His eyes narrowed.

‘Why bother asking me, Staff? You seem about to give a lecture. Pray continue.’

Patronising so-and-so! ‘With pleasure!’ she responded tartly. ‘Giving juniors nothing but menial chores plays havoc with their self-esteem. Especially if they see the staff nurse swanning around the place like a queen bee, afraid to dirty her apron or have any kind of hands-on contact with the patients. Now that kind of attitude doesn’t earn the kind of respect I like to receive from my junior nurses!’

‘Whereas you think that scrubbing out the bath and singing loudly like a fishwife does, I suppose?’ he suggested sarcastically.

Nicolette gave him her most beatific smile. ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I do.’

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Consultant Care
Sharon Kendrick
writing as Sharon Wirdnam

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my beautiful CiCi, who is the best daughter any mother could hope for.

CONTENTS

Cover

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘Goo-goo-goo!’

Nicolette lifted baby Tom out of the bath-tub and onto a warm, fluffy towel, where he wriggled about appreciatively as she began to dry him. ‘Goo-goo-goo!’ she cooed at him again in a sing-song voice, her experienced hands rubbing the small, fragrant body. Babies just out of the bath smelt almost good enough to eat, she decided, not for the first time! ‘Who’s an absolutely gorgeous boy, then?’ she murmured. ‘And who knows it, too?’

The baby gurgled back, seemingly unaware that a week ago he had been hanging on to life by a slender thread.

Nursing was no like no other job in the world, Nicolette decided with satisfaction as she pulled the plug out of the bath and the water began to gurgle away. You could start on a brand-new ward, in a brand-new hospital, and after a busy, busy morning you would automatically feel as though you’d been there since the year dot.

Amazing!

And very convenient, too, since the ward sister she was supposed to have been on duty with had broken her leg while out mountain climbing, and wouldn’t be back for at least six weeks. Which meant, to all intents and purposes, that Nicolette and her opposite-number staff nurse would be in charge of the ward. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end!

‘Yes,’ Nicolette murmured as she tickled Tom’s belly button. ‘You are definitely the most scrumptious baby!’

‘Do you make a habit of talking to yourself, Staff Nurse?’ came an amused voice from behind her.

Nicolette turned round without ceasing the patting movements of her hands to see Jane Jones, one of the student nurses, standing at the bathroom door, grinning from ear to ear. Jane was a first-year student, just coming to the end of her stint on the busy paediatric ward, and she had been of invaluable help to Nicolette on her first morning at Southbury Hospital.

‘But I’m not talking to myself,’ corrected Nicolette, mock-reprimandingly. ‘I’m talking to young Tom. Did they never teach you in nursing school that babies and children should be talked to constantly?’

‘They sure did,’ said Jane, moving across the tiled bathroom floor to crouch down beside Nicolette. She watched the staff nurse making tickling little circles all over the baby’s tummy and noted the child’s enthusiastic response. ‘Hard to believe he was so ill, isn’t it?’

Nicolette deftly snapped a nappy on and began to roll a blue Babygro over one little foot. ‘Well, I didn’t see him, of course, but if his notes were anything to go by then yes, he’s lucky to be alive. Did you nurse him when he first came in?’

Jane shook her head. ‘No, not at first. He was a bit too poorly for any of us students to look after. Intensive Care was full, so they sent one of their nurses down here to special him. Sister usually likes caring for the really sick ones herself, if the ward’s quiet enough, but since she—’

‘Broke her leg,’ finished Nicolette with an expressive flash of humour in her blue eyes. ‘Yes, I know.’ She pulled the Babygro up the child’s emaciated torso; he was still painfully thin. ‘How come he nearly died before he was admitted to hospital—do you know why he didn’t come in sooner?’

Nurse Jones nodded glumly. ‘It was the usual sorry story, I’m afraid. His father abandoned the family, leaving Tom’s mother to go out to work.’ She grimaced. ‘As she’s underqualified, the only work she could get was in a bar, so she left Tom in the charge of his older sister.’ She paused dramatically. ‘Only trouble is that she isn’t much older—she’s only nine herself, and didn’t realise how ill he was.’

Nicolette nodded. ‘Or how rapidly a baby’s condition can deteriorate, no doubt.’ Poor little mite, she thought. As Nurse Jones had said, it was the old, old story, and not for the first time she found herself wondering what kind of chance this child would have in life. She glanced at the student nurse, who was crouched beside her with an enquiring look on her face, and smiled. ‘So—did you come here just to keep me company? Because if you did . . . you can start cleaning out that bath right now! Or have you come to inform me that there’s an acute admission on its way up from Accident and Emergency?’

‘Neither. But there has just been a phone call.’

‘Not Pharmacy again?’ Nicolette clicked her tongue absently as she pulled a funny face at the baby.

‘Not this time,’ grinned Nurse Jones, thinking that Staff Nurse Nicolette Kennedy was going to breathe a lot of life into this place—and not before time! ‘Dr Le Saux is on his way up. He wants to have a quick look at one of the patients. So I thought I’d better warn you,’ she finished, in the kind of tone that Nicolette might have associated with the three-minute warning if she’d ever been unlucky enough to hear it.

‘And Dr Le Saux is the consultant?’ guessed Nicolette slowly.

‘That’s right,’ said Jane in an even gloomier voice that even after only one morning together Nicolette could tell was over-succinct. ‘Haven’t you met him?’

Nicolette shook her glossy black curls as she sat back on her heels and watched Thomas happily kicking his legs. ‘No, I haven’t. He was away overseeing some research proposal when I was interviewed for the job.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Unusual name; is he French?’

Jane shook her head. ‘Apparently it’s an old Jersey name. Distinctive and unique—just like our dear doctor!’

Dr Le Saux sounded nothing if not formidable, thought Nicolette with some amusement. ‘What time did he say he would be here?’

‘In about half an hour.’

Nicolette picked the unprotesting baby up and cradled him against her shoulder, unable to ignore the non-verbal messages she was getting from her junior any longer. ‘And is he so very awful that you think I should be warned against him?’

Nurse Jones opened her mouth with undeniable eagerness, then seemed to think better of it, and shut it again. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Fine,’ smiled Nicolette diplomatically, and rose to her feet in one easy, fluid movement. If any of her family had been watching they would have been amazed. Sometimes she could be the world’s clumsiest person—in fact, her family were always teasing her about having two left feet. But when she was in charge of a baby or a child she seemed to develop an unerring grace. It was as though children brought out the very best in her, and perhaps it was this quality which had always made her attain the most glowing reports from all the paediatric wards on which she had worked.

Though lately she had to admit to feeling a touch wistful. Broody, almost; wondering what it might be like to care for a baby of her own, instead of always looking after someone else’s.

And you can knock that idea on the head immediately, Nicolette, she told herself sternly. The creation of babies took two people, and she was old-fashioned enough to believe in love and marriage. And there were certainly no suitable candidates for either love or marriage in the offing at present!

Nurse Jones got to her feet as well, already feeling an odd sort of loyalty to this new staff nurse with the dark, curly hair and the remarkably bright blue eyes. ‘Er, Staff?’

Nicolette turned around, the baby still cradled against her shoulder. ‘Yes, Nurse Jones?’

‘About Dr Le Saux . . .’

‘Mmm?’

Nurse Jones bit at her bottom lip. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be indiscreet,’ she began falteringly.

‘And I’m not asking you to be,’ Nicolette told her firmly. ‘The last thing I’m after is gossip. But it’s just that, as Sister isn’t here to give me any guidelines, I’d appreciate any help you can give me about the consultant’s particular likes and dislikes. He might not have any, of course, but then he would be unique—in my experience of consultants!’ She grinned at the junior.

Nurse Jones dimpled back. ‘I know exactly what you mean!’

‘Well, then—any tips at all, and I’d be truly grateful,’ said Nicolette.

Nurse Jones began to doubtfully eye the wayward strand of black hair which was threatening to escape from Nicolette’s chignon. ‘Er—it’s just that Dr Le Saux likes order.’

‘Order?’ Nicolette echoed in surprise as she tried unsuccessfully to tuck the errant curl behind her ear. Obviously one tried to keep a hospital ward as orderly as possible, but, in Nicolette’s experience, doing so with any degree of efficiency on a children’s ward was doomed to failure. Children and order, like electricity and water, simply did not mix!

Nurse Jones nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘What kind of order?’

‘Oh, you know, a tidy ward. A quiet ward—’

It sounded as though this list might go on and on and Nicolette gave a strangled kind of smile. ‘On second thoughts, say no more! Dr Le Saux can tell me all his likes and dislikes himself.’ But if he thinks I’ll be straightening sheets when I should be cuddling babies, he’s got another think coming, she thought with a determined tilt of her square chin. She handed the baby over to Nurse Jones, who, even after one morning, she could tell loved small children just about as much as she did. ‘Would you like to give Thomas a feed for me?’

‘Oh, could I?’ asked Nurse Jones gratefully, then screwed her nose up as she noticed that the bath still hadn’t been cleaned. ‘You’re going to leave cleaning the bath, then?’

‘Leave it? Leave it? Certainly not, Nurse Jones! Are you trying to encourage cross-infection on the ward?’ squeaked Nicolette indignantly, but then her full mouth softened with irrepressible humour as she saw the younger girl’s startled face. ‘I’ll do it myself, you ninny,’ she chided gently.

‘You?’ The student nurse’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe.

‘Sure. Just because I’m qualified doesn’t mean I can’t do a bit of the donkey work now and again. Besides, you’re leaving here soon, aren’t you? And there won’t be much chance to feed babies on the pychiatric ward.’

Nurse Jones grimaced. ‘Please don’t remind me!’

‘Oh, you’ll love it,’ prophesied Nicolette cheerfully. ‘I did.’

‘Just not as much as paediatrics?’ guessed Nurse Jones.

‘That’s right. But then for me nothing was ever as much fun as paediatrics. Now, shoo! Take that baby before I change my mind,’ and Nicolette laughed as she picked up the cloth and started to sing tunelessly as she began to wipe the bath out.

Life was good.

Very good, she sighed contentedly.

After doing her nurse training in one of London’s biggest teaching hospitals she had done the additional studying required to become a registered paediatric nurse. And after all that hard work had decided that she needed a break!

So she had taken a year off to travel around Australia and had had an absolute ball of a time, exploring the country’s beautiful wide, open reaches and enthusiastically entering into the sporty lifestyle which the Australians seemed to take for granted. When the year was up she had found that she had changed her mind about returning to London and her training hospital. The thought of crowded metropolitan life in comparison to the great outdoors had made her feel positively claustrophobic. So she had applied for the post of staff nurse here at pioneering Southbury Hospital, set in the glorious south of England. And although Southbury itself was a big naval port, with a thriving city centre, Nicolette couldn’t dispel her image of it as a sun-baked, sleepy haven—a little like a lazy cat sleeping in front of a banked fire!

She didn’t hear footsteps; she was too busy belting out a number from the year’s hit musical and attacking the side of the bath with her usual enthusiastic vigour. She didn’t even hear a voice, and surely someone wouldn’t have just come and stood at the bathroom door without saying anything?

Consequently she didn’t know how long it took for her to register that there was someone else in the bathroom with her.

She saw a leg. Correction: two legs swung into her line of vision. Or, rather, it was the feet connected to the legs that she noticed first, because the feet were wearing the kind of shoes which Nicolette had never seen before, and she knew instinctively that the soft black leather was handmade, that it was very definitely not English, and, furthermore, that the shoes had cost a fortune. They were also polished and bright and extraordinarily clean. Now who on earth had the time to keep their shoes that clean? she thought fleetingly as her bright blue gaze travelled upwards.

Nice trousers, too, she thought absently. Grey and immaculate. Worn casually loose. Nicolette blinked.

And not doing much . . . Correction: not doing anything to disguise thighs so strapping and so muscular and so. . . This man could be an Olympic sprinting champion, she decided, keen to see whether the top half of the mystery intruder would match the bottom half, when a cold, clear and crisply incisive voice cut into her thoughts like a tape-measure into the hips of an unnsuccessful dieter.

‘When you’ve quite finished,’ the voice said repressively.

Nicolette sat back on her heels and found herself looking into the most spectacular pair of eyes she had ever seen. She swallowed.

Beautiful brown eyes.

She swallowed again. Brown was far too ordinary a word to use in conjunction with eyes which reminded her of velvety chocolate, and of treacle . . . of all things dark and sweet and mysteriously delicious. And when she looked more closely they weren’t a uniform colour at all, because there were flecks of other colours hidden in their depths. An arresting green—as fresh and as verdant as a spring day—and gold, too, precious and gleaming and . . . and . . .

‘Er. . .hello,’ she managed.

His mouth, which also happened to be the embodiment of perfection, twisted into a grim, hard line as his eyes flicked disparagingly over her dripping hands. ‘Staff Nurse,’ he growled dangerously, ‘would you mind telling me what you think you’re doing?’

Nicolette should have interpreted the dangerous glint in those magnificent eyes, but she foolishly attempted to chivvy him out of a blatantly foul temper. ‘Well, I’m not writing out my tickets for the National Lottery, am I?’ she joked.

He didn’t move a muscle of his face in an answering smile. Instead he surveyed her with a cold, unblinking scrutiny as though she were something which had just been dragged in by the cat. ‘Are you or are you not supposed to be in charge of the ward?’ he demanded curtly.

The implication being, she supposed, that she’d left work on the ward undone, which she knew darned well she hadn’t! Nicolette’s soft features rearranged themselves into a mutinous expression. ‘I am!’ she fired back with equal curtness, her good humour evaporating completely. Just let him dare criticise her—just let him!

Not seeming at all perturbed by her expression, he proceeded to do just that. ‘And is this how it is deemed proper—’

Oh, what a pompous word!

‘—for a staff nurse to run the ward?’

‘What am I doing that’s so wrong—Doctor?’ enquired Nicolette sweetly. ‘At least, I’m assuming that you’re a doctor and not a pharmacist or a dietician or one of the many other members of the hospital staff who wear white coats. And the reason I don’t know your status is because you haven’t. . .’ she toyed with saying ‘haven’t had the courtesy’, but resisted the temptation ‘. . .haven’t introduced yourself,’ she finished primly.

The implied criticism went over him like water off a duck’s back. ‘Of course I’m a doctor,’ he snapped back. ‘Since when have you known pharmacists and dieticians to carry stethoscopes around in their pockets?’ His finger jabbed at the stethoscope which was dangling clearly from the pocket of his white coat. ‘And as to what you’re doing wrong—why, you’re cleaning the bath out, for heavens sake!’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of cross-infection?’ she retorted hotly, not flinching from the look of incredulity which had hardened the eyes she had once foolishly thought magnificent.

‘What?’ he demanded, as though she’d just started speaking to him in a foreign language.

‘Baths have to be cleaned every time they’re used,’ She shot back. ‘Or didn’t you know that?’

‘Of course I know that,’ he bit out impatiently. ‘But isn’t there a junior who could be doing it for you, while you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, namely, looking after the ward?’

Nicolette had many theories of her own about how nursing could be improved, and the mystery doctor had inadvertently hit on one of her number-one bête noires. She took a deep breath as she forced herself to control her temper. Heavens, she couldn’t remember being so mad in years! ‘I do not ascribe to the theory,’ she began haughtily, ‘that the students should be lumbered with all the menial tasks around the ward. If we make them play skivvy the whole time then they aren’t exactly going to learn a whole lot, are they, Doctor?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why bother asking me, Staff? You seem about to give me a little lecture. Pray continue.’

Patronising so-and-so! ‘With pleasure!’ she responded tartly. ‘Giving juniors nothing but menial chores plays havoc with their self-esteem.’

‘Self-esteem?’ he echoed incredulously, as though he hadn’t heard her correctly.

‘Yes, Doctor—self-esteem! Nurses need it too, you know. And constantly assigning them to clean baths and empty bedpans, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, isn’t going to make them feel like an indispensable member of the nursing team, is it?’ she finished, her defiant tone disguised by her need to draw in a deep breath. ‘Especially if they see the staff nurse swanning around the place like a queen bee, afraid to dirty her apron or have any kind of hands-on contact with the patients. Now that kind of attitude doesn’t earn the kind of respect I like to receive from my junior nurses!’

‘Whereas you think that scrubbing out the bath and singing loudly like a fishwife does, I suppose?’ he suggested sarcastically.

She gave him her most beatific smile. ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she replied sweetly. ‘I do.’

His eyes were thoughtful as he stared down at her from a very great, very disapproving height and it only then occurred to her that she had conducted the entire conversation with him whilst sitting on the floor, and that her long black-stockinged legs were all splayed out in the most inelegant position! She hastily clamped her knees together and his frown increased still further.

‘I am waiting to do a ward-round,’ he told her in a shiveringly soft voice. ‘So would you mind getting up?’

‘Not at all,’ Nicolette answered formally.

Two things happened simultaneously.

The first was that Nicolette automatically did as he asked, and rose awkwardly to her feet.

The second was that she was so overcome, whether by his presence or their heated little contretemps, that she failed to see the small puddle of water on the tiled floor, which she must have slopped there when she was cleaning the bath. And, given the two catalysts of a slippery surface and her own innate clumsiness, the inevitable happened.

Nicolette slipped, her legs and arms flying with all the lack of co-ordination of a newly born foal, and she would have fallen completely and hit her head on the side of the bath, to boot, had not the tall man beside her lunged out instinctively to save her.

Nicolette was a tall girl, and certainly not fat, but she was healthy and well covered, and her rescuer was obviously unprepared for the soft, warm weight that landed in his arms, because somehow she toppled him too, and the two of them slid in synchrony down the side of the bath, like two drunks at the end of a long party.

‘What the hell—?’ he snarled in angry disbelief.

Nicolette tried to brace herself, but it was difficult. Her nose was just inches away from his name-badge, which had been hidden by most of his lapel, and which proclaimed his name as Dr L Le Saux.

Of course.

Of course it was him! It would have to be, wouldn’t it? I mean, thought Nicolette with acid humour, if you were going to present yourself to the ward consultant, to a man who loved order, then how better to go about it than to rugby tackle him to the floor with all the grace of a dying duck?

But there was another reason, too, for her inability to catch her breath, or even to move, that was nothing to do with Nicolette’s embarrassment and everything to do with the man himself.

Because somehow, in the course of steadying her and saving her from possible concussion, he had firmly put one hand around her waist, and was still holding on to her, with all the assurance of a man who had had a lot of experience of holding on to women.

Although, she thought, looking at those craggy features, that didn’t surprise her one bit! And, close to, the eyes were even more devastating than she had originally thought.

‘Would you mind,’ he enunciated in the most tightly controlled voice she had ever heard, ‘getting your foot out of my trousers?’

Nicolette blinked and glanced down. Oh, heavens! She could see just what he meant: the elegant grey trousers had a turn-up, or a cuff, as some people called it. The top Italian designers that season had deemed such cuffs essential for every well-dressed man. Even she had read about that in the newspapers!

And her hefty black nurse’s shoe, with its extremely heavy-duty sole, had somehow lodged itself there, wedged inside it as securely as a sailor in a hammock.

With her customary enthusiasm Nicolette yanked her foot out, but the movement was accompanied by a distinct tearing sound and her eyes swivelled downwards in horror to discover that in the process of removing her foot she had ripped his gorgeous trousers!

‘Thank you,’ he said, in a chilly voice just dripping with sarcasm.

‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Nicolette as she scrambled to her feet and automatically held her hand out to help him up as she would to a patient.

He studiously ignored the outstretched hand, managing to lever his long-legged frame up from the bathroom floor until he was beside her once more and towering over her again. Only this time there wasn’t just that look of poorly concealed irritation on his face, there was downright anger there, too, but that didn’t deter Nicolette from trying to make amends.

‘Oh, your poor trousers!’ she exclaimed in horror. ‘You must let me offer to repair them.’

There was a long, tense silence while he studied her face disbelievingly, and then he said, ‘I doubt whether you could afford to.’

Well! It was one thing to wear clothes that obviously cost a king’s ransom to buy, but quite another to then rub your wealth in someone else’s face! Nicolette stiffened and drew her shoulders back proudly. ‘I meant,’ she said deliberately, ‘that I could sew them for you.’

If she had suggested single-handedly flying a light aircraft across the Atlantic with him as the only passenger he could not have looked more horrified, or more appalled.

‘If you think,’ he said deliberately, speaking each word with distaste, as though he were being forced to swallow a particularly nasty dose of medicine, ‘that I would allow you anywhere near my trousers—’

It was just very unfortunate that Nurse Jones chose that particular moment to walk back into the bathroom, to find them face to face and glowering at each other. And it was unfortunate, too, that, from the look of profound and abject consternation on her face, she had completely misinterpreted the meaning of his words. ‘Oh, I’m s-so s-sorry!’ she stuttered, and, turning scarlet, she went straight back out again as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

The awkward silence which fell as they watched the student nurse go stretched and stretched until it was almost unbearable.

Nicolette looked helplessly up into his eyes.

‘I would now like to do my ward-round,’ he told her icily. ‘If you could find it in yourself to grant me the pleasure—’ this word was enunciated with devastating contempt ‘—of accompanying me?’ And he stalked out without another word.

Nicolette was always one to look on the bright side, and yes, OK, perhaps it wasn’t the most auspicious of beginnings, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be able to get on in the future, did it?

She gulped, trying and failing to imagine a close, friendly working relationship developing with such an unbearable man.

She turned and went to follow him out, but as she did she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror and flinched.

She looked so unprofessional!

Her uniform was very casual, which didn’t exactly help. She wore a simple short-sleeved dress, with a kind of tabard that covered most of it. This was a sleeveless white overall, brightly decorated with cartoon characters and which was unique to Southbury’s paediatric wards. Designed specifically to make young patients feel at home, at present it was only adding fuel to Nicolette’s conviction that she didn’t look fit to be in charge of the ward!

Her cheeks were as pink and as shiny as if she’d spent the morning out gathering hay, and her blue eyes were bright—two chips of dazzling sapphire in her square face. Puzzlingly, she looked so alive and so vibrant that it almost shocked her, but it was the state of her hair that most caught her attention.

Difficult to control at the best of times, the frizzy black curls had clearly been affected by the steam, the fall and the subsequent collision because it now looked as though a swarm of ebony snakes was protruding from her head.

There were tendrils threatening to escape everywhere, and, worse still, some which already had escaped and were lying on her cheeks and coiling down the back of her long neck.

It would be hopeless, she knew, to try to mend the damage; her hair needed completely redoing. And she couldn’t, she just couldn’t leave Dr Le Saux waiting for her while she went off and did her hair. Just imagine what he would think of her then!

So she automatically smoothed her hands down the sides of her blue cotton dress, unconsciously moulding the curving lines of her hips as she did so, and set off with a heavy heart to do a ward round with Dr L Le Saux.

CHAPTER TWO

NICOLETTE spotted that the curtains had been drawn round one of the beds and that Dr Le Saux’s white coat was just disappearing behind it, reminding her a little of the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland!

The paediatric ward was not of the old-fashioned ‘Nightingale’ design that Nicolette was used to, with two long stark lines of beds on either side, although perhaps the ‘orderly’ Dr Le Saux might have preferred that, she thought wickedly. Instead, as was the modern way of nursing, the ward was divided into four-bedded cubicles, with the nurses’ station in the centre but close enough to be able to observe the four side-rooms, where the very sick or infectious patients were looked after.

Nicolette moved the curtains aside and stepped in.

Dr Le Saux was bending over a child aged about nine, a child who was staring up at him with big, trusting eyes. The tall doctor straightened up when Nicolette walked in, and the corner of his mouth moved very slightly upwards in a derisive little curve, indicating that his mood remained as prickly as before.

‘So here you are,’ he observed. ‘At last,’ he added unreasonably.

My, but he was irascible! Did his wife nag him, or what? Nicolette found herself staring into eyes which had suddenly taken on a brooding, stormy quality. It would take a strong woman to nag Dr Le Saux, she decided! His name badge, so embarrassingly close earlier, now winked at her like a diamond. ‘Dr L Le Saux’, it said, and she wondered idly what the ‘L’ might stand for. Lucifer, most probably, she thought, biting back a grin with difficulty. ‘Yes. Here I am,’ she said airily.

She turned to face the little boy on the bed who had been admitted earlier that week. She had said a quick ‘good morning’ after report when she had briefly gone round the ward to try to acquaint herself with the patients, but that had been all she had had time for. None the less, Nicolette knew the boy’s name; she had arrived half an hour early and had memorised every single patient’s name.

The little boy who lay in the bed was pale and thin, with a pinched little face. ‘Hi, Simon,’ said Nicolette.

‘Hi,’ said Simon, giving her the wary little once-over that children always seemed to give when they met someone who would be involved with their care during their stay in hospital. ‘How d’you know my name?’

Nicolette tapped the side of her nose, rolled her eyes, then giggled. ‘Magic. I’m a mind-reader!’

At the sight of her open grin, the slightly suspicious look on Simon’s face evaporated. ‘You saw it in the Kardex?’ he guessed.

‘Right first time!’

‘And what’s your name?’ he asked her.

She looked down at the small boy understandingly. He could read on her badge what her surname was; he wanted to know what her real name was, her Christian name. ‘Nicolette.’ She smiled broadly, thankful that she lived in a time where hospital traditions were no longer as starchy as they had used to be. Indeed, the use of Christian names was positively encouraged these days.

Simon responded to the warm grin. ‘That’s pretty,’ he said. ‘An’ you’re pretty, too! Isn’t she pretty, Doctor?’

Nicolette was too busy trying to stop herself from blushing to take much notice of the fact that the stern-faced Dr Le Saux had not encouraged the use of his Christian name!

His face went even sterner as he managed to ignore Simon’s question by saying smoothly, ‘Perhaps you’d like to give me a brief run-through of Simon’s history, Staff Nurse? I am assuming, of course, that you managed to find the time to read it up?’

She had, thank heavens! Nicolette gave Simon’s hand a quick squeeze, pleased as punch when he squeezed hers back. ‘He has cystic fibrosis.’

Dr Le Saux nodded. ‘And what can you tell me about the disease?’

At least medical staff could now speak frankly in front of their young charges—which was a relief, thought Nicolette as she gave Simon a dazzling smile. Research had long since shown that honesty was the best policy when dealing with children and that ‘protecting’ them by concealing the nature of their illness often led to their constructing frightening fantasies that were far worse than the truth.

‘It’s an inherited condition, affecting many tissues, particularly those with endocrine glands,’ she summarised fluently.

‘And how would you describe the endocrine glands, very simply, to a junior nurse?’ he probed.

Nicolette decided that she would have to award him ten out of ten for persistence, but just about resisted pulling a face at him because she had to concede that he had a point. Some senior nurses did waffle on without knowing how to explain a subject adequately yet succinctly. None-the-less, the last time she had been asked directly about the endocrine glands had been during her last set of examination papers!

She creased her brows together in concentration. ‘They are a series of small glands, situated in various parts of the body, which form secretions known as hormones,’ she told him.

He nodded. ‘Good. So tell me how cystic fibrosis presents?’ he queried immediately.

Nicolette could see that she was going to have to spend every evening with her nose in a textbook if she was to continue working on Dr Le Saux’s ward! ‘The majority of patients present with diarrhoea and failure to thrive, due to malabsorption or recurrent persistent chest infection. Or both. The diagnosis is made by—’

‘I’m the one asking the questions, Staff,’ he growled impatiently.

‘Certainly, Doctor,’ she answered politely, but her eyes flashed a spark of defiance at the way he had just arrogantly butted in like that. Talking to her as though she were fresh off her first ward, instead of a highly qualified nurse with five years of exacting training behind her! She caught Simon looking up and watching her, a broad grin on his pale face.

‘Don’t take any notice of him, Nurse,’ he told her, almost cheerfully. ‘He’s always growling. He has to—he’s a lion man!’

‘That’s enough, Simon!’said Dr Le Saux warningly.

Teasing his doctor seemed to have given Simon a definite rise in spirits. ‘That’s what he’s called, too—lion man! Suits him, doesn’t it?’

Nicolette raised her thick black brows above clear blue eyes and looked with frank curiosity at Dr Le Saux. Lion man? ‘Oh?’ she queried in a faint, soft voice.

‘My name is Leander,’ he told her reluctantly in that deep, deep voice which sounded exactly like rich, runny honey spilling slowly over gravel.

‘That’s rather . . . unusual,’ said Nicolette lamely, the curiosity remaining in her blue eyes.

He frowned, then sighed, as if recognising that some kind of explanation was in order. ‘It’s Greek for “lion man”—as Simon has so accurately pointed out.’

Leander! Nicolette blinked. Of all the remarkable names for a man. . .‘But weren’t you teased about it at school?’ she blurted out before she could stop herself.

He looked taken aback, as though the question had surprised him, and Nicolette suspected that he would not have chosen to answer it, had not Simon butted in eagerly.

‘Did they, Doctor?’

The tall man’s eyes rested thoughtfully on the young boy, and he nodded slowly, as though he had guessed Simon’s true reasons for asking. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘They did try to tease me. But they didn’t succeed.’

‘Because you’re big, and tough,’ hazarded Simon gloomily. ‘And could knock them down with a punch.’

But Dr Le Saux shook his head. ‘No, Simon,’ he responded quietly. ‘If you resort to physical violence then you’re putting yourself on the same level as the cowards who are bullying you—and believe me, that’s all that they are, nothing but pathetic cowards.’

‘Then. . .how did you get them to leave you alone?’ asked Simon diffidently, and Nicolette’s heart turned over in sympathy for the young lad, for it was transparently obvious that he must have been the butt of bullying himself.

‘By ignoring them,’ Dr Le Saux answered sternly. ‘Simple, but effective. They soon get bored repeating something if they can see that it isn’t upsetting you.’

‘And if it is upsetting you?’ said Simon falteringly.

‘Then you pretend. Pretend it isn’t, and soon they’ll stop. And if you can practise giving them a pitying little smile like this,’ and he curved his mouth into the haughtiest look of pride that Nicolette had ever seen, ‘at the same time,’ he carried on, ‘then they’ll steer well clear. Try it,’ he advised softly. ‘It works; I promise you.’

Simon nodded slowly, as if a promise from this particular doctor was something to be cherished. ‘I will.’

Nicolette found herself watching the tall paediatrician covertly, thinking about the man, and about the name. And whoever had chosen it had been spot on because yes, the name suited him. Really suited him.

He had impressively broad shoulders, which suggested strength, and the lean musculature of his long limbs marked him out as hunter, protector and provider. And here, standing beside the window, where the sunlight streamed in on them, she could see that his hair was not merely very thick and dark, as she had thought when she had first seen him, but that it also had the most astonishing dark red lights dancing in its depths, and, although it was neatly trimmed, its very thickness and intriguing hint of unruliness were not dissimilar to the texture of a lion’s mane. . .

She came out of her fanciful daydream to find him staring at her, a look of faint question in his eyes, and Nicolette realised that she must have been standing there ogling him! Oh, dear! She hastily cleared her throat. ‘Er—any more questions you wanted to ask me?’

‘I was going to ask you about the outlook,’ he told her softly.

For a moment her brain was complete mush. ‘The outlook?’ she echoed stupidly.

‘Of cystic fibrosis,’ he explained crisply.

Of course. Thank heavens to have something concrete to focus her attention on, other than the magnificent lion-like qualities of the man who stood in front of her! Nicolette didn’t falter. ‘The long-term survival has improved considerably in recent years, and there are now a great many adult CF patients who are leading fulfilled lives. In the meantime the adults of tomorrow can take great comfort from knowing that a vast amount of research is being done into the disease.’ And she gave Simon’s hand another tiny squeeze.

‘That’s what I keep telling Simon,’ said Dr Le Saux quietly. ‘But you take a lot of convincing, don’t you, my lad?’

Nicolette’s eyes were shining as she looked down at the patient. ‘Well, I’ve said it, too—and I wasn’t primed to, was I? How many more people would you like to repeat it to you, Simon, before you believe it?’

Simon’s eyes were serious beyond their years, but his voice didn’t have a trace of self-pity in it. ‘I know that what you say is true,’ he said. ‘An’ I’ve always believed Dr Le Saux. He’s looked after me since I was a baby. In fact, Mum and Dad moved down to this part of the world so that he could look after me, didn’t we, Doc?’

Nicolette blinked in surprise as she stared at the consultant. She could never have imagined the tall, imposing doctor looking vaguely disquieted, but he did now. He was, she realised with a surprised glee, embarrassed at Simon’s obvious hero-worship and glowing testimony! Strange, that. She would never have had him down as being modest!

‘Is that so?’ Nicolette asked softly.

The dark head with the red lights in it was shaken impatiently as he appeared to contradict Simon’s words. ‘The sea air acts as a tonic,’ he shrugged self-deprecatingly, adding as he saw the quirk of amusement which curved the corners of Nicolette’s mouth, ‘And yes, that may be a very old-fashioned idea, Staff Nurse, but I happen to believe it’s true.’

‘But so do I!’ agreed Nicolette, feeling almost shocked. She could never have imagined agreeing with anything said by the stern-faced man she’d grappled with in the bathroom!

‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ said Simon again. ‘It’s not just the sea air—he does research into CF here, too.’

Nicolette looked into eyes whose green flecks had intensified, giving him the enigmatic appearance of a cat. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, giving her a resigned look. ‘On a very small scale, of course.’

‘Rubbish! He’s a world authority,’ put in Simon cheerfully, ignoring the blatantly warning expression on Dr Le Saux’s face.

Curiouser and curiouser! Nicolette made a mental note to take herself off to the reference library when she finished duty to read something he had written. ‘Researching into any particular aspect of cystic fibrosis, Dr Le Saux?’ she asked politely, but it was difficult to keep the admiration out of her voice. Research, she knew, was not done for any of the kudos that surrounded the status of doctor. It didn’t earn you money, and it ate away at all your time. People who researched tended to do it because of their thirst for knowledge; and for results that would hopefully bring about improvements to a patient’s life. Nicolette had always held researchers in the highest esteem.

He shrugged his broad shoulders restlessly. ‘I’m searching for the cure,’ he said starkly, finishing on an altogether different note. ‘But there again, isn’t everyone?’

For Simon’s sake, Leander managed to disguise the note of cynicism that was threatening to creep into his voice but it took a huge effort as usual, especially with that young, rather beautiful nurse staring up at him like that with those amazing shining blue eyes, and all because he’d mentioned his foolish little bit of research. What did she think he could do by sitting up night after long damned night, studying tissue samples? Rid the world of this illness? And, even if he could, nothing would change, not really. Because then he would go on to try to find a cure for the next disease, and the next, until his own time had run out. God help us to rid the world of all illnesses, Leander thought bitterly, but especially those which affected young children. . .

But Nicolette heard the faint underlying note of cynicism, heard and understood it, and her tender heart couldn’t help warming to him, arrogance or no arrogance. ‘That’s absolutely wonderful,’ she breathed sincerely, not really caring if she sounded a bit over the top in her praise. ‘I think that research must be the most worthwhile thing in the world any person can do.’

But he knitted his dark brows together, as though she had just called him names. ‘Thanks for the recommendation,’ he said, with crisp sarcasm. ‘But we can’t really afford the time to stand around chatting—we both have work to do, do we not?’

He didn’t see the eyes-to-heaven expression which Simon gave, but Nicolette did, and it took every effort of will for her not to giggle. Let him be grumpy if he wanted—if the man was a researcher then she’d forgive him an awful lot! ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she answered demurely.

He frowned suspiciously, as if sensing the shared joke between Nicolette and Simon. ‘Then would you mind lifting up Simon’s pyjama jacket,’ he ordered shortly, ‘so that I can examine his chest?’

Nicolette did as he asked, while he warmed the stethoscope up on the palms of his strong, capable hands. Then she watched him dispassionately while he started to examine Simon, wondering what his practical skills as a doctor were like.

She should have guessed, of course. He was good, she had to admit. Very, very good indeed.

Paediatricians, who looked exclusively after children—from tiny babies to young adults—needed skills above and beyond the normal skills of other doctors. They had to be infinitely patient, and precise. They needed to be flexible and able to cope with the unexpected without blinking—which was why Nicolette had been surprised when told that Dr Le Saux demanded order. They also needed the utmost manual dexterity and a steady, steady hand. But the skill they needed above all else was that of communication—not something she would have automatically put at the top of his list of qualities! Children were famous for clamming up when questioned about their illness, and it took a special kind of adult to coax information out of them.

Extraordinary, then, that this man, who on first impressions Nicolette would have ventured had a real problem with communication, should have this little boy eating out of his hand.

There was silence while he listened to the chest sounds, punctuated only by his brief instructions to Simon to breathe deeply. And when he raised his dark head there was something approaching a smile on his hard face.

‘Good,’ he pronounced. ‘The chest sounds clear. Looks like all trace of that nasty Pseudomonas aeruginosa infection has gone.’ His eyes narrowed in Nicolette’s direction as he mentioned the rather virulent strain of bacteria to which cystic fibrosis sufferers were particularly susceptible. ‘Have we had any sputum results back, Staff?’

Nicolette nodded, heartily glad that since her early days as a staff nurse she had got into the habit of reading and memorising all the patients’ results that came back. And earlier she had tackled the pile on the desk that had included Simon’s. ‘The result of the third specimen came back this morning. With the all-clear.’

‘Excellent.’ Dr Le Saux smiled. ‘Like to go home, Simon?’

The boy’s face lit up. ‘Oh, can I?’

The paediatrican threw his hands up in mock-astonishment. ‘But I thought you liked being here,’ he teased gently.

‘I do—it’s just that home is—’

‘I know, Simon,’ interrupted Dr Le Saux in the gentlest of voices. ‘Home is better. How’s that stick insect of yours?’

‘It’s had a baby,’ said Simon proudly.

‘But I thought it was a male?’

‘So did Mum!’ grimaced Simon.

Nicolette giggled, and both of them looked at her, and both joined in with her laughter, and there was something so. . .so. . .startling about the transformation which came over the stern doctor’s face when he actually allowed himself to laugh that Nicolette felt suddenly breathless and it took a huge effort to keep her mind on the job and not on that disarming smile of his. ‘So w-when would you like Simon discharged, Dr Le Saux?’ she stumbled.

‘How about tomorrow morning?’

Simon raised an irresistibly appealing face up to the doctor. ‘How about today?’

Dr Le Saux turned a cool, questioning gaze towards Nicolette. ‘Is that possible, Staff?’

‘That depends on whether Simon’s mother can be contacted, but I’m sure it can be arranged. But we’ll need to get in touch with Pharmacy soon if we’re to get Simon’s drugs to take home with him.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll go and write them up now,’ he said briefly, and swung the curtain back.

Nicolette rang Simon’s delighted mother from the phone on the central nursing station.

‘Discharged, you say?’

‘That’s right,’ said Nicolette happily.

‘But that’s marvellous—we thought he’d be in at least over the weekend!’

‘He’s responded to the drug regime far better than we anticipated,’ Nicolette told her.

‘Dr Le Saux tried something new,’ confided Mrs Lomas. ‘He said he thought it might pay dividends.’ She gave a sigh. ‘That man is an absolute saint!’

‘So I believe,’ agreed Nicolette drily, with a shameless disregard for her own feelings on the subject!

‘I’ll be right up to collect Simon,’ Mrs Lomas promised eagerly. ‘I can be there in about fifteen minutes, Staff.’

‘Now hold on a minute!’ laughed Nicolette. ‘It’ll probably take us a couple of hours to get everything arranged. Why don’t you ring the ward before you come up? He can have his tea first—say, about three-thirty?’

‘OK, Staff Nurse, three-thirty it is,’ said Mrs Lomas happily, then lowered her voice. ‘And tell me, have you any idea what I could buy Dr Le Saux as a thank-you present? He must be fed up with chocolates and whisky, but we always like to get him a little something. We’re so grateful to him.’

What about a one-way ticket to Australia? thought Nicolette with grim humour. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t expect anything, Mrs Lomas. I think he’d like you to spend the money on Simon!’ She said goodbye, and put the phone down.

Nicolette assumed that the saint-like Dr Le Saux had gone into the doctors’ office to write up Simon’s prescription, but she was wrong, for she found him in Sister’s office, sitting at one end of the large desk, his dark head glinting deep red lights, bent over the pharmacy form he was completing.

Leander looked up as she entered, and frowned. Lord, but she was a distracting vision, was the unbidden thought which flew into his mind. She really shouldn’t be allowed to walk around like that, he decided a touch ruefully. All that clean, healthy skin and shiny eyes and hair—she looked as if she should be starring in an orange-juice commercial! He ruthlessly killed the thought stone-dead and levelled his gaze at her critically.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said irritably, as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation. ‘Can’t you do something with your hair?’

Nicolette thought that she must have misheard him. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she queried faintly.

‘Your hair,’ he scowled. ‘Do something with it, for pity’s sake. It looks awful!’ How easily the lie slipped off his tongue.

Awful? thought Nicolette indignantly. It was untidy, true. Extremely untidy. But awful? She conveniently chose to ignore the fact that if it had been anyone else but Leander le Saux suggesting that she ‘do something with it’ she probably would have laughed and agreed with them. As it was, since it had come from a man she scarcely knew, who had already been ruder to her in less than an hour than she could remember anyone being in her whole life before, mad indignation began to sizzle away inside her, like an egg frying On a hot pavement.

She narrowed her blue eyes. ‘How dare you make such personal remarks to someone you’ve only just met?’

His frown deepened. ‘And how dare you walk around the place looking like Medusa?’

‘Like who?'

‘You heard,’ he snapped unrepentantly.

‘Oh!’ She bit her lip in outrage as she pulled the clip out of her hair, causing it to tumble unfettered to her waist. She scarcely noticed that the movement seemed to have arrested him, because she whirled round to fling at him, ‘It’s a pity I’m not Medusa,’ she raged loudly, ‘because I would have taken great pleasure from turning you into stone, Dr Le Saux!’

He opened his mouth to reply, when a female voice of authority interrupted them from the open doorway.

‘Staff Nurse Kennedy?’ came a high, disbelieving voice, and Nicolette found herself looking up in horror, into the set features of the senior specialist nurse manager.

CHAPTER THREE

NICOLETTE recognised the stony-faced specialist nurse manager immediately, struck once again by the fact that she seemed much too young to hold such a senior position, being probably still under thirty. Her name was Miss Dixon and she had sat in on the interview panel when Nicolette had applied for the job, since she was the senior nurse overseeing both wards in Southbury’s state-of-the-art paediatric unit.

In looks, she was the absolute antithesis of Nicolette. Her hair was a smooth, ash-blonde cap that framed her head and her eyes were cool and grey and calculating. Her small, neatly boned body made Nicolette feel like a strapping great thing in comparison! She looked, thought Nicolette, like a woman who had never been late for an appointment in her life. And a woman who wouldn’t tolerate lateness in others. At Nicolette’s interview the had been noticeable for her probing style of questioning, and it had not escaped Nicolette’s notice at the time that her manner had not been exactly what you would describe as friendly.

And her manner now looked positively bristling as she surveyed Nicolette across the office. When she spoke her lips barely moved, but Nicolette could tell that was only because she was so angry.

‘Staff Nurse, you look a disgrace,’ she said tightly. ‘Go to the cloakroom and do something with your hair immediately. After that, come back here. I wish to speak to you!’

Nicolette was momentarily stunned into immobility. She could never remember having been spoken to so summarily, or so severely—not even as the most junior of student nurses.

‘Is that understood?’ quizzed the senior nurse abrasively.

Nicolette swallowed, feeling about six inches high. ‘Yes, Miss Dixon,’ she answered quietly.

‘Then see to it!’ she snapped. ‘Now!’

It was utterly humiliating. Unable to meet Leander Le Saux’s eyes, her cheeks stinging with mortification and hurt pride, Nicolette put her stiff shoulders back and said in an even voice, ‘Very well, Miss Dixon.’

‘Um—Staff Nurse?’ came Leander’s voice as she reached the door.

The effect of that deep, mocking voice on her already tightly stretched nerves was like that of leaping into an icy bath after a sauna. What now? She found that her answer was unsteady, and despised herself for it. ‘Y-yes, Doctor?’

‘You’ve left your hair-clip on the table. Here.’

Unwillingly, she turned round to find him holding it out, the clip, with its Mickey Mouse motif, looking incongruously feminine—as well as rather childish—against the tanned masculinity of his strong palm.

She took it as gingerly as if it had been an unexploded bomb. ‘Thank you,’ she said gravely, and surprised reluctant laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes.

But as she left the office she heard the specialist nurse manager say, in quite a different tone altogether from the one she’d used with Nicolette, a sort of soft, smoky whisper, ‘So what was the problem this time, Leander? Adulation or insubordination?’

And, although she shamelessly strained her ears, Nicolette just couldn’t make out his first murmured response, although Miss Dixon’s voice was audible enough.

‘But I shall have to deal with it, you know, Leander.’

And the rather dry reply, ‘I rather think I’m able to handle spirited young staff nurses without your intervention, don’t you, Rhoda?’

‘Nevertheless—’

But Nicolette didn’t hear anything further, because she had sped up the corridor on swift feet and into the nurses’ cloakroom to tame her hair with hands that were shaking with emotion as his words sounded in her head.

And the predominant emotions were rage and indignation and utter disbelief! ‘Spirited young staff nurses’, indeed! It was the kind of thing men had used to say about women in the Victorian age! He made her sound like some young filly who needed breaking in! Ineffectually, she tugged the comb back through curls that surrounded her head like swirls of dark smoke.

And what a first impression to make to the specialist nurse manager, she thought in despair. She had never behaved like that in her life. Never. To the older woman, she must have appeared like one of the very worst type of nurses—the type who weren’t interested in the patients or in the work at all, but were at the hospital with solely one thing in mind: how to chat up the hunkiest doctors.

Nicolette sighed out loud. What had she been thinking of, ripping the clip out of her hair like some pathetic heroine in a B movie? But that was not how it had seemed to her at the time. She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing, or the consequences. It had been sheer, blind rage.

Provoked by him!

There was something about Leander Le Saux which had made her react to his remark about her hair with all the impetuosity of a teenager, instead of a young woman in her mid-twenties who had travelled all the way around Australia on her own. And although she certainly didn’t have a reputation for being an old sobersides—quite the opposite, in fact—she had enough common sense to realise that displays of pique such as she had demonstrated today would not do her reputation, personal or otherwise, any good at all.

So what was it precisely about Leander Le Saux which had caused such an over-reaction? she wondered. What was it they said—knowledge is power? If she analysed it then hopefully it would prevent it ocurring again.

Was it his raw, physical attraction, perhaps?

But I don’t find him attractive, she told her silent, grim reflection.

Oh, but you do, you do, you do! Her knowing eyes mocked her back. More attractive than any man you’ve ever set eyes on. Go on, Nicolette—admit it. Admit it!

Pulling a defiant face at her reflection, she grabbed two handfuls of hair and wound them together into the neatest, tightest top-knot she could manage. It still wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly an improvement. Then she secured it with the hair-clip, still smarting from the way Miss Dixon had spoken to her.

And yet what defence did she have? She had been caught out on her first day, in the most unprofessional of situations, and now she would have to go out of her way to ensure that Miss Dixon changed her mind about her. Because she had no doubt that the specialist nurse manager thought she was some flighty little bit of nonsense who cared more for the men in white coats than she did her job!

And I am not, thought Nicolette defiantly as she made her way back up the corridor. I really am not. I’m a dedicated nurse who loves her work.

She pushed the door of Sister’s office open, and quickly glanced around. Dr Le Saux had gone—thank goodness. Nicolette was dreading a carpeting, but was almost certain that she was about to be subjected to one. And to have had him witness it would have been like rubbing salt into the wound.

The room was empty save for Rhoda Dixon, who was standing beside the desk, obsessively straightening the corners of a pile of papers so that they all lined up perfectly. She glanced up as Nicolette walked in, her eyes glacially cold as they flicked over her hair.

There was silence for a moment. Then she said, very grudgingly, ‘That’s slightly better, I suppose, but not much. Haven’t you ever thought of having it cut off?’

For one wild moment Nicolette actually thought she was about to be ordered to cut her hair, and she smiled as she shook her head. ‘No, Miss Dixon.’

‘Have I said something funny?’

Nicolette shook her head. ‘No, you haven’t.’ She clasped her hands together in front of her tabard. ‘Look—I feel I’ve got off to a bad start, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have over-reacted like that—I’ve never done it before, and I shall certainly do my best to see it doesn’t happen again.’ She gave her familiar, wide smile in a genuine appeal to forget the whole incident.

‘Have you quite finished?’ asked the other woman stonily.

Nicolette gave an inward sigh. So that was to be the way of it. ‘Yes, Miss Dixon.’

‘Good. Then sit down, please.’

Nicolette glanced at her fob watch. ‘But I have two lots of antibiotics to give in ten minutes’ time—’

‘And this will only take five,’ interrupted Miss Dixon crisply, walking over to the office door and shutting it firmly. ‘Staff Nurse Turner has come on early, and has kindly agreed to keep an eye on the ward while I have a word with you.’

‘Miss Dixon, I do understand—’

Miss Dixon shook her smooth blonde cap of a head. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid, Staff Nurse. I don’t think that you do. Sit down, please,’ she repeated, and this time, feeling about five years old, Nicolette did as she was asked.

The cool grey eyes looked curiously colourless. ‘It isn’t the first time it’s happened,’ said the specialist nurse manager inexplicably.

‘I’m sorry?’ queried Nicolette, not understanding at all.

Miss Dixon gave an impatient click of her tongue. ‘I’m not completely stupid, you know, Staff Nurse!’ Her cool eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t deny that Dr Le Saux is a very attractive man—’

‘Miss Dixon, please!’ protested Nicolette, but the older woman carried on unabated.

‘And this won’t be the first time that one of the nurses has set her cap at him, but he is also a hard-working and a very serious-minded doctor, who is engaged in a very important piece of research work, and the last thing he needs is swooning young women chasing him round the ward. I’m afraid that another nurse here on Paediatrics made rather a fool of herself over Dr Le Saux—and unfortunately it got so embarrassing that she had to leave us.’ She glued a forced smile on to her bow-shaped lips. ‘And I have no desire to see the same thing happen to you, Staff.’

Sure she didn’t! Nicolette couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was almost laughable—if it wasn’t so ludicrous. She was sorely tempted to point out to Miss Ice-Cube Dixon that the days in nursing where senior staff could dictate on the morals and behaviour of those junior to them were long gone. Well, she for one would not be bullied. Nicolette gave the specialist nurse manager a frankly considering stare. ‘And you’re basing this little lecture solely on the fact that when you walked into the office you heard me answering Dr Le Saux back?’ she queried calmly.

‘Answering him back?’ cried the older woman in disbelief, her grey eyes opening up like saucers. ‘What I actually heard was you being outrageously rude to Dr Le Saux!’

‘He had just been fairly rude to me,’ observed Nicolette blandly. Downright rude, in fact, even if you discounted the fact that they had only just met.

‘He is a very senior doctor!’ retorted Miss Dixon shrilly, sounding much older than her thirty or so years. ‘And if he decided to register a complaint about your insubordinate behaviour then I am afraid I would have no option but to back him up.’

As Nicolette heard Miss Dixon’s triumphant words she knew that she’d be on to a losing wicket if she attempted to bring this matter to any kind of satisfactory conclusion. The nursing profession still contained women like Rhoda Dixon—although thankfully they were rare—believing that doctors were white-coated gods who could say and do as they liked and nothing you could say or do would convince her otherwise!

She’s basically saying ‘hands off’, thought Nicolette with sudden insight as the other woman’s pale blonde beauty imprinted itself on her vision. And why was that? Did the neat specialist nurse manager have some prior claim to Leander Le Saux? And was her warning simply of a professional nature—or was it more personal than that?

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.