Who are you?’, as if she remembered him and was desperate to know his name.

He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was giving her the same kind of odd look he had when he’d passed her in Bennett’s department store yesterday.

‘I’m Jack,’ he told her. ‘Jack Rousseau.’

His voice was as smooth as the rich chocolate his eyes made her think of. Just as dark, too. And there was a subtle hint of a very attractive accent. Rousseau? Was he French?

Lizzie’s mouth went curiously dry and she dropped her gaze instantly. Not that it helped. He had both his hands on the desk, fiddling with the disc of a stethoscope lying on the blotter. Long, shapely fingers and hands, the backs of which were dusted with dark hair. Absolutely masculine hands but they looked very clever.

Sexy hands. Like the rest of this man whose name meant nothing to her. He was a complete stranger despite this odd feeling that she knew him. A two-second encounter in a crowded shop couldn’t account for this feeling of familiarity but illicit fantasies in the privacy of her own bed certainly could.

This was appalling. She had to say something before her hesitation became any more obvious but Lizzie could feel a blush of gigantic proportions blooming. She felt somehow exposed. Vulnerable. Backed into a corner simply because she’d done a tiny thing for her own pleasure.

There was only one thing for it. She needed to come out fighting. Her chin rose sharply and she met those dark eyes directly.

‘Where’s Dr Kingsley?’ she demanded.

As if to answer her sharp query, the door of the consulting room burst open.

‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ Dave Kingsley said. ‘I wanted to be here to introduce you to Jack myself.’ He sent an apologetic smile to the younger man as he pulled another chair to that side of the desk. ‘Didn’t mean to abandon you for so long either.’

‘Couldn’t be helped,’ Jack Rousseau said graciously. ‘Emergencies happen.’

‘Car accident to a patient of mine who had a transplant five years ago,’ Dave explained to Lizzie, before turning back to his new colleague. ‘Looks like he’s damaged the kidney, unfortunately, along with messing up his spleen and liver.’

‘He’ll be on his way to Theatre, then?’

‘Yes. I might get a call. I said I wanted to have a look before any call was made about removing the transplant. Now …’ The surgeon’s smile signalled his change of focus to Lizzie. ‘You’ve obviously met Jack already.’

‘Mmm …’ Lizzie kept her gaze firmly on Dr Kingsley.

‘And he’s explained why he’s here?’

‘We were about to get to that, I think,’ Jack said.

Lizzie didn’t have to look to know that he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice. He was finding this amusing in some way? She could feel the skin on her forehead tightening as she frowned.

‘Let me do the honours, then,’ Dave said. ‘Mr Rousseau … Jack … is very well known for his expertise in abdominal transplant surgery, Lizzie. Westbridge Park has been trying to lure him away from his Paris base for some time but the best we’ve been able to manage is to persuade him to spend a month or so giving a series of lectures and working with other surgeons in some individualised training programmes. I’m one of them, I’m delighted to say.’

It would have been impolite not to shift her gaze to acknowledge the apparently famous expert. To nod, at least, as a sign of respect. Wiping the frown from her face was a bit more of an ask. Having their paths cross again like this still seemed a rather unfortunate twist of fate given her enthusiastic foray into the world of fantasy last night.

Her frown was noted.

‘I’m not really as young as I look,’ Jack Rousseau said kindly. ‘I’m thirty-six and I can assure you that I’ve had considerable experience in cases such as yours.’

Was he planning to take over her surgery? Misty’s surgery?

‘I’m more than happy with Dr Kingsley’s experience, thank you,’ she announced. ‘For myself and for my daughter.’

‘Heavens above, Lizzie,’ Dave put in. ‘I’m not about to hand you over. Though I have invited Jack to supervise and possibly assist in the surgery if that’s acceptable to you. Never hurts to have an extra set of eyes and hands, particularly if they happen to be regarded as the best in the world.’

The sound from the other man in the room was a protest of modesty. ‘The real reason I want to be there,’ Jack told her, ‘is that I’d like your permission to film the surgeries for use in my upcoming lectures.’

Lizzie stared at him. So he was thirty-six? Yes, she could see the fine lines that life had etched around his eyes and the first hint of the odd silver hair in those dark waves. He had the aura that only came with a combination of intelligence and power and she could imagine how skilled those hands must be. Oddly, the memory of those hands made a sudden heat bloom in her belly. It was disconcertingly difficult to drag her gaze away.

‘I can assure you that it won’t compromise your care in any way,’ Jack continued. ‘I have a highly skilled cameraman who’s worked with me in many major hospitals across Europe and in the States.’

Lizzie blinked at that. He must be famous and to be that famous at such a relatively young age must mean that he was seriously good at what he did.

And this was on top of being by far the most attractive man she’d ever been this close to. Certainly the first chance encounter she’d ever indulged in fantasising about.

That initial embarrassment had faded but did she really want him to be involved in any way with her medical procedures? Being in Theatre while she was lying there with her abdomen exposed?

The very idea made her squirm uncomfortably.

Jack could see that Lizzie wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea.

He sat back, toying with the stethoscope hanging around his neck, listening to Dave Kingsley explain how her case had been chosen out of all the ones they’d reviewed yesterday afternoon for just this purpose.

He could understand why she was uncomfortable with having to deal with an unexpected new development. This morning’s appointment was a crucial point in the journey she was on and lives were at stake on this journey. Specifically, the life of a six-year-old girl. What he could see in front of him was a mother who was prepared to do whatever it would take to keep her family safe.

She didn’t need a father for her children because she loved them so much she didn’t need anybody else. Because they were the best little girls in the whole world.

He’d been right, of course. Her eyes were as blue as her daughter’s.

‘I don’t care about myself,’ she was saying, ‘but I’m not having Misty turned into some kind of reality TV show.’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Dave assured her. ‘She won’t be identified and it’s purely for the purpose of training other surgeons.’

Lizzie shot a suspicious glance in his own direction and Jack tried to look suitably serious. She was a fighter, this one. Determination like that, especially on behalf of someone else, was admirable. It was hard not to give her an encouraging smile.

She was also … absolument magnifique.

Quite possibly, the most attractive woman Jack had ever seen. So soft and feminine with those curves and the shining waves of her hair. It was her eyes that really caught him, though. They were utterly compelling. The urge to win her trust and thereby win permission to be part of the team that could remove some of the sadness from those eyes was so powerful it made him tighten his grip on the stethoscope he was fiddling with. The plastic cover on the disc popped off and provided him with a momentary and probably very timely distraction.

He shouldn’t be so aware of Lizzie like this. It was unprecedented. Unprofessional. Jack took a steadying breath as he clicked the clear plastic circle back into place. It was only then that he noticed Dave getting out of his chair. He was reading his pager.

‘Have a chat to Jack about it before you make a decision,’ he was saying to Lizzie. ‘We certainly won’t do anything you’re not happy with. Excuse me for a few minutes. They want a decision made about this kidney. It shouldn’t take long.’

And then he was gone and Jack was again alone with Lizzie. He smiled at her.

‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask, Mrs Matthews?’

‘Yes, I do, Dr Rousseau.’

Jack raised his eyebrows to encourage her.

‘Dr Kingsley said you chose this case as being perfect for filming.’

‘This is true.’

‘He said you spent all afternoon reviewing every case available.’

‘Also true.’

Her gaze was accusing. ‘So how come I saw you in town, then? In Bennett’s?’

She remembered him. Jack tried to ignore the pulse of something pleasant that was warming his gut. ‘I was trying to fit in a bit of Christmas shopping.’ Any further personal-type conversation was entirely unnecessary but Jack found himself continuing nonetheless. ‘Unsuccessful, unfortunately. Partly due to those crowds but mainly thanks to my interlude of impersonating a nelf.’

Lizzie gave her head a small shake that send a wayward curl onto her cheek. She pushed it back. ‘An elf? Holly said something about elves when she saw you but I had no idea what she was talking about.’

She was staring at Jack, clearly puzzled. There was a question in her eyes, too. One that carried an expectation. He had something she wanted.

An explanation? He could give her that, no problem. He could give her a lot more than that, if she would let him. He could potentially make a real contribution to giving her what she wanted more than anything—her child’s health.

For some reason, this case was special. So special there was a distinct niggle at the back of his mind that it was unprofessional to want to be involved this much. Was it because the consultant surgeon he was working with felt the same way? Maybe the concern expressed when they had been discussing it yesterday had been contagious. Whatever the cause was, it had certainly never happened to Jack before and the pull was too powerful to resist. Maybe the ‘nelf’ was his ace card.

‘An elderly woman became unwell after climbing the stairs. I needed somewhere to look after her and one of the saleswomen showed us a private space that happened to be Santa’s rest area. Curtained off behind where he was sitting. Holly saw me through the gap in the curtain and wanted to know who I was and I said I was a helper.’

‘Oh-h …’ Lizzie was smiling now. Just a small smile but it was encouraging. ‘I suppose it was her that decided you were an elf.’

‘I got demerit points because I didn’t have a hat.’

The smile widened. Then it faded and Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘You were right there?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you heard what Holly was saying to Santa?’

‘Ah …’ The truth was probably obvious in his face. Or the way he diverted his gaze hurriedly. He couldn’t tell her what he’d overheard, could he? Apart from the potential for mutual embarrassment, he was just getting further and further away from what needed to be discussed, which was Lizzie and Misty’s surgeries and the permission for him to be involved.

In an effort to cover his discomfort, he pulled an impressive set of patient notes from the side of his desk to sit right in front of him. He even opened it to the latest sheaf of notes and test results, knowing that consent forms for both the surgery and the filming rights had been tucked behind them. When he glanced up, however, he could see that Lizzie was having none of the change of direction. It reminded him very strongly of the way Holly had refused to budge from Santa’s knee.

‘You’re smiling,’ Lizzie said accusingly. ‘You do know.’

Jack sighed. He was probably blowing his chance of persuading Lizzie to trust him here and welcome his involvement in her case but Holly deserved respect for her determination and courage. So did Lizzie. He wasn’t about to betray a small girl but Lizzie deserved nothing less than the truth.

‘Yes, I do know,’ he acknowledged reluctantly.

She leaned forward a fraction, clearly expecting to hear more. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation and she even moistened the lower one with the tip of a very pink tongue.

Jack felt a groan somewhere deep inside his body. One that could not be allowed to form properly, never mind escape.

‘But I can’t reveal anything,’ he added firmly.

Lizzie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why not?’

‘Nelf law, I’m afraid. We’re expressly forbidden to reveal Christmas wishes. If we do, they lose any power they have to come true.’

Lizzie’s lips twitched. She was silent for a moment and then it was her turn to sigh. ‘Are you at least allowed to give an opinion on whether or not this wish might be granted?’

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I think that’s permissible. And, yes, I think the odds on that wish being granted are quite high. Possibly not before Christmas, though.’

Lizzie’s face fell.

‘But it will happen,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I’m sure of it.’

How could it not happen when this woman was, quite simply, adorable?

If he could see that, as a man who had no interest whatsoever in finding a wife, surely she would be able to pick and choose from any available male that happened to come into her orbit? Not that it was any of his business, of course, and it was far too personal a topic to allow himself to even think about it for a moment longer.

He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away, looking down at the notes. ‘Dave should be back soon. It’s going to be a busy day for you with your final run of tests like the final cross-match and ECG and so on. I don’t want to hold things up, so if you’re really not happy about having me in Theatre, I’ll leave you to it.’

He risked another glance to see her looking torn. Small, white teeth were worrying that full bottom lip and huge, blue eyes were fixed on him with a very searching gaze. ‘So it’s abdominal transplants you specialise in, Dr Rousseau?’

‘Please, call me Jack. I dislike too much formality. May I call you Lizzie?’

She nodded. The pink flush on her cheeks was appealing.

He made his tone friendly but nodded in what he hoped was a serious, professional manner. ‘Indeed I do specialise in abdominal transplants. Kidneys, livers, the occasional whole bowel, in fact.’ He spoilt the serious effect a little by smiling at her. ‘I think kidneys are my favourite. The results of a successful transplant are so rewarding, particularly when it’s from a living donor. A case like yours in not uncommon because there are many parents who are willing to donate an organ or part of one for their child but it’s not something I’ve documented for lecture purposes yet.’

‘And you want to document my case?’

‘I think so. I’d like to run through it quickly with you now, if you are agreeable. Just while we’re waiting for Dr Kingsley to return?’

He was a stranger, this man, and yet Lizzie’s faith in him was growing by the minute.

Trust had been won.

Because of ‘nelf law’? How absurd was that? Except it had nothing to do with his sense of humour or ability to get out of a tight corner. It was to do with the kind of man who would stop and help an elderly woman who wasn’t well. Even more convincingly, one who was prepared to keep the secret of a six-year-old child. Holly might not realise it but her secret was obviously safe.

It was also because of his obvious integrity. They only employed the best here and if Dave Kingsley trusted him on a professional level then she wasn’t about to question his judgement. There was a more tangible level to his professionalism, however. One that made her feel like he genuinely cared about his patients.

Here he was, reviewing her file and reading personal information that she wouldn’t have dreamed of sharing with a stranger on first acquaintance, but it didn’t feel intrusive.

‘So … normal pregnancy and delivery when you were … twenty-four?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And the twins’ development seemed normal for the first two to three years.’

‘Yes.’

He read on in silence for a moment and then he looked up. ‘Two toddlers, one of whom was sick, and you’re a single mother? That must have been a tough time.’

She could see sympathy in his eyes. And a gentleness that made her want to cry. She pressed her lips together and looked away with a simple nod of response. She had learned to cope alone. She didn’t need this man’s sympathy.

The silence lingered a moment longer and then she heard Jack clear his throat again.

‘The diagnosis of hypoplastic and dysplastic kidneys was made when Misty was three … but she didn’t go into end-stage renal failure until earlier this year. And she’s been on dialysis for the last three months?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not peritoneal.’

‘No. I … didn’t want her to have the catheter inserted in her tummy and do home dialysis and have to worry about infection and things. I’d already passed the first compatibility tests and there was no question about not doing a transplant. We hoped that it could be done before the need for dialysis but … what with shifting in with my mother to be closer to the hospital and Misty getting sick and then I caught that bug and …’

Her litany of woes ended as the door opened and her surgeon came back into the room. He looked at both of them and then at the opened case notes.

‘Another review?’

Jack nodded. ‘Just in case Lizzie is agreeable to the filming.’

She could still see the sympathy in his face. The gentleness. And something else. He looked as though he really wanted to be a part of this. As though he genuinely cared.

‘I’m agreeable,’ she said quietly.

‘Excellent.’ Dave Kingsley sounded delighted. He leaned across his desk to pull pads of requisition forms from a plastic tray. ‘You’ll need a chest X-ray and an ECG to sign off your fitness for surgery. We’ll also do an ultrasound of your kidney and bladder and run off the final blood tests for kidney function and cross-match.’

‘But we’ve done that so many times already. I’m as close a match as could be hoped for from a parent.’ Lizzie found herself smiling at Jack. ‘Holly wanted to give Misty one of her kidneys. She was really cross when we told her you had to be eighteen years old.’

He smiled back at her. ‘They’re identical twins, yes?’

‘Yes. They … don’t look exactly the same any more, though. Holly’s taller and …’ And so much healthier.

‘She might well catch up after the transplant,’ Dr Kingsley said. ‘And it’s good to know there might be a perfect match down the track if things don’t go perfectly this time. You do understand there’s no guarantee of success, don’t you?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘I know the statistics are better for live donations and the treatment for any episodes of rejection are getting better all the time. The odds are in our favour.’

‘Very true,’ Jack put in. ‘But that’s why we do a last-minute cross-match to check compatibility again. Just in case any antibodies have sneaked in as a result of the illnesses you’ve both had recently.’

Lizzie nodded again. She crossed the fingers of one hand in her lap, covering them with her other hand so that neither of these highly trained surgeons would see such a childish action.

‘I’d prefer to run the standard checks again for Hep B and C and HIV as well, even though I see that your last results were fine.’ Jack was smiling at her again. ‘I like to tick all these boxes myself for cases I’m involved with.’ He glanced at his colleague. ‘If you don’t see it as interference?’

‘Heavens, no. Sounds like a good quality control measure to me. Feel free to keep ticking boxes in Theatre as well,’ Dave said.

Lizzie could swear that Jack gave her the ghost of a wink. ‘There are so many boxes to tick in there, they need a supply of extra pens. Sterilised, of course.’

Dave was pulling sheets of loose paper from the case notes. ‘I have the consent forms here if you’re ready to sign them?’

Lizzie nodded.

Jack frowned slightly. ‘You’ve discussed this already?’

‘I know about the possible complications,’ Lizzie said.

‘Lizzie’s a nurse,’ Dave explained. ‘She worked in Theatre for quite a while before moving to a job in the emergency department.’

‘I’m not going to change my mind,’ she added firmly.

Jack raised a single eyebrow that told them both this was one of his boxes and her breath huffed out in a resigned sigh.

‘OK. Go ahead. I’ve only worked part time in a general practice since the twins were born so I guess I’m pretty rusty.’

There was an appreciative gleam in Jack’s eyes now that suggested, rather flatteringly, that he thought it would take more than some time away from the front line for her mental wheels to collect rust. Clearly it wasn’t enough to persuade him to make an exception, however. And that was good. A careful surgeon was a good surgeon. Even if he was only there in a supervisory capacity she wouldn’t be impressed by someone who wanted to cut corners.

‘The first thing I’ll say is that death from a kidney donation is exceptionally rare—approximately 0.03 per cent—but it has happened so I have to mention it.’

Lizzie nodded. It was a risk she was more than prepared to take. The alternative of staying alive and watching her precious child die was unthinkable.

‘Other complications might include you needing a blood transfusion during surgery, a small degree of lung collapse, blood clots in your legs or lungs, pneumonia and a UTI or wound infection.’

Lizzie was reaching for the consent form.

Dave pointed to a line on the document. ‘This states that I’ll do the procedure laparoscopically, which should give you a much faster recovery rate, but if it’s difficult for any reason, it gives me permission to go for an open procedure. That would give you a bigger scar and mean that you were in hospital for about a week instead of three to four days.’

‘And Misty? How long will she need to be in hospital for?’

‘Probably at least two weeks. She’ll still need dialysis until the new kidney settles in and we’ll want to make sure everything’s fine before she goes home.’

‘But it’s possible she could be home for Christmas?’ Lizzie asked anxiously.

‘Absolutely.’

Oh … yes … Dr Jack Rousseau’s smile was gorgeous, all right. It wrapped itself around Lizzie like a hug as she signed the necessary permissions for both her own surgery and Misty’s.

Dave Kingsley’s voice sounded oddly distant for a few seconds.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ she said.

‘I said we’ll send you out to see the nurse. She’ll give you a gown and pop you in an examination room. We’ll give you a bit of a once-over and then send you off for the rest of your tests.’

The warm glow that the visiting surgeon’s smile had given her faded so fast Lizzie was left with a faint chill that trickled down her spine. A physical examination? With this Dr Rousseau watching or … worse … ?.doing it himself? She wasn’t bothered by the thought of him seeing parts of her she’d never see herself when she was being operated on. She’d be asleep after all. But to be awake and so aware of him? To have him maybe pressing his hand on her bare stomach?

Oh, Lord! Why did he have to be so young?

So impossibly good looking? And … nice, damn it.

And why, oh, why had she let herself step into fantasyland in the dead of night and imagine just what it would be like to be touched by him?

Maybe her reaction was obvious in the way Lizzie was prising herself off her chair to follow Dr Kingsley’s instructions.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she heard Jack say. ‘I’ll catch up with the test results later today before we go and visit Misty.’

‘Misty Matthews? She’s in Room 3. You must be Dr Rousseau.’ The nurse’s tone was awed. ‘Welcome to Westbridge.’

‘Thank you. I’m due to meet Dave Kingsley to review this patient. Is he here already?’

‘He was but he got a call up to the ICU. He said to look after you until he got back. Would you like a coffee?’

Jack shook his head. ‘My time is a little limited. I’ll go and see Misty now, if I may.’

‘Of course. This way.’

The whole family was in the small room.

‘This is Dr Rousseau,’ Lizzie told the child in the bed. ‘He’s the doctor who’s going to help Dr Kingsley take Mummy’s kidney out and give it to you.’

‘Hi, there.’ Jack took a step closer to the bed. His shirt collar felt inexplicably tight and he found himself loosening his tie.

He never felt comfortable around small people. They could see too much and had no hesitation in saying whatever came into their heads and sometimes he had no idea how to respond. Or he didn’t understand what on earth they were talking about. Or, worse, they’d cry. A lot.

Misty wasn’t crying. She wasn’t saying anything either. Lizzie was sitting in a chair beside the bed and Holly was right beside the pillow, tilted in as if she wanted to be as close as possible to her twin. The resemblance between the twins was striking. Or maybe it was the difference between them that was making Jack feel like there wasn’t quite enough oxygen in this private room.

Or it could be due to the way Lizzie was sitting, with her arms on Misty’s bed as she leaned forward to talk to the little girl. The way it was making her cleavage so obvious, pushing mounds of skin that looked incredibly smooth and soft into a line of sight he couldn’t avoid to save himself.

Well, he could, but that would mean meeting the intense stares that were coming from both Holly and the older woman in the armchair by the window.

‘You’re going to help with both operations?’ The older woman sounded as wary as she looked.

‘Not at the same time.’ Jack tried his most charming smile. ‘Lizzie’s first and then we go next door to Misty.’

The sniff wasn’t impressed. ‘Doesn’t Misty need a paediatric specialist for her surgery?’

‘Mum …’ Lizzie sounded embarrassed. ‘We talked about this. And you heard what the nurses said about … Jack.’ Her quick glance in his direction was appealingly shy. ‘It wasn’t that I was checking up on you or anything. They were all talking about how famous you are in your field and how lucky we are to have you involved in our case.’

Lizzie’s mother was giving her a stern look. ‘Oh … Jack, now, is it?’

‘We got to know each other this morning,’ Jack said. ‘Didn’t we, Lizzie?’

Her head bobbed. A touch of pink bloomed on her cheeks and she could only meet his gaze for a heartbeat. Jack turned his head back to her mother and extended his hand.

‘Jack Rousseau,’ he said, with another smile. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs …’

‘Donaldson.’ Her gaze took a moment to meet his. She had been watching Lizzie rather carefully and she clearly hadn’t missed any undercurrent. It was definitely too hot in this room. ‘Maggie,’ she continued. ‘Excuse me if I don’t get up.’

‘Mum’s got a bad hip,’ Lizzie said.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Jack leaned down to make it easy to shake hands. Maggie’s grip was surprisingly firm.

‘I’m on the waiting list for a replacement.’ The tone was matter-of-fact. Her own physical impairment was an inconvenience that was being dealt with. ‘Next year some time. Perhaps.’

The implications were not lost on Jack. This was Lizzie’s mother. The grandmother of the two fatherless girls. Lizzie had moved in with her mother to keep Misty closer to this hospital and must be relying on her heavily for help. Being in hospital herself for at least the next few days would make Maggie’s role even more vital. There were pressures going on here that were huge. Important. Maybe he could have a word with someone in Orthopaedics and see if there was any way of getting a priority sticker put on Maggie’s case.

A warning bell sounded somewhere in his head. Just how involved was he trying to get here? Maggie’s hip was well outside the orbit of what he should be concentrating on. He was here because of Misty. And Lizzie and their complementary surgeries that he was going to document. Whatever else was going on in his patients’ worlds had absolutely nothing to do with him.

‘It’s Dr Kingsley that is actually doing the surgeries,’ he told Maggie. ‘Lizzie has kindly agreed to let me document them on film so that I can use them for the purpose of giving lectures. The reason for the same surgeon doing both of the operations is to have things matched up perfectly. Think of it like a jigsaw puzzle. If I cut a piece out myself, I can put it back in exactly the right place. That is something I want to be able to demonstrate to other surgeons.’

‘He likes to tick all the boxes.’ Lizzie nodded. ‘For himself.’

‘I’m not a jigsaw puzzle,’ Misty said. ‘I’m … me.’

Jack moved back to the bed. He loosened his tie a little more. He even undid the top button of his shirt. ‘You are, indeed,’ he told Misty. ‘And I’m Dr Jack. How are you feeling?’

Misty said nothing. Was it too general a question for a child? The look he was receiving made him feel as though it had been a stupid question. And maybe it was. Misty’s arm was heavily bandaged and plastic tubes snaked from under the covers to the dialysis machine that was whirring quietly as it did its job to make sure her blood was as clean as possible before tomorrow’s surgery. She was pale and thin and was probably quite used to feeling a lot less than well.

He tried again. ‘Does anything hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Are you worried about the operation?’

‘No. The nurse showed me all about it with the teddy bear. And Mummy says you and Dr Dave are going to take the best care of me.’

‘Did she?’ Jack couldn’t help shifting his gaze to Lizzie. He met a very steady look. One that said she was trusting him but he’d better not let her down.

Fair enough. He didn’t intend to.

‘I’m going to read your chart,’ he told Misty. ‘And see what they tell me about all the tests you had today. Dr … Dave will be here soon so that we can talk about you and Mummy and make sure we’re all set for tomorrow morning.’

‘Are you going to read Mummy’s chart too?’ It was Holly who asked the question.

Jack smiled at her. ‘I’ve already done that.’

‘Did I pass?’ Lizzie’s tone was carefully casual.

‘With flying colours.’ The atmosphere in the room lightened just a little. ‘And when I’ve read Misty’s I’m going to give her a quick check-up. Unless Dr Dave is back here by then.’

It took a few minutes to get himself up to speed with the chart and the latest results in Misty’s notes. He was aware of Lizzie moving around the room, straightening things up, and of the twins having a whispered conversation that nobody else could hear.

When he finished, he nodded in satisfaction and unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck. ‘Can I have a listen to your heart and lungs?’ he asked Misty.

He had to push aside the memory of how he had avoided doing that for Lizzie this morning. Because he knew it would be unprofessional to be so aware of the warmth that would come from that amazing skin if he got too close? He’d been right to keep his distance. When she’d moved away from the bed, she’d been forced to brush past him rather closely due to the size of the room and he couldn’t help noticing a compelling scent that had nothing to do with any perfume she was wearing. He was still trying to bury the memory of it.

Good grief. The look he found being bestowed on him by both the twins was identical. If he didn’t know better, he could swear they knew exactly what he’d been trying so hard not to think about. And children could sense things, couldn’t they? Like animals could sense fear.

In perfect unison, the twins stopped staring at him and looked at each other. For a moment there was a silent communication going on and Jack could feel the intensity. Then they both nodded and looked back at him.

And smiled.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was no real reason for Jack to go and visit Lizzie the next afternoon.

Her surgery had been completed this morning and he had been nothing more than an observer. Dave Kingsley’s work on both Lizzie and Misty had been of excellent quality and had needed no intervention of any kind on his part.

The filming had gone without hitch for both surgeries as well and now all Jack needed to do was edit the footage and write up the notes he would need to accompany the lectures due to start next week. He needed follow-up details for how the patients progressed after surgery, of course, but he could easily get that from talking to Dave. Or reviewing the medical notes.

He wanted to thank Lizzie again for giving her permission to film but it was hardly appropriate to do it when she was in her immediate post-surgical recuperation. He should wait until a later date. In a few days, perhaps, when she would be on the point of being discharged. Or even later, when he would probably find her visiting Misty and helping to care for the small girl until she, too, was well enough to go home.

So why had he abandoned the video equipment and half-written notes in the temporary office he’d been assigned in Dave Kingsley’s department? Why hadn’t he paged Kingsley and asked how his patients were doing or made arrangements to accompany the other surgeon when he did his evening rounds?

He told himself he didn’t want to interrupt anything important. That he might well come across Dave or one of his registrars if he wandered in the direction of the ward. He even convinced himself that, seeing as he was in the vicinity, he might as well pop his head around the door and say hello to Lizzie.

She was in a small, private room near the nurses’ station. And she was awake. She saw him the moment he came into view and the look on her face suggested that seeing a surgeon associated with Misty’s case might be due to bad news arriving. It had been several hours since her surgery but not so long since Misty had been taken to Recovery and then the paediatric intensive care unit. Had Lizzie been awake long enough to be told the good news? Or, if she had, had her head been clear enough to remember the details?

He couldn’t very well just stand in the doorway. He had to move closer and find something to say that would take away the flash of fear darkening her eyes and making her lips tremble.

Jack tried to smile but, weirdly, his lips refused to cooperate. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said quietly.

Lizzie burst into tears.

Oh … God. What was he supposed to do now?

He didn’t do tears. He could understand them, of course, and even sympathise with the grief or sadness they represented. Unthinkable to indulge in such an outward sign of weakness himself, however, and if he was honest, it was probably the key thing that put him off babies and children so resoundingly. Crying was such a messy process. And noisy. And … and … needy. And crying women always wanted something from him that he couldn’t give them.

Jack looked hopefully over his shoulder but no nurse materialised to help him out. Where was Lizzie’s mother? Stepping closer to reach for the call bell, he spotted the box of tissues on the bedside cabinet. OK, maybe he couldn’t give Lizzie what she might need emotionally but there was no excuse not to do something practical that might help. He snatched a couple from the box and pressed them into Lizzie’s closest hand. Carefully, because she still had an IV port taped to the back of it.

‘It’s good news,’ he reassured her. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

Lizzie nodded. And sobbed as though her heart was breaking. She blew her nose on the tissues but the tears continued to flow.

Jack pulled out more tissues. A huge handful. Lizzie pressed them to her face and made some hiccupping sounds. A muffled word emerged between the hiccups.

‘S-s-sorry.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Shifting from one foot to the other, Jack was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Needing to move but knowing he couldn’t possibly leave her alone like this, he perched himself on one hip on the edge of her bed. He would wait it out.

Lizzie’s leg was under the covers, a solid bar that would be pressed against his hip if he leaned back even slightly. The almost contact seemed to flick a switch inside him and suddenly it was easy to know what to do. He reached over her legs for the hand that wasn’t clutching tissues. Small, delicate fingers curled around his and held on, warm and strong.

Any moment now Lizzie’s mother would probably come in. Maybe Dave would arrive to check on his patient. Or a nurse would bustle in to check on her patient’s vital signs and he’d be able to hand over this somewhat unorthodox semi-professional interaction.

Until then, however, he might as well give it his best shot. Without thinking, he stroked the back of Lizzie’s hand with his thumb to get her attention.

‘Misty came through like a little trouper,’ he told her. ‘She’s in the paediatric intensive care unit now and still asleep but she’s looking comfortable. And everything’s looking just as I would hope. Dave did a brilliant job. Textbook stuff, perfect for filming and, believe me, I had a lot of boxes that needed ticking.’

There was a new sound from Lizzie. Still distinctly damp but definitely happier. A kind of gurgle that sounded like laughter. Her face appeared from behind the tissues, sporting a wobbly smile.

‘I’m so happy,’ she informed Jack.

His own smile came back from wherever he’d lost it. ‘I can tell.’

He might be making light of her reaction but there was no doubting the very real joy in that smile. It lit up her face. No, actually, it lit up the entire room and the joy was astonishingly contagious. Jack couldn’t remember when he’d last felt this happy himself. It was far more than the satisfaction of a job well done. This went deeper, tapping into long-lost memories or something.

You’d never get sick of seeing a smile like that, he thought. You’d be stupid not to do everything in your power to make sure you saw it as often as possible.

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