Praise for Kate Hardy

‘Bound by a Baby moved me to tears many times. It is a full-on emotional drama. Author Kate Hardy brought this tale shimmering with emotions. Highly recommended for all lovers of romance.’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews

Bound by a Baby won the 2014 RoNA (Romantic Novelists’ Association) award!

‘When you pick up a romance novel by Kate Hardy you know that you’re going to be reading a spellbinding novel which you will want to devour in a single sitting, and A Christmas Knight is certainly no exception.’

—CataRomance

Sharing a room with Isla McKenna.

It was the sensible solution, Harry knew. The problem was, he didn’t feel sensible. He was already on edge about the wedding, and if they shared a bed it would be all too easy to seek comfort in her.

She’s your colleague, he reminded himself. Off limits. She wants a relationship just as little as you do. Keep your distance.

He’d just about got himself under control by the time he’d changed into the tailcoat, wing-collared shirt and cravat his father had asked him to wear. He left the top hat on the bed for the time being, took a deep breath and knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Isla, I’m ready whenever you are,’ he said, ‘but don’t take that as me rushing you. There’s plenty of time. I just didn’t want you to feel that you had to be stuck in there while I was faffing about in the other room.’

She opened the door. ‘I’m ready,’ she said softly.

Harry had never seen Isla dressed up before. He’d seen her wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and he’d seen her in her uniform at the hospital. On every occasion she’d worn her hair pinned back and no make-up, not even a touch of lipstick.

Today she was wearing a simple blue dress that emphasised the colour of her eyes, a touch of mascara, the lightest shimmer of lipstick—and she looked stunning. Desire rushed through him, taking his breath away. How had he ever thought that Isla would be safe? He needed to get himself under control. Now.

Dear Reader,

Her Playboy’s Proposal is all about trust—learning to trust again when someone’s let you down, and learning to trust yourself when you think you’re the one who’s let everyone down.

And how do you learn to trust? In Harry and Isla’s case, they discover that love is the answer. Except they take a while to realise it—and it takes a life-changing moment to make them both realise that they can trust each other and themselves.

The story’s set partly in Cornwall (if you’re thinking Poldark—absolutely!), partly in London and partly on the coast in Dorset. And there are weddings, best men, best women and a speech I really, really enjoyed writing.

I hope you enjoy Harry and Isla’s journey.

I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com.

With love,

Kate Hardy

About the Author

KATE HARDY has always loved books, and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve, and decided that this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: www.katehardy.com.

Her Playboy’s Proposal
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my fellow Medical authors—because you’re a really lovely bunch and I’m proud to be one of you. xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Kate Hardy

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ISLA TOOK A deep breath outside the staffroom door. Today was her second day at the emergency department of the London Victoria Hospital, and she was still finding her place in the team. She’d liked the colleagues she’d met yesterday, and hopefully today would go just as well—with new people who didn’t know her past and wouldn’t judge her. She pushed the door open, then smiled at the nurse who was checking the roster on the pinboard. ‘Morning, Lorraine.’

‘Morning, Isla. You’re on cubicles with Josie and Harry the Heartbreaker this morning,’ Lorraine said.

‘Harry the Heartbreaker?’ Isla asked.

Lorraine wrinkled her nose. ‘I guess that’s a bit of a mean nickname—Harry’s a good doctor and he’s great with patients. He listens to them and gives them a chance to talk.’

‘So he’s very charming, but he’s a bit careless with women?’ Isla knew the type. Only too well.

‘Harry dates a lot,’ Lorraine said. ‘He doesn’t lead his girlfriends on, exactly, but hardly anyone makes it past a third date with him.’

And lots of women saw him as a challenge and tried to be the exception to his rule, Isla guessed. ‘Uh-huh,’ she said. She certainly wouldn’t be one of them. After what had happened with Stewart, she had no intention of dating anyone ever again. She was better off on her own.

‘OK, so he’d be a nightmare to date,’ Lorraine said with a wry smile, ‘but he’s a good colleague. I’m sure you’ll get on well with him.’

So professionally their relationship would be just fine; but it would be safer to keep Harry the Heartbreaker at a distance on a personal level. Isla appreciated the heads-up. ‘Everyone else in the department has been lovely so far,’ she said, smiling back. ‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

Though she hadn’t been prepared for quite how gorgeous Harry the Heartbreaker was when she actually saw him. The expression ‘tall, dark and handsome’ didn’t even begin to do him justice. He would’ve been perfectly cast as one of the brooding heroes of a television costume drama, with dark curly hair that was a little too long and flopped over his forehead, dark eyes, a strong jaw and the most sensual mouth she’d ever seen. On horseback, wearing a white shirt, breeches and tailcoat, he’d be irresistible.

Harry the Heart-throb.

Harry the Heartbreaker, she reminded herself.

Luckily Josie had already triaged the first patient and was ready to assist Harry, which meant that Isla had enough time to compose herself and see the next patient on the list.

Harry was a colleague and that was all. Isla had no intention of getting involved with anyone again, no matter how gorgeous the man looked. Stewart had destroyed her trust completely, and that wasn’t something she’d be able to put behind her easily.

Harry finished writing up his notes and walked into the corridor to call the next patient through. He knew that Josie had gone to triage her next patient, so he’d be working with the newest member of the team, Isla McKenna. He’d been on leave yesterday when she’d started at the London Victoria and knew nothing about her, other than that she was a senior nurse.

He eyed the nurse in the corridor with interest. Even without the double giveaways of her name and her accent, he would’ve guessed that Isla McKenna was a Scot. She had that fine porcelain skin, a dusting of freckles across her nose, sharp blue eyes and, beneath her white nurse’s cap, dark red hair that he’d just bet looked amazing in the sunlight. Pure Celt. It was a long time since he’d found someone so instantly attractive. Not that he was going to act on it. For all he knew, she could already be involved with someone; the lack of a ring on her left hand meant nothing. ‘Isla McKenna, I presume?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Harry Gardiner. Nice to meet you. How are you settling in to the ward?’ he asked as they walked down to the cubicles together.

‘Fine, thanks. The team seems very nice.’

‘They’re a good bunch,’ he said. ‘So where were you before you moved here?’

‘Scotland,’ she said, her face suddenly shuttering.

Clearly she thought he was prying and she’d given him as vague an answer as she could without being openly rude. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said, lightly. ‘Just making polite conversation—as you would with any new colleague.’

She blushed, and her skin clashed spectacularly with her hair. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,’ she muttered.

‘Then let’s pretend we’ve never spoken and start again.’ He held out his hand. ‘Harry Gardiner, special reg. Nice to meet you, and welcome to the London Victoria.’

‘Isla McKenna, sister. Thank you, and nice to meet you, too,’ she said.

Her handshake was firm, and Harry was surprised to discover that his skin actually tingled where it touched hers.

Not good.

He normally tried not to date colleagues within his own department. It made things less complicated if his date turned out to have greater expectations than he wanted to fulfil—which they usually did. And instant attraction to the newest member of their team definitely wasn’t a good idea.

‘So who’s next?’ he asked. Hopefully focussing on work would get his common sense back to where it should be—firmly in control of his libido.

‘Arthur Kemp, aged seventy-three, suspected stroke,’ Isla said, filling him in. ‘The paramedics did a FAST assessment—’ the Face Arm Speech Test was used in cases of suspected stroke to check whether the patient’s face seemed to fall on one side or if they could smile, whether they could hold both arms above their head, or if their speech was slurred ‘—and they gave him some aspirin on the way here. I’ve done an initial assessment.’

‘ROSIER?’ Harry asked. Recognition of Stroke in the Emergency Room was a standard protocol.

She nodded. ‘His score pretty much confirms it’s a stroke. I checked ABCD2 as well, and the good news is that his score is nil on the D—he’s not diabetic. His blood sugar is fine.’

Harry picked up immediately what she was telling him—there was only one section of the test with a nil score. ‘So the rest of it’s a full house?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ she said. ‘He’s over sixty, he has high blood pressure and residual weakness on his left side, and the incident happened over an hour ago now.’

‘Which puts him at higher risk of having a second stroke in the next two days,’ Harry said. ‘OK. Does he live on his own, or is he in any kind of residential care?’

‘He has a flat where there’s a warden on duty three days a week, and a care team comes in three times a day to sort out his meals and medication,’ Isla told him. ‘They’re the ones who called the ambulance for him this morning.’

‘So if he did have a second stroke and the warden wasn’t on duty or it happened between the care team’s visits, the chances are he wouldn’t be found for a few hours, or maybe not even overnight.’ Harry wrinkled his nose. ‘I’m really not happy with that. I think we need to admit him to the acute unit for the next couple of days, so we can keep an eye on him.’

‘I agree with you. His speech is a little bit slurred and I’m not happy about his ability to swallow,’ Isla added. ‘He said he was thirsty and I gave him a couple of sips of water, but I’d recommend putting him on a drip to prevent dehydration, and keep him nil by mouth for the next two or three hours. Nobody’s going to be able to sit with him while he drinks and then for a few minutes afterwards to make sure he’s OK—there just won’t be the time.’

‘Good points, and noted.’

Mr Kemp was sitting on a bed, waiting to be seen.

Isla introduced him quickly. ‘Mr Kemp, this is Dr Gardiner.’

‘Everyone calls me Harry,’ Harry said with a smile. ‘So can you tell me about what happened this morning, Mr Kemp?’

‘I had a bit of a headache, then I tripped and fell and I couldn’t get up again,’ Mr Kemp said. ‘My carer found me when she came in to give me my tablets and my breakfast.’

Isla noticed that Harry sat on the chair and held the old man’s hand, encouraging him to talk. He was kind and waited for an answer, rather than rushing the patient or pressuring him to stop rambling and hurry up. Lorraine had been spot on about his skills as a doctor, she thought. ‘Can you remember, either before or after you fell, did you black out at all?’ Harry asked. ‘Or did you hit your head?’

Arthur looked confused. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think I blacked out and I don’t remember hitting my head. It’s hard to say.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, Doctor. I’m not much use. My daughter’s husband says I’m an old fool.’

So there were family tensions, too. The chances were, if they suggested that he went to stay with his family for a few days, the answer would be no—even if they had the room to let the old man stay. ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ Harry reassured him. ‘I’m just going to do a couple of checks now to see how you’re doing. Is that OK?’

‘Yes, Doctor. And I’m sorry I’m such a nuisance.’

Either the old man was used to being made to feel as if he was a problem, or he was habitually anxious. Or maybe a bit of both, Harry thought. He checked Mr Kemp’s visual fields and encouraged him to raise his arms; the residual weakness on Mr Kemp’s left side that Isla had mentioned early was very clear. And there was a walking frame next to the bed, he noticed. ‘Do you normally walk with a frame?’

‘Yes, though I hate the wretched thing.’ Arthur grimaced. ‘It always trips me up. It did that this morning. That’s why I fell. Useless thing.’

Harry guessed that Mr Kemp did what a lot of elderly people did with a walking frame—he lifted it and carried it a couple of centimetres above the ground, rather than leaving the feet on the floor and pushing it along and letting it support him. Maybe he could arrange some support to help the old man use the frame properly, so it helped him rather than hindered him.

‘Can you see if you can walk a little bit with me?’ he asked.

He helped Mr Kemp to his feet, then walked into the corridor with him, encouraged him to turn round and then walk back to the cubicle. Harry noticed that his patient was shuffling. He was also leaning slightly to the left—the same as when he was sitting up—and leaning back slightly when he walked. Harry would need to put that on Mr Kemp’s notes to be passed on to any carers, so they could help guide him with a hand resting just behind his back, and stop him as soon as he started shuffling and encourage him to take bigger steps.

Once Mr Kemp was seated safely again, Harry said, ‘I’m going to send you for an MRI scan, because you had a headache and I want to rule out anything nasty, but I think Sister McKenna here is right and you’ve had a small stroke.’

‘A stroke?’ Arthur looked as if he couldn’t quite take it in. ‘How could I have had a stroke?’

‘The most likely cause is a blood clot that stopped the blood supply to your brain for a little while,’ Harry explained. ‘It should be cleared by now because you’re able to walk and talk and move your arms, but I’m going to admit you to the acute medical unit so we can keep an eye on you for a day or two.’ He decided not to tell Mr Kemp that his risk of a second stroke was higher over the next day or two; there was no point in worrying the poor man sick. Though his family would definitely need to know. ‘Has anyone been in touch with your family?’

‘Sharon, my carer—she should have rung my daughter, but Becky’ll be at work and won’t be able to come right away.’ He grimaced. ‘I feel bad about taking her away from her job. Her work is so important.’

‘And I bet she’ll think her dad is just as important as her job,’ Isla said reassuringly.

‘Too right,’ Harry said. Even though he didn’t quite feel that about his own father. Then again, Bertie Gardiner was more than capable of looking after himself—that, or his wife-to-be Trixie, who was a couple of years younger than Harry, could look out for him.

He shook himself. Not now. He wasn’t going to think about the upcoming wedding. Or the fact that his father was still trying to talk him into being his best man, and Harry had done that job twice already—did he really need to do it all over again for his father’s seventh wedding? ‘We’ll have had your scan done by the time your daughter comes to see you,’ Harry said, ‘and we’ll be able to give her a better idea of your treatment plan.’

‘Treatment?’ Mr Kemp asked.

‘The stroke has affected your left side, so you’ll need a little bit of help from a physiotherapist to get you back to how you were before the stroke,’ Harry said. ‘I’m also going to write you up for some medication which you can take after your scan.’

‘Is there anything you’d like to ask us?’ Isla asked.

‘Well, I’d really like a nice cup of tea,’ Mr Kemp said wistfully. ‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.’

‘We can sort that out in a few minutes, after you’ve had your scan,’ Isla said. ‘At the moment you’re finding it hard to swallow and I don’t want you to choke or burn yourself on a hot drink, but we’ll try again in half an hour and you might be able to swallow better by then. And I’ll make sure you get your cup of tea, even if I have to make it myself.’

‘Seconded,’ Harry said, ‘though I’ll admit my tea isn’t the best and you’d be better off with coffee if I’m the one who ends up making it.’ He smiled at the old man. ‘We’ll get things sorted out and make sure your daughter finds you.’ He shook the old man’s hand and stood up. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll make sure you get looked after properly.’

‘I’ll be back with you in a second, Mr Kemp,’ Isla said, and followed Harry out of the cubicles.

‘Can you organise a scan and then transfer him to the acute unit?’ he asked quietly when they were outside the cubicle.

She smiled at him. ‘Sure, no problem.’

Her smile transformed her face completely. Harry felt the lick of desire deep inside his gut and had to remind himself that his new colleague might be gorgeous, but she was also off limits. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll write everything up.’

It was a busy morning, with the usual falls and sprains and strains, and a six-month-old baby with a temperature that wouldn’t go down and had then started having a fit. The baby’s mother had panicked and asked a neighbour to drive them in rather than waiting for an ambulance, and the triage team had rushed her straight into the department.

The baby’s jaws were clenched firmly together, so Harry looked at Isla and said quietly, ‘Naso-pharyngeal, I think.’

Almost as soon as he’d finished talking, she had an appropriately sized tube in her hand and was lubricating the end. Between them, they secured the baby’s airway and gave her oxygen, and Isla was already drawing up a phial of diazepam.

Clearly she’d come across convulsions in babies before.

Between them, they checked the baby’s blood glucose and temperature.

‘Pyrexia,’ Harry said softly. ‘I’m pretty sure this is a febrile convulsion.’

‘So we need to cool her down and check for infection,’ Isla said. At his nod, Isla deftly took off the baby’s sleep-suit and sponged her skin with tepid water while Harry checked with the baby’s distraught mother when she’d last given the baby liquid paracetamol. Once the fit had stopped and the baby’s temperature spike had cooled, Isla prepared everything for an infection screen.

‘I’ve never seen anything like that before. Is Erin going to be all right?’ the baby’s mother asked.

‘She’s in the best place and you did the right thing to bring her in,’ Harry reassured her. ‘I think the fit was caused by her high temperature, but we need to find out what’s causing that—if it’s a virus or a bacterial infection—and then we can treat her properly.’

‘Will she have any more fits?’ Erin’s mother asked.

‘Very possibly,’ Isla said, ‘but that doesn’t mean that she’ll develop epilepsy. Having a high temperature is the most common cause of fits in children between Erin’s age and school age. We see this sort of thing a lot, so try not to worry.’

Worry, Harry thought. Parents always worried themselves sick over small children. And so did their older siblings—especially when they were supposed to be taking care of them and things went badly wrong.

He pushed the thought away. It was years ago, now, and he was older and wiser. Plus nowadays Tasha would give him very short shrift if he fussed over her too much; she was fiercely independent. And you couldn’t change the past; all you could do was learn from it. Harry had most definitely learned. He never, ever wanted to be responsible for a child in that way again.

‘I’m going to admit her,’ Harry said, ‘purely because she’s so young and it’s the first time she’s had a fit. Plus I want to find out what’s causing the infection. We’ll keep an eye on her in case she has more convulsions. But you can stay with her.’

‘I’ll take you both up to the ward and introduce you to the team,’ Isla said.

‘And she’s going to be all right?’ the baby’s mother asked again.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, and patted her arm. ‘I know it’s scary, but try not to worry.’

Ha. And what a hypocrite he was. He knew that panicky feeling all too well. Would the baby be all right? The overwhelming relief when you knew that the baby would survive. And then the guilt later on when you discovered that, actually, there was a problem after all … Harry’s mistake had come back to haunt him big time.

‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Isla asked.

‘My mum.’ Erin’s mother dragged in a breath. ‘My husband’s working away.’

‘OK. As soon as Erin’s settled on the ward, we’ll get in touch with your mum,’ Isla promised.

Harry worked with Isla on most of his list of patients that morning, and he liked the fact that his new colleague was incredibly calm, had a sharp eye, and her quiet and gentle manner stopped patients or their parents panicking. The perfect emergency nurse. He had no idea where she’d trained or where she’d worked before—Scotland was a pretty big area—but he’d just bet that she was sorely missed. She’d certainly be appreciated at the London Victoria.

They hadn’t had time for a coffee break all morning and Harry was thirsty and ravenous by the time he took his lunch break—late, and he knew he’d end up grabbing something fast in the canteen so he could be back on the ward in time. When he walked into the staffroom, Isla was there.

‘Hi, there. Do you want to come and grab some lunch with me?’ he asked.

She gave him a cool smile. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so.’

He frowned. ‘Why not?’

Her expression said quite clearly, do you really have to ask? But she was polite as she said, ‘It’s nice of you to ask me, but I don’t think we’re each other’s type.’

He blinked, not quite following. ‘What?’

She looked uncomfortable. ‘I, um, might be new here, but that doesn’t make me an instant addition to a little black book.’

Then the penny dropped. She thought he was asking her out? Some of the other staff teased him about being a heartbreaker and a serial dater, but that was far from true. He always made sure that whoever he dated knew it was for fun, not for ever. And he hadn’t been asking her out on a date anyway. Obviously someone had been gossiping about him and she’d listened to the tittle-tattle rather than waiting to see for herself. ‘Actually,’ he said quietly, ‘as you’re new to the team, I was guessing that you hadn’t had time to find your way around the hospital that well yet and you might not have anyone to sit with at lunchtime, that’s all.’

Her face flamed, clashing with that spectacular hair. ‘I—um—sorry. I’d just heard …’ She broke off. ‘Sorry. I’m putting my foot in it even more.’

‘Heard what?’ The words were out before he could stop them.

‘You have, um, a bit of a reputation for, um, dating a lot.’

He sighed. ‘Honestly, where the hospital grapevine’s concerned, you can’t win. If you don’t date, then either you’re gay or you’ve got some tragic past; and if you do date but make it clear you’re not looking for a serious relationship, then you’re at the mercy of everyone who wants to be the exception to the rule and you get called a heartbreaker. Not everyone’s desperate to pair off and settle down.’

‘I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘Sorry.’

But he noticed that she still hadn’t accepted his invitation to join him for lunch. Which stung. Was his reputation really that bad?

Pushing down his exasperation at the hospital grapevine, Harry gave Isla his sweetest smile. ‘OK, but I give you fair warning—if you try and eat a sandwich in here, you’ll be lucky to finish half of it before someone calls you to help out with something.’

‘I guess it’s all part of working in a hospital environment,’ she said lightly.

OK. He could take a hint. ‘See you later,’ he said.

In the canteen, Harry saw a crowd he recognised from the maternity ward and joined them. But all the while he was thinking about Isla. Why had their new nurse been so guarded? Was it just because of whatever nonsense she’d heard about him on the hospital grapevine? Or was she like that with everyone?

Just as Harry had predicted, Isla was halfway through her sandwich when someone came into the rest room and asked her to help out.

She didn’t mind—it was all part and parcel of being part of a team on the busiest department in the hospital.

But she did feel bad about the way she’d reacted to Harry the Heartbreaker. Especially after he’d explained why he’d asked her to lunch; it was just what she would’ve done herself if a new team member had joined the practice where she’d worked on the island. She’d been unfair to him. And, even though she’d apologised, she’d felt too awkward to join him and ended up making things worse. He probably thought she was standoffish and rude. But how could she explain without telling him about the past she was trying to put well and truly behind her?

It didn’t help that she found him so attractive.

Common sense told Isla that she needed to keep her distance. Apart from the fact that she’d seen a few working relationships turn really awkward and sour after the personal relationship had ended, she wasn’t in the market for a relationship anyway. Particularly with someone who had the reputation of being a charmer.

Professional only, she reminded herself. She’d apologise again for the sake for their working relationship. And that would be that.

Isla was rostered on cubicles again with Josie and Harry in the afternoon. Harry had just finished with a patient who’d been brought in with a degloving injury; when he came out of the cubicle, she asked quietly, ‘Can we have a quick word?’

‘Sure.’

Isla took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to apologise about earlier.’

He looked blank. ‘About what?’

‘I was rude and standoffish when you asked me to go to lunch with you.’

His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Oh, that. Don’t worry about it. Blame it on the hospital grapevine blowing everything out of proportion.’

She felt the betraying colour seep into her face. This would be the easy option because there was some truth in it, but he’d been kind and he didn’t deserve it. ‘Should’ve known better because hospital gossip likes to embroider things,’ she said. Not just hospitals: any small community. Like an island off the coast of Scotland where everybody knew practically everything about everyone. And she of all people knew how it felt to be gossiped about unfairly. ‘I was rude. And I apologise. And maybe I can buy you a cup of tea later to make up for being so horrible.’

‘You weren’t horrible, just a bit … well, offish. Apology and offer of tea accepted. We can have Mr Kemp as our chaperone, if you like,’ he suggested.

How could he be so good-natured about it? It made her feel even more guilty. ‘I guess it’s a good excuse to see how he’s getting on.’

‘Great. It’s a non-date,’ Harry said.

And oh, that smile. It could light up a room. He really was gorgeous. And nice with it. And he had a sense of humour.

It would be all too easy to let Harry Gardiner tempt her.

But this nurse wasn’t for tempting.

They spent their afternoon break in the Acute Medical Unit with Mr Kemp.

‘Thank you for the tea,’ he said.

‘Our pleasure,’ Isla told him with a smile.

‘You won’t get into trouble for being here, will you?’ he checked.

This time, Harry smiled. ‘It’s our afternoon break. We’re allowed to take it outside our own ward if we want to.’

‘I’m such a trouble to you,’ Mr Kemp said.

‘It’s fine,’ Isla reassured him. ‘Has your daughter been able to visit, yet?’

‘She’s coming straight after work. I do feel bad about it. She’s had to get someone to pick up the kids.’

‘All the working mums I know are great at juggling,’ Harry said. ‘I bet you she’s picked up her friend’s children before now. It won’t be a problem. Everyone mucks in to help their friends. How are you feeling?’

‘Well enough to go home,’ Mr Kemp said. ‘If I was home, I wouldn’t be a burden to everyone.’

He was able to swallow again, Isla thought, but he definitely wasn’t quite ready to go home. And he’d be far more of a worry to his family if he was on his own in his flat. ‘I’m sure the team here will sort things out for you,’ she said brightly.

And she discovered that Lorraine had been absolutely on the ball about Harry being great with patients, because he somehow managed to find out that Mr Kemp loved dogs and got him chatting about that, distracting him from his worries about being a burden.

‘You were brilliant with Mr Kemp,’ she said on their way back to the Emergency Department.

Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Just chatting. And I noticed you were watching him drinking and assessing him.’

She nodded. ‘I’m happier with his swallowing, but I think he’ll be in for a couple more days yet. They’ll want to assess him for a water infection or a chest infection, in case that contributed to the fall as well as the stroke. And they’ll need to get social services in to look at his care plan as well as talk to his family. I’m guessing that he’s not so good with accepting help, and from what he said to us earlier it sounded as if his son-in-law doesn’t have much patience.’

‘Very true.’ Harry gave her a sidelong look. ‘Though I know a few people caught between caring for their kids and caring for their elderly parents. It can be hard to juggle, and—well, not all parents are easy.’

‘And some are brilliant.’ Isla’s own parents had been wonderful—they’d never believed Andrew’s accusations right from the start, and they’d encouraged her to retrain in Glasgow and then move to London and start again.

‘Yes, some are brilliant.’ Harry was looking curiously at her.

‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ she said brightly. Why on earth hadn’t she moved him away from the subject of parents? Why had she had to open her mouth? ‘And we have patients to see.’

‘Yes, we do. Well, Sister McKenna.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Shall we?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘IS ISLA NOT coming tonight?’ Harry asked Lorraine at the bowling alley, keeping his tone casual.

‘No.’

Lorraine wasn’t forthcoming with a reason and Harry knew better than to ask, because it would be the quickest way to fuel gossip. Not that Lorraine was one to promote the hospital rumour mill, but she might let slip to Isla that she thought Harry might be interested in her, and that would make things awkward between them at work. She’d already got the wrong idea about him.

All the same, this was the third team night out in a fortnight that Isla had missed. On the ward, she was an excellent colleague; she was good with patients and relatives, quick to offer sensible suggestions to clinical problems, and she got on well with everyone. The fact that she didn’t come to any of the team nights out seemed odd, especially as she was new to the department and going out with the team would be a good chance for her to get to know her colleagues better.

Maybe Isla was a single parent or caring for an elderly relative, and it was difficult for her to arrange someone to sit with her child or whoever in the evenings. But he could hardly ask her about it without it seeming as if he was prying.

And he wasn’t; though he was intrigued by her. Then again, if it turned out that she was a single parent, that’d be a deal-breaker for him. He really didn’t want to be back in the position of having parental type responsibilities for a child. OK, so lightning rarely struck twice—but he didn’t want to take the risk.

‘Shame,’ he said lightly, and switched the conversation round to who was going to be in which team.

Two days later, it was one of the worst days in the department Harry had had in months. He, Isla and Josie were in Resus together, trying to save a motorcyclist who’d been involved in a head-on crash—but the man’s injuries were just too severe. Just when Harry had thought they were getting somewhere and the outcome might be bearable after all, the man had arrested and they just hadn’t been able to get him back.

‘I’m calling it,’ Harry said when his last attempt with the defibrillator produced no change. ‘It’s been twenty minutes now. He’s not responding. Is everyone agreed that we should stop?’

Isla and Josie both looked miserable, but voiced their agreement.

‘OK. Time of death, one fifty-three,’ he said softly, and pulled the sheet up to cover their patient’s face. ‘Thank you, team. You all worked really well.’

But it hadn’t been enough, and they all knew it.

‘OK. Once we’ve moved him out of Resus and cleaned him up, I’ll go and find out if Reception managed to get hold of a next of kin and if anyone’s here,’ he said.

‘If they have, I’ll come with you, if you like,’ Isla offered.

‘Thank you.’ He hated breaking bad news. Having someone there would make it a little easier. And maybe she’d know what to say when he ran out of words.

The motorcyclist, Jonathan Pryor, was only twenty-seven, and his next of kin were his parents. The receptionist had already sent a message to Resus that Jonathan’s mum was waiting in the relatives’ room.

‘I hate this bit so much,’ he said softly as he and Isla walked towards the relatives’ room.

‘We did everything we possibly could,’ she reminded him.

‘I know.’ It didn’t make him feel any better. But the sympathy in her blue, blue eyes made his heart feel just a fraction less empty.

Mrs Pryor looked up hopefully as they knocked on the door and walked in. ‘Jonathan? He’s all right? He’s out of Theatre or whatever and I can go and see him?’

Harry could see the very second that she realised the horrible truth—that her son was very far from being all right—and her face crumpled.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Pryor,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘We did everything we could to save him, but he arrested on the table—he had a heart attack, and we just couldn’t get him back.’

Sobs racked her body. ‘I always hated him riding that wretched motorcycle. I worried myself sick every time he went out on it because I knew that something like this would happen. I can’t bear it.’ Her voice was a wail of distress. ‘And now I’ll never see him again. My boy. My little boy.’

Harry knew there was nothing he could do or say to make this better. He just sat down next to Mrs Pryor and kept holding her hand, letting her talk about her son.

Isla went to the vending machine. Harry knew without having to ask that she was making a cup of hot, sweet tea for Mrs Pryor. He could’ve done with one himself, but he wasn’t going to be that selfish. The only thing he could do now for his patient was to comfort his grieving mother.

‘Thank you, but I don’t want it,’ Mrs Pryor said when Isla offered her the paper cup. ‘It won’t bring my son back.’

‘I know,’ Isla said gently, ‘but you’ve just had a horrible shock and this will help. Just a little bit, but it will help.’

Mrs Pryor looked as if she didn’t believe the nurse, but she took the paper cup and sipped from it.

‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Harry asked.

‘My—my husband.’ She shook her head blankly. ‘Oh, God. How am I going to tell him?’

‘I can do that for you,’ Harry said gently. ‘It might be easier on both of you if I tell him.’ Even though he hated breaking bad news.

Mrs Pryor dragged in a breath. ‘All right—thank you.’

‘And you can come and see Jonathan whenever you feel ready,’ Isla said. ‘I’ll come with you, and you can spend some time alone with him, too. I can call the hospital chaplain to come and see you, if you’d like me to.’

Mrs Pryor shook her head. ‘I’ve never been the religious type. Talking to the chaplain’s not going to help. It’s not going to bring Jonathan back, is it?”

‘I understand,’ Isla said, ‘but if you change your mind just tell me. Anything we can do to help, we will.’

‘He was only twenty-seven. That’s way too young to die.’ Mrs Pryor shut her eyes very tightly. ‘And that’s a stupid thing to say. I know children younger than that get killed in accidents every day.’

Yeah, Harry thought. Or, if not killed, left with life-changing injuries, even if they weren’t picked up at first. His own little sister was proof of that. He pushed the thought and the guilt away. Not now. He needed to concentrate on his patient’s bereaved mother.

‘It’s just … you never think it’s going to happen to your own. You hope and you pray it never will.’ She sighed. ‘I know he was a grown man, but he’ll always be my little boy.’

Harry went out to his office to call Mr Pryor to break the bad news, while Isla took over his job of holding Mrs Pryor’s hand and letting her talk. On the way to his office, Harry asked one of the team to clean Jonathan’s face and prepare him so his parents wouldn’t have to see the full damage caused to their son by the crash. And then he went back to the relatives’ room to join Isla and Mrs Pryor, staying there until Mr Pryor arrived, twenty minutes later. The Pryors clung together in their grief, clearly having trouble taking it all in. But finally, Mr Pryor asked brokenly, ‘Can we see him?’

‘Of course,’ Harry said.

He and Isla took the Pryors through to the side room where Jonathan’s body had been taken so they could see their son in private. They stayed for a few minutes in case the Pryors had any questions; then Isla caught Harry’s eye and he gave the tiniest nod of agreement, knowing what she was going to say.

Then Isla said gently to the Pryors, ‘We’ll be just outside if you need us for anything.’

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Pryor said, her voice full of tears.

Outside the side room, Isla said to Harry, ‘I’ll finish up here—you’ll be needed back in Resus.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked. He was needed back in Resus; but at the same time he didn’t think it was fair to leave Isla to deal with grieving parents all on her own.

She nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

He reached out and squeezed her hand, trying to ignore the tingle that spread through his skin at her touch—now really wasn’t an appropriate time. ‘Thank you. You were brilliant. And even though I know you’re more than capable of answering any questions the Pryors might have, if you need backup or want me to come and talk to them about anything, you know where to find me.’

‘Yes. Those poor people,’ she said softly.

‘This is the bit of our job I really wish didn’t exist,’ Harry said.

‘I know. But it does, and we have to do our best.’ She squeezed his hand back, and loosened it. ‘Off you go.’

He wrote up the paperwork, and headed back to Resus. To his relief, the next case was one that he could actually fix. The patient had collapsed, and all the tests showed Harry that it was a case of undiagnosed diabetes. The patient was in diabetic ketoacidosis; Harry was able to start treatment, and then explain to the patient’s very relieved wife that her husband would be fine but they’d need to see a specialist about diabetes and learn how to monitor his blood sugar, plus in future they’d have to keep an eye on his diet to suit his medical condition.

Mid-afternoon, Harry actually had a chance to take his break. He hadn’t seen Isla back in Resus since leaving her with the Pryors, so he went in search of her; he discovered that she was doing paperwork.

‘Hey. I’m pulling rank,’ he said.

She looked up. ‘What?’

‘Right now, I really need some cake. And I think, after the day you’ve had, so do you. So I prescribe the hospital canteen for both of us.’

‘What about Josie?’

Harry smiled. ‘She’s already had her break and is in cubicles right now, but I’m going to bring her some cake back. You can help me pick what she’d like.’

For a moment, he thought Isla was going to balk at being alone with him; then she smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d like that.’

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We have fifteen minutes. Which is just about enough time to walk to the canteen, grab cake, and chuck back a mug of coffee.’

She rolled her eyes, but stood up to join him.

‘How were the Pryors?’ he asked softly when they were sitting at the table in the canteen with a massive slice of carrot cake and a mug of good, strong coffee each.

‘Devastated,’ she said. ‘But they got to spend time with their son and I explained that he didn’t suffer in Resus—that the end was quick.’

‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I hate cases like that. The guy still had his whole life before him.’ And something else had been bugging him. ‘He was only five years younger than I am.’ The exact same age as one of his siblings. And he’d had to fight the urge to text every single one of his siblings who was old enough to drive to say that they were never, ever, ever to ride a motorbike.

‘He was three years younger than me,’ Isla said.

It was first time she’d offered any personal information, and it encouraged him enough to say, ‘You were brilliant with the Pryors and I really appreciate it. I assume you had a fair bit of experience with bereaved relatives when you worked in your last emergency department?’

‘Actually, no.’

He blinked at her. ‘How come?’

‘I wasn’t in an emergency department, as such—I was a nurse practitioner in a GP surgery. I retrained in Glasgow and then came here,’ she said.

Something else he hadn’t known about her. ‘You retrained to give you better opportunities for promotion?’ he asked.

‘Something like that.’

She was clearly regretting sharing as much as she had, and he could tell that she was giving him back-off signals. OK. He’d take the hint. He smiled at her. ‘Sorry. We’re a nosey bunch at the London Victoria—and I talk way too much. Blame it on the sugar rush from the cake.’

‘And on having a rough day,’ she added. ‘So you’ve always worked in the emergency department?’

‘Pretty much. I trained in London; I did my foundation years here, with stints in Paediatrics and Gastroenterology.’ Because of what had happened to Tasha, his first choice had been Paediatrics. He’d been so sure that it was his future. ‘But, as soon as I started in the Emergency Department, I knew I’d found the right place for me. So I stayed and I worked my way up,’ he said.

‘Thirty-two’s not that old for a special reg,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Though I’ve already seen for myself that you’re good at what you do.’

Funny how much her words warmed him. He inclined his head briefly. ‘Thank you, kind madam.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was a statement of fact,’ she said crisply.

He grinned. ‘I like you, Isla. You’re good for my ego. Keeping it in check.’

She actually smiled back, and his heart missed a beat. When she smiled, she really was beautiful.

‘I’ve known worse egos in my time,’ she said.

‘And you gave them just as short shrift?’

‘Something like that.’

He looked at her. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘That depends,’ she said.

‘Why haven’t you come to any of the departmental nights out?’

‘Because they’re not really my thing,’ she said.

‘So you don’t like ten-pin bowling, pub quizzes or pizza.’ He paused. ‘What kind of things do you like, Isla?’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ve only been at the London Victoria for a couple of weeks, you’ve told me that you retrained to come here, and I’m assuming that you don’t really know anyone around here. It must be a bit lonely.’

Yes, she was lonely. She still missed her family and her friends in the Western Isles hugely. And, even though she was trying to put her past behind her, part of her worried about socialising with her new colleagues. It would be too easy to let something slip. And then their reaction to her might change. Some would pity her; others would think there was no smoke without fire. And neither reaction was one she wanted to face.

She didn’t think Harry was asking her out—he’d already made it clear he thought his reputation wasn’t deserved—but it wouldn’t hurt to make things clear. ‘You’re right—I don’t know many people in London,’ she said softly. ‘And I could use a friend. Just a friend,’ she added. ‘Because I’m concentrating on my career right now.’

‘That works for me,’ Harry said. ‘So can we be friends?’

‘I’d like that,’ she said. Even if his smile did make her weak at the knees. Friendship was all she was prepared to offer.

‘Friends,’ he said, and reached over to shake her hand.

And Isla really had to ignore the tingle that went through her at the touch of his skin. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues—about to be friends—and that was all.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN ISLA WENT into the staffroom that morning for a mug of tea, Harry was the only one there. He was staring into his mug of coffee as if he was trying to lose himself in it. She knew that feeling well—she’d been there herself only a few months ago, when her life had turned into a living nightmare—and her heart went out to him.

‘Tough shift so far?’ she asked, gently placing her hand on his arm for a moment.

‘No—yes,’ he admitted. Then he grimaced. ‘Never mind. Forget I said anything.’

It wasn’t like Harry Gardiner to be brusque. The doctor she’d got to know over the last month was full of smiles, always seeing the good in the world.

He also hadn’t quite lived up to his heartbreaker reputation, because since Isla had known Harry he hadn’t actually dated anyone. He’d even turned down a couple of offers, which was hardly the act of the Lothario that the hospital rumour mill made him out to be. Maybe he’d told her the truth when he’d said he wasn’t a heartbreaker.

Right now, something had clearly upset him. Though she understood about keeping things to yourself. Since the day that Andrew Gillespie had made that awful accusation and her fiancé had actually believed him, she’d done the same. Keeping your feelings to yourself was the safest way. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘But if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ But Harry still seemed sunk in the depths of gloom. He was still serious when he was working in minors with her, not even summoning up his store of terrible jokes to distract a little boy whose knee he had to suture after Isla had cleaned up the bad cut.

By mid-afternoon, she was really worried about him. To the point of being bossy. ‘Right. I’m pulling rank,’ she said. ‘You need cake, so I’m dragging you off to the canteen.’

‘Yes, Sister McKenna,’ he said. But his eyes were dull rather than gleaming with amusement. And that worried her even more.

Once they were sitting in the canteen—where she’d insisted on buying lemon cake for him—she asked, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He said nothing; but she waited, knowing that if you gave someone enough space and time they’d start talking.

Except he didn’t.

‘Harry, either you’ve suddenly become a monk and taken a vow of silence as well as chastity, or something’s wrong.’

He looked at her. ‘How do you know I’m chaste?’

She met his gaze. ‘According to the hospital rumour mill, you haven’t dated in a month and everyone thinks you must be ill.’

‘They ought to mind their own business.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not ill. I just don’t want to date.’

Fair enough. She could understand that; it was how she felt, too.

‘And the silence?’ she asked.

He sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it here.’

So there was something wrong. And she liked Harry. She hated to think of him being miserable. And maybe talking to her would help him. ‘After work, then? Somewhere else, somewhere that people from round here aren’t likely to be hanging round to overhear what you’re saying?’

There was a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Sister McKenna?’

‘That I’m most definitely not,’ she said crisply. But then she softened. ‘We’re friends, Harry, and friends support each other. You look upset about something and you’ve been a bit serious at work lately, so something’s obviously wrong. If you want to go for a drink with me after work or something and talk, then the offer’s there.’

‘I could use a friend,’ he said. ‘But you never socialise outside work, Isla. And isn’t someone waiting at home for you?’

‘I’m single, as well you know.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Maybe you have a child,’ he explained, ‘or a relative you’re caring for.’

‘Is that what people are saying about me? That because I don’t go on team nights out, I must be a single parent with babysitting problems?’

He winced. ‘People get curious. But I haven’t been gossiping about you.’

Given what he’d said about the hospital rumour mill, she believed him. ‘Just for the record, I don’t have a child, and I don’t look after anyone. There’s just me. And that’s fine.’

‘Not even a goldfish or a cat?’

‘No.’ She would’ve loved a dog, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave a dog alone all day. Hospital shifts and pets didn’t mix that well, unless you were in a family where you could share the care. Not to mention the clause in the lease of her flat saying that she couldn’t have pets. ‘You know what the old song says about not being able to take a goldfish for a walk.’

‘I guess.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Isla. I’ll think of somewhere and text you. Shall we meet there?’

She knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. Because, if they travelled to the pub or café together, someone was likely to see them and start speculating about whether they were seeing each other. Harry obviously didn’t want to be the centre of gossip, and neither did she. ‘Deal,’ she said.

After his shift finished, Harry texted Isla the address of the wine bar and directions on how to find it.

Funny, she was the last person he’d expected to take him under her wing. She didn’t date, whereas he had the not-quite-deserved reputation of dating hundreds of women and breaking their hearts. He’d been at the London Victoria for years and she’d been working there for just under a month. And yet she’d been the only one in the department who’d picked up his dark mood; and she’d been the only one who’d offered him a listening ear.

Harry didn’t tend to talk about his family.

But maybe talking to someone who didn’t know him that well—and most certainly didn’t know any of the other people involved—might help. A fresh pair of eyes to help him see the right course of action. Because this wedding was really getting under his skin and Harry didn’t have a clue why it was upsetting him so much. It wasn’t as if his father hadn’t got remarried before. So why, why, why had it got to him so much this time?

Harry was already halfway through his glass of Merlot when Isla walked into the wine bar, looked round and came over to his table. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi. You look lovely. I’ve never seen you wearing normal clothes instead of your nurse’s uniform.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he grimaced. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t hitting on you.’

Much.

Because he had to admit that he was attracted to Isla McKenna. That gorgeous creamy skin, her dark red hair, the curve of her mouth that made her look like the proverbial princess just waiting to be woken from her sleep by love’s first kiss …

He shook himself mentally.

Not now.

If he told Isla what was going through his head right now, she’d walk straight out of the bar. And it would take God knew how long to get their easy working relationship back in place. He didn’t want that to happen.

‘You look odd without a white coat, too,’ she said, to his relief; clearly she hadn’t picked up on his attraction to her and was just responding to his words at face value.

‘Let me get you a drink. What would you like?’ he asked.

‘I’ll join you in whatever you’re having.’ She gestured to his glass.

‘Australian Merlot. OK. Back in a tick.’

Ordering a drink gave him enough time to compose himself. He bought her a glass of wine and walked back to their table, where she looked as if she was checking messages on her phone. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m just texting my mum, my sister and my brother to tell them I’ve had a good day.’

‘You miss your family?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Sometimes the islands feel as far away as Australia.’

‘The islands?’ he asked, not sure what she meant.

‘The Western Isles,’ she said.

So she was from the Outer Hebrides? You couldn’t get much more different from London, he thought: mountains, pretty little villages and the sea, compared to the capital’s urban sprawl and the constant noise of traffic.

‘It isn’t that bad really,’ she said. ‘I can fly from here to Glasgow and then get a flight to Lewis, or get the train from Glasgow to Oban and catch the ferry home.’

But the wistfulness in her tone told him how much she missed her family. Something he couldn’t quite get his head round, because he often felt so disconnected from his own. And how ironic that was, considering the size of his family. Eight siblings, with another one on the way. OK, so he didn’t have much in common with his two youngest half-brothers; but he wasn’t that close to the ones nearest his own age, either. And he always seemed to clash with his middle sister. Guilt made him overprotective, and she ended up rowing with him.

‘But we’re not talking about me,’ she said before he could ask anything else. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You’re very direct,’ he said, playing for time.

‘I find direct is the best way.’

He sighed. ‘Considering how much you clearly miss your family, if I tell you what’s bugging me you’re going to think I’m the most selfish person in the universe.’

She smiled. ‘Apart from the fact that there are usually two sides to every story, I very much doubt you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met.’

There was a tiny flicker in her expression, as if she was remembering something truly painful. And that made Harry feel bad about bringing those memories back to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, never mind. Let’s just have a drink and talk about—oh, I dunno, the weather.’ Something very English, and very safe.

She laughed. ‘Nice try. Iain—my brother—squirms just like you do if we talk about anything remotely personal.’

‘I guess it’s a guy thing,’ he said, trying to make light of it and wishing he hadn’t started this.

‘But sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘it’s better out than in. A problem shared is a problem halved. And—’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘No, I can’t think of any more clichés right now. Over to you.’

Despite his dark mood, Harry found himself smiling. He liked this woman. Really, really liked her. Which was another reason why he had to suppress his attraction to her. He wanted to keep her in his life instead of having to put up barriers, the way he normally did. ‘I can’t, either.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I hate talking about emotional stuff. And it’s easier to talk when you’re stuffed with carbs. They do fantastic pies here, and the butteriest, loveliest mashed potato in the world. Can we talk over dinner?’

‘Pie and mash.’ She groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to make me eat jellied eels or mushy peas as well.’

‘Traditional London fare?’ He laughed. ‘No. For vegetables here I’d recommend the spinach. It’s gloriously garlicky.’

‘Provided we go halves,’ she said, ‘then yes. Let’s have dinner. As friends, not as a date.’

Why was she so adamant about not dating? He guessed that maybe someone had hurt her. But he also had the strongest feeling that if he tried to focus on her or asked about her past, she’d shut the conversation down. ‘Deal.’

Ordering food gave him a little more wriggle room.

But, once their food had been served and she’d agreed with him that the pie was to die for, he was back on the spot.

Eventually, he gave in and told her. Because hadn’t that been the point of meeting her this evening, anyway? ‘My dad’s getting remarried,’ he said.

‘Uh-huh. And it’s a problem why exactly?’

‘Speaking like that makes you sound like Yoda.’

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. ‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

‘You’re a bossy lot, north of the border,’ he muttered.

‘And you Sassenachs have no staying power,’ she said with a grin. ‘Seriously, Harry, what’s wrong? Don’t you like his new wife-to-be?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t really know her that well.’

‘So what is it?’

‘This is going to stay with you?’ he checked.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a gossip. I know you’re not. I don’t …’ He blew out a breath. ‘Well, I don’t tend to talk about my personal life.’

‘And I appreciate that you’re talking to me about it now,’ she said softly.

He sighed. ‘Dad wants me to be his best man.’

‘And you don’t want to do it?’

‘No. It’d be for the third time,’ Harry said. ‘And I really don’t see the point of making such a big song and dance about the wedding, considering that in five years’ time we’ll be going through the exactly same thing all over again.’

She said nothing, just waited for him to finish.

He sighed again. ‘My father—I don’t know. Maybe it’s a triumph of hope over experience. But this will be his seventh marriage, and this time his fiancée is younger than I am.’

His father’s seventh marriage? Seeing that many relationships go wrong would make anyone wary of settling down, Isla thought. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly, ‘your father hasn’t found the right woman for him yet.’

‘So this will be seventh time lucky? That’d go down really well in my best man’s speech. Not.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you or take it out on you.’ He grimaced. ‘My father’s charming—that is, he can be when it suits him. He can be great company. But he has a seriously low boredom threshold. And I can’t understand why none of his wives has ever been able to see the pattern before she actually married him. Well, obviously not my mum, because she was the first. But every single one after that. Get married, have a baby, get bored, have an affair, move on. Nothing lasts for Dad for more than five years—well, his last one was almost seven years, but I think Julie was the one to end it instead of Dad. Or maybe he’s slowing down a bit now he’s in his mid-fifties.’ Harry sighed. ‘I really liked Fliss, his third wife. Considering she had to deal with me as a teenager …’ He shrugged. ‘She was really patient.’

‘Did you live with your dad when you were growing up?’ Isla asked.

Harry shook his head. ‘I stayed with him for the occasional weekends, plus a week or so in the long school holidays. I lived with my mum and my three half-sisters. My mum also has a marriage habit, though at least she’s kept husband number four.’ He paused. ‘Maybe that’s it. Dad only has sons—six of us. Maybe he’s hoping that his new wife is carrying his daughter.’

Isla added it up swiftly. Harry was one of nine children, soon about to be ten? And he’d said something about his mum being his father’s first wife. ‘I take it you’re the oldest?’

He nodded. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I like my brothers and sisters well enough, but there’s a whole generation between me and the littlest ones, so we have absolutely nothing in common. I feel more like an uncle than a brother.’ He gave her a thin smile. ‘And let’s just say the best contraception ever is to get a teenager babysitting for their younger siblings. I definitely don’t want kids of my own. Ever.’

‘Remind me to tell my brother Iain how lucky he is that he only had me and Mags tagging around after him,’ she said.

‘You’re the baby of the family?’ he asked.

‘Yes, and I’m thoroughly spoiled.’

He scoffed. ‘You’re far too sensible to be spoiled.’

‘Thank you. I think.’ She paused. ‘Right. So you don’t want to be the best man and you don’t want to go to the wedding. I’m assuming you’re trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings, so you could always say you can’t make the wedding due to pressure of work. That we’re really short-staffed and you just can’t get the time off.’

‘I’ve already tried that one,’ Harry said. ‘Dad says my annual leave is part of my contract—he’s a lawyer, by the way, so I can’t flannel him—and he says they can always find a locum or call in an agency worker to fill in for me. Plus he gave me enough notice that I should’ve been able to swap off-duty with someone months ago to make sure I could be there.’

‘How about a last-minute illness? Say we had norovirus on the ward and you came down with it?’ she suggested.

‘Norovirus in the middle of summer?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Nope. That one’s not going to fly.’

‘You have other medics in your family, then?’ she asked.

‘One of my sisters is a trainee audiologist. But everyone knows that norovirus tends to be at its worst in the winter. All the newspapers make a big song and dance about emergency departments being on black alert at the peak of the winter vomiting virus season.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve thought about practically nothing else for weeks, and there just isn’t a nice way to let everyone down.’

‘So the kind approach isn’t going to work. Have you tried telling any of your brothers that you don’t want to go?’

He nodded. ‘Jack—he’s the next one down from me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He thinks I should be there to support the old man. So does Fin—he’s the next one down from Jack.’

‘And how old are they?’

‘Dad’s kids are all spaced five years apart. So Jack and Fin are twenty-seven and twenty-two, respectively,’ he explained. ‘The odd one out will be the new baby, who’ll be seven years younger than Evan—he’s the youngest.’

‘OK. So you have to go to the wedding. But what about this best man business? Isn’t there anyone else who could do it? Does your dad have a best friend, a brother—or, hey, he could always be different and have a woman as his best man if he has a sister,’ she suggested.

To her relief, that actually made Harry crack a smile. ‘Best woman? I can’t see Auntie Val agreeing to that. She says Dad’s the male equivalent of a serial Bridezilla.’ He took another sip of Merlot. ‘Uncle Jeff—Dad’s brother—has done the duty twice, and so has Marty, his best friend.’

‘So if the three of you have all done it twice, what about your next brother down? Or the youngest one? Could it be their turn?’

‘I could suggest it.’ He paused. ‘But even if I can be just a normal wedding guest instead of the best man, it still means running the gauntlet of everyone asking me how come I’m not married yet, and saying how I ought to get a move on and settle down because I’m ten years older now than Dad was when he got married the first time, and that means I’m totally on the shelf.’

‘Apart from the fact that men are never described as being on the shelf, you would still’ve been a student medic at twenty-two,’ Isla pointed out. ‘And, with the crazy hours that junior doctors work, you wouldn’t have had the time to get married or even spend that much time with your new wife back then.’

‘But I’m not a student or a junior doctor now. In their view, I have no excuses not to settle down.’

‘Maybe you could take a date to the wedding?’ she suggested.

That would be Harry’s worst nightmare. Taking a date to a family wedding implied that you were serious about taking the relationship further; then, when it was clear you didn’t want to do that, someone would get hurt. But Isla clearly meant well. ‘I guess it would be a start—but it wouldn’t stop the questions for long. They’d want to know how we met, how long we’d been dating, how serious it was, when we were planning to get engaged …’ He rolled his eyes. ‘They never stop.’

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