“I’ll fight for my ward’s rights”

Jack exhaled slowly. “I think I’ll make sure I stay on your right side.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry. When hospital politics interfere with my patients it drives me around the bend. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“Sounds to me as if you need chocolate,” he said, producing a bar from the pocket of his white coat. “Catch.”

“Thanks.” She broke off a square, smiled, and threw the rest of the bar back to him. “Perhaps it’s my lucky day after all—having a Special Reg who can read my mind.”

They exchanged a glance and her smile faded. On second thought, she hoped he couldn’t read her mind. Because chocolate wasn’t what she wanted right then. She wanted Jack Sawyer’s arms around her. And that beautiful mouth teasing hers….

Dear Reader,

I always get “first scenes” before anything else. And the opener for The Heart Consultant’s Lover is based on something that happened to me—I’d borrowed my boss’s car and no way could I shoehorn it into this tiny space. I asked a passing stranger to help, and it turned out he was in the front row of my presentation, half an hour later!

My late mother was a cardiac nurse so the setting owes much to her—I loved hearing her stories of life on the ward, and Calderford General has the same lovely community spirit.

Consultant Miranda Turner discovers that the man who rescued her is her number two on her new ward. She falls in love with him—but her father is the hospital clinical director and doesn’t approve of relationships between staff. Plus they come from different worlds—Miranda’s from a rich family and Jack’s from the wrong side of town. He’s been hurt by a rich girl before; and Miranda’s got a secret she’s never, ever told. So can they come to terms with their past, beat all the barriers and find true love?

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

With love,

Kate Hardy

The Heart Consultant’s Lover
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Fi—best friend and godmother extraordinaire—with much love

CONTENTS

COVER

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

NO WAY was she going to get the car into that tiny space next to the massive concrete pillar. And Seb would kill her if there was a single speck of dirt on his precious car, let alone a scratch. As for a dent…He’d still murder her. Just slowly.

Maybe she should have stayed away. This was Fate’s way of telling her that it was the wrong thing to do. If she’d been meant to get the job, her car wouldn’t have had a flat battery, she’d have been at Calderford General in plenty of time to park, and she wouldn’t have got a speeding ticket just outside Edinburgh either.

‘Serves you right, Miranda Turner, for thinking you could come home on your own terms,’ she muttered.

The knock on her window almost gave her heart failure. And it took her ages to wind down the steamed-up window.

‘Are you OK, or are you lost?’ a voice enquired.

Oh, no. She knew that look. What’s she doing in a car like that if she can’t drive it? Every time she’d driven Seb’s car, she’d had the same reaction—men either scoffed or made sure they overtook her.

On the other hand…maybe this might be the lucky break she needed. She smiled sweetly and put on her best fluffy-and-feminine voice. ‘I know it’s terribly feeble of me, but it’s not actually my car. And I’ve always been so hopeless at parking.’ She fiddled with her hair. ‘And that space is so tiny!’

He looked at her in seeming disbelief, then at the space. ‘It is a bit tight,’ he allowed.

She batted her eyelashes at him. ‘I know it’s a terrible imposition, but would you be kind enough to…?’ Hopefully the chance to get behind the wheel of a vintage MG Roadster would be enough to make him say yes.

It was. ‘Sure.’

Gratefully, she grabbed her handbag and hopped out of the car. And watched him park the damned thing in one fluid movement. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy. Why couldn’t she do it? But she never had been able to park cars. Not since the day she’d passed her driving test, borrowed her mother’s car and scraped it in the car park. Her father had gone bananas. Ever since then Miranda would rather have abseiled blindfolded down the Angel of the North, the huge sculpture just outside Newcastle, than park a car.

‘Thank you,’ she said as he handed her the car keys. ‘I really do appreciate it.’

‘No problem. Are you here to visit someone?’

You could say that, Miranda thought. She smiled at him. ‘Mmm.’

‘The hospital entrance is over there—if you ask at Reception, they’ll direct you to the ward you need,’ he told her kindly, pointing to the large domed building across the other side of the car park. ‘And you’ll need a ticket—they’re pretty hot on fines.’

Now she felt horrible. He wasn’t a chauvinist pig at all. He was a nice bloke who’d helped her out of a mess. A nice bloke with a gorgeous smile and…

Stop right there, she told herself crossly. She’d probably never see him again. The way her day was going, she wouldn’t be in the North East again for a very long time, let alone Calderford. And she wasn’t in the market for a man in any case. Since Rupert, she didn’t do serious relationships. ‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said lightly.

She didn’t really have time to get a ticket. But then again, she wasn’t going to get the job so it didn’t really matter if she was late for her interview. She was lucky she’d even got this far. Because no way would Ralph Turner, clinical director and head of paediatrics, let his only child get a consultant’s post in the cardiology department. Not in his hospital.

With a rueful smile, she headed for the ticket machine.

CHAPTER ONE

‘I REALLY don’t know why we all have to sit here, waiting for her,’ Jack said, his mouth compressed into a tight line. ‘I’ve got a ward round to do. And I want to check on Imogen Parker.’

‘It’s Miss Turner’s first day and she’s called a meeting of all the coronary care unit staff,’ Leila Ward, the senior sister, reminded him. ‘Obviously she wants to introduce herself and meet the team.’

‘Yeah. If she turns up on time.’

Leila patted his hand. ‘Don’t be such a grouch. I know you’re disappointed you didn’t get the job, but give her a chance.’

‘Right.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘But remember who we’re talking about. Her dad’s the clinical director of Calderford General.’

‘She might be nice. She might be extremely competent. She might be better than you,’ Leila pointed out. ‘Which might be why she got the consultant’s job.’

‘“Might” being the operative word.’ Jack sighed at the look on his colleague’s face. ‘OK, OK, I’ll give her a chance. But if she’s late or incompetent, or it turns out to be a case of a job for the boss’s daughter, don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut.’

‘It might help if you start with it closed,’ Leila whispered as the new consultant walked in and Jack’s jaw dropped.

It was her. The girl with the sports car. The girl who couldn’t park.

Ms Fluffy.

Except…she didn’t look in the slightest bit fluffy this time. She was wearing a business suit, albeit with a short skirt; that glorious dark hair was pulled back severely at the nape of her neck; and she was wearing oval glasses with narrow metal frames. If she was wearing any makeup at all, it was so understated that it was barely there. She looked serious and studious—and competent.

Or maybe she was Ms Fluffy’s sister. No way could someone change their image just like that! When she glanced quickly round the room, she didn’t give the slightest indication that she recognised anyone—and surely she would have remembered him as the person who’d got her out of a fix in the car park the other week?

His mouth compressed further. Or maybe she was just so used to people doing what she wanted that she hadn’t given him a second’s further thought. Not that it should bother him. He wasn’t interested in Miranda Turner anyway.

Of all the people, in all the hospital, Miranda thought, her knight in shining armour would have to work on her ward! Which meant that she was going to have to play this very, very carefully.

No. She was just going to be honest. She’d leave the games to her father.

She took a deep breath, psyching herself up for the speech she knew she had to make. ‘Good morning, everyone. Thanks for making it—and I promise not to keep you long. I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Miranda Turner, and I’m delighted to be joining you here at Calderford General.’ She smiled. This was the nasty bit. ‘You’ve probably guessed by now that Ralph Turner is my father. Believe me, being interviewed by someone who knows all the most embarrassing things about you is a nightmare! Luckily, he couldn’t vote on my appointment because of the family connection.’ Hopefully that would squash any rumours that she’d only got the job because of who she was, not what she could do.

She smiled again. ‘I’ve already met one of you, though I didn’t know it at the time.’ She gestured to her champion. ‘He rescued me in the car park when I realised I’d left my shoehorn at home and couldn’t get the car into the smallest space in the world.’

To her relief, one or two of them actually laughed.

‘I can assure you, I’m a much better doctor than I am a driver. I’m really looking forward to working with you—and I’d like to invite everyone on the ward for a drink on Friday night in the Calderford Arms at seven, so I can start getting to know you better. In the meantime, I’ve restocked the biscuit and coffee supplies in the kitchen.’ She glanced round again. No overt hostility—except from her rescuer. His face was expressionless but his eyes definitely weren’t friendly.

‘Some of you might be worried that I’m going to do the new-broom thing, and make changes just so it looks as if I’m actually doing something. That’s not the way I work,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent the last seven years in Cardiology at Glasgow, so I might be able to bring some new ideas in—but you might be able to teach me new things, too. I believe in teamwork, and I hope you’ll see me as just another team member.’

She couldn’t help looking at her rescuer again. And ‘no chance’ was written all over his face. She sighed inwardly. Time. She just had to give it time. ‘Thanks, everyone. I’ll catch up with you all individually during the day.’

She was good. He had to give her that. She’d told the car park story against herself before anyone else could—attack being the best form of defence. And she was clearly going out of her way to be friendly, asking the whole ward to a welcome drink at the pub near the hospital. But he still couldn’t quite forgive her for lying to him, saying that she was visiting someone. Why couldn’t she just have said that she was going for an interview?

An interview for the same job he’d gone for. The job he hadn’t got. And how long would it be before he had another chance to show his family that all those sacrifices had been worth it? Maybe a few months, until she got bored and moved on. Or maybe longer if she decided she liked it, or her father wanted her to stay…He sighed inwardly. He knew he had to be flexible if he wanted his career to take the fast track—he had to be prepared to move to where the opportunities were—but how could he possibly leave Calderford?

‘Hello.’

She sounded a little unsure of herself. Jack hardened his heart and gave her a professional nod. ‘Ms Turner.’

‘It’s Miranda,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘And I wanted to apologise. About the car thing.’ She made a face. ‘Interview nerves.’

‘Yeah.’ Unwillingly, he took her hand to shake it. Then wished he hadn’t when a spark of awareness jolted his whole body.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Nothing could possibly happen between them. He wasn’t even going to start thinking about his boss in those sorts of terms. And even if she hadn’t been his boss, nothing could happen between them. They lived in completely different worlds, and he really wasn’t into the lifestyle of the rich and pampered. He’d been there, done that and learned the hard way that it wasn’t for him. No way was he ever going to get involved with a posh girl again. Jessica’s words had burned into his soul, the giggled conversation he’d overheard with her friends. Jack? Yeah, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. But Mummy’s right. He’s from the wrong side of town—fun for now, but he’s not the kind of man you’d marry.

Then he realised he was still holding Miranda’s hand. He dropped it as if he’d been scalded. Hell. He didn’t want her to think he’d lost his concentration because of—well, because he fancied her. She might be beautiful but she wasn’t his type. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Not until he’d reached consultant level. He wouldn’t be the kind of man a woman wanted to marry until then. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.’

‘Just that I really did appreciate you rescuing me.’

She sounded sincere. And her body language matched her words. Now he felt horrible. Perhaps Miranda Turner wasn’t the hard, manipulative woman he’d assumed she was. Or maybe his judgement was just out of kilter. She might seem nice now—but, then again, so had Jessica.

‘And I’d like to join you on the ward round, if that’s OK with you, Dr Sawyer.’

She’d clearly read his name from his badge, and he could tell she was waiting for him to say, ‘Call me Jack.’ Well, she’d have to wait a bit longer, until he could see what she was really made of. Whether she’d really got the job on merit.

‘And I’m perfectly happy for you to lead—you know the patients and the staff better than I do.’

She didn’t say it but he knew what she meant. At the moment. ‘Right.’

‘Shall we?’

‘In Room One, we have Imogen Parker. She has unstable angina,’ Jack said.

Unstable angina. No. Oh, no. Of all the things she had to face, why did that have to be her first case on her new ward? Miranda shook herself, knowing that she had to put the memories behind her. Now wasn’t the time or place to think about what had happened to May. Her patient had to come first.

With angina pectoris, the heart muscle didn’t get enough blood and oxygen to meet its needs, so the patient felt tightness or a burning sensation in the chest when climbing stairs or walking. In more severe cases, known as unstable angina, the patient felt pain on resting, too. ‘She had an ECG when she came in, and a cardiac stress test a while back,’ Jack told Miranda. An ECG or electrocardiogram measured the electrical activity in the heart; the stress test was a second ECG while the patient walked fast enough on a treadmill to cause chest pain. Both could show up current heart problems or previous heart attacks. ‘They were both normal.’

‘What about blood tests?’ Miranda asked. They might show an underlying cause for the angina.

Jack nodded. ‘They’re clear. No signs of polycythaemia, thyrotoxicosis or hyperlipidaemia.’ So Imogen Parker’s blood didn’t have an abnormally large amount of red blood cells, she didn’t have an inflamed thyroid gland and there weren’t abnormally high levels of fat in her blood. ‘Not diabetes or anaemia either,’ he added.

‘What about her angiography?’ Miranda asked. It was standard procedure in these cases to take an X-ray of the blood vessels around the patient’s heart.

‘It showed a slight narrowing of a couple of the blood vessels.’

‘Is she on GTN?’ GTN, or glyceryl trinitrate, increased the flow of blood through the heart muscle and controlled the symptoms of angina.

‘It gave her headaches, so she’s on beta-blockers,’ Jack said. ‘Her GP’s worried as the drugs weren’t working that well and she’s still getting pain on rest, so we’re keeping an eye on her.’

‘So you’re thinking about surgical intervention?’

‘Possibly.’

They went into the room. ‘Good morning, Miss Parker,’ Jack said with a smile. ‘I’d like to introduce our new consultant, Miss Turner.’

‘Miranda,’ she corrected. ‘May I?’ She indicated the edge of the bed.

‘Of course, Doctor,’ the old lady said.

‘May I call you Imogen?’

Imogen nodded.

Miranda sat down and held the elderly woman’s hand. Imogen Parker was even around the same age that May would have been—in her late seventies. This was way too close for comfort. ‘Jack tells me we’re keeping an eye on the pain you’ve been having lately. How are you feeling today, Imogen?’

‘Not so bad,’ Imogen said quietly.

The slight greyness in her face told Jack and Miranda otherwise. Jack flicked quickly through her chart. ‘You had another two attacks last night?’

‘It was nothing, really.’ Imogen made a dismissive gesture. ‘I don’t like to bother the nurses. They’re busy.’

‘They’d be a lot more bothered if they thought you weren’t feeling well and hadn’t told them,’ Miranda said. That was precisely what May had done. And then it had been too late. ‘Imogen, trust me—you’re not making a nuisance of yourself if you call them. They’re here to help you.’

‘So when can I go home?’ Imogen asked.

‘I can’t tell you right now,’ Miranda said. ‘Dr Sawyer and I need to talk about how your drugs are working and what we can do to stop the pain coming back so frequently. Do you have anyone to look after you at home?’

‘My Floss—she’s my little Westie. She hates being in kennels.’

Jack and Miranda exchanged a glance. ‘If you tell me where she’s staying, I’ll ring the kennels for you and find out how she’s doing,’ Miranda said.

‘She’s at Berrybank, on the other side of Calderford.’

‘I’ll ring them at lunchtime for an update, and I’ll get a phone brought in so you can hear it for yourself.’

‘Would you?’ Imogen’s eyes glittered with tears. ‘Thank you, love.’

‘No problem.’ Miranda squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll be back to see you a bit later on. And if you feel even the slightest twinge, promise me you’ll press your buzzer.’

‘I will.’

‘Thank you. Is there anything you’d like to add, Jack?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ll see you later, Miss Parker.’

‘Does she have any relatives nearby?’ Miranda asked as they left the room.

‘There’s a great-niece who’s either phoned or popped in every day.’

Oh, yes. Miranda knew all about great-nieces being the only ones in the family who cared enough to check on their elderly great-aunt.

‘But apparently she has three under-fives.’

‘So Imogen can’t stay with her—the niece already has enough on her plate, and you can’t expect small children to give an elderly woman the peace and quiet she needs while she recovers.’

‘You’re really going to ring the kennels?’ Jack asked.

‘If she’s worrying, it’s likely to bring on another angina attack,’ Miranda said. Jack didn’t need to know the other reason: that she wanted to do for Imogen what she’d failed to do for May. ‘I’ll go and see the dog myself, if it’ll help her—maybe bring her a photograph so she doesn’t feel quite so alone.’

This definitely wasn’t the attitude he’d been expecting. Jack had a nasty feeling that he’d underestimated Miranda Turner. ‘Maybe,’ he said, wishing he’d thought of it in the first place. One little phone call would make a big difference to their patient’s mental state—and that would make an even bigger difference to her ability to deal with the physical problem. He really should have thought of that himself.

‘Next, we have Sidney Patterson. He has a thoracic aortic aneurysm,’ Jack continued as they stood outside Room Two. ‘He hadn’t had any specific symptoms but he’d gone for a routine check-up and the GP suspected something was up and sent him for a CT scan.’ An aortic aneurysm—a bulge in the wall of the main artery carrying blood from the heart—didn’t always cause symptoms, depending on which part of the artery it affected. Sometimes the patient had difficulty swallowing or was hoarse because it pressed on a nerve controlling a vocal cord; if it was further down in the abdomen, it sometimes caused backache. ‘It’s around seven centimetres in diameter, so he’s booked in for surgery on Friday afternoon.’

Miranda nodded. Aneurysms of that size were more prone to rupture, and there was a high mortality rate. She glanced at his notes. ‘He’s a prime candidate, isn’t he? Mid-fifties, male, high blood pressure, atherosclerosis.’ She paused. ‘We ran some trials in my last hospital to repair aneurysms without major open surgery. One was on keyhole surgery, and the other was putting a catheter into the artery at the groin which carried an endovascular stent to the aneurysm.’

‘Then you leave the stent in place to support the aneurysm,’ Jack said thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to see some studies on that. But here we take the open-surgery approach, using Dacron tubing.’ The tubing supported the aneurysm and stopped it growing any bigger.

‘Fair enough,’ Miranda said. ‘Keyhole surgery and endovascular stents are still fairly experimental and need controlled trials. But maybe we can consider them as options in the future.’

So much for her speech about new brooms. She really was trying to prove herself the hotshot, wasn’t she? ‘If the clinical director agrees to a research proposal,’ he reminded her.

She gave a rueful smile. ‘He’s going to need a lot of persuasion.’

Jack couldn’t help himself. ‘Then you’re the right person to do it, aren’t you?’ And then he wished he hadn’t said it when he saw her flinch. Just momentarily. Nothing in her manner changed—but he knew he’d hurt her. He might just as well have said to her straight that she’d only got her job because of who she was.

She made no comment, simply went into Room Two. And Sid was as charmed by Miranda as Mrs Parker had been. ‘So are you going to be the one with me under the knife, Dr Turner?’

Jack noticed that she didn’t correct him that she was ‘Miss’. ‘Fraid not,’ she said with a smile. ‘You’re in Dr Sawyer’s very capable hands—actually, I’m assisting him.’

She was going to assist him? Since when? Or was she trying to prove that she wasn’t going to take over completely?

‘So tell me, Mr Patterson, how are you getting on with keeping your blood pressure down?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m taking the tablets, love.’

She grinned. ‘How many times do you forget them?’

‘Ooh, let me see—I forget,’ he teased back.

‘And you’re cutting your cholesterol levels?’

‘The wife’s in charge of that. Though I miss my bacon sandwiches at lunchtime.’

‘The odd one won’t hurt you. Dieting’s tough,’ Miranda said, ‘and if you feel deprived, you’re more likely to crack and have a binge.’

‘Especially when you smell bacon cooking.’

She chuckled. ‘Tell me about it. But make sure it’s grilled, it’s lean and any visible fat’s removed, and the bread’s wholemeal.’ She glanced at his fingers. ‘And I don’t have to nag you about the cigarettes, do I?’

‘My daughter threw away all my duty-frees,’ he said ruefully. ‘No one else in the house smokes, so they can smell if I’ve slipped up. And I know I won’t hear the end of it if I do.’

‘Sounds as if you’re in good hands,’ she said with a grin.

Then they saw the rest of the patients on the unit, starting with a woman who’d contracted bacterial endocarditis following a routine tooth extraction—she was near the end of a six-week course of antibiotics and the unit was checking to see whether her heart valve would need surgery. The other patients had recently had heart attacks—one was still very recent so he was under observation in Room Four and the man in Room Five was ready to move down to the general ward.

‘Right. Coffee and a quick confab?’ Miranda asked when Jack had signed the discharge notes.

‘Sure.’

‘How do you take your coffee?’ she asked as they headed for the kitchen.

‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Same as me. Good. That’ll make life easy.’ She poured them both a coffee, topped up the water in the filter machine and handed him a mug. ‘My office?’

‘Sure.’ Was she pushy or just efficient? Jack wanted to think it was the former, but he had a niggling feeling that it was the latter. And then he had an even more niggling feeling: he admired her for it. Oh, hell. Why couldn’t Miranda Turner be just an ordinary person? Why did she have to be the clinical director’s daughter? Why had she had to come onto his ward and throw his brain into chaos?

‘Right, then. Sid’s having surgery on Friday; Jane’s awaiting tests with a query valve replacement; Joe’s under obs and Martyn’s going home.’ She ticked the cases off on her fingers.

Definitely efficient, Jack thought. She didn’t waste words.

‘That leaves Imogen. Her angina’s unstable and the drugs aren’t working.’ She flipped through the file and looked at the angiography results. ‘We’ve got two options—a bypass graft or an angioplasty.’ An angioplasty was where a small balloon was inserted in the narrowed artery and inflated so it flattened out the fatty plaques lining the blood vessel.

‘Angioplasties often have to be repeated and a bypass gives better symptom control,’ Jack said.

‘But if she has a bypass it’ll take her longer to recover and she’ll have to stay here longer—which will worry her more, because of her dog. And worry leads to higher blood pressure—’

‘Which increases her risk of a heart attack,’ Jack finished.

‘Given her age, and the fact that only a couple of the vessels show narrowing—here and here—I’d prefer an angioplasty. It’s not quite so invasive so it’ll be less of a shock to her system, and the newer heparinised stents lower the risk of a heart attack.’

‘And if it doesn’t work?’

‘Then we’ll have to do a bypass.’ She looked levelly at him. ‘Do you think a bypass is the better option?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ll play it your way.’

‘No. We’re a team. We do what we agree is best for the patient. Ego doesn’t come into it,’ she said crisply.

Jack sucked his teeth. ‘And that’s telling me.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like playing games, Dr Sawyer. If you have a problem with me, let’s get it out in the open now.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘That you resent me? Yes. Though I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you—apart from the car-park incident, and I’ve already apologised for that. Besides, it was a win-win situation.’

He lifted his chin. ‘How do you work that out?’

‘We both got what we wanted. You were all too happy to park the Roadster, and I got the car parked without a scratch on it so Seb didn’t murder me.’

Her boyfriend? Even though it was none of his business—and he shouldn’t even want to know anyway—he couldn’t help asking. ‘Seb?’

‘My next-door neighbour in Glasgow.’

No reason for his heart to give that little lurch of relief. No reason at all.

‘My car decided not to start the day of the interview. Seb took pity on me and lent me the Roadster—on condition there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on it when I got back.’

Was that a glint of mischief in her eyes? He couldn’t tell. ‘You believe in straight talking, don’t you?’

‘It makes life simpler.’

He nodded. ‘OK. Then you may as well know that I went for this job, too.’

‘And you think I got it because I’m Ralph Turner’s daughter.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But it’s what you’re thinking.’ She shrugged. ‘I got the job because of what I can do, not for who I am.’

‘On the round, you sounded as if you knew what you were talking about.’

‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said dryly.

‘And that came out badly. I didn’t mean it like that.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve got off to a bad start.’

‘Look, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job, but I hope it’s not going to cause us problems working together. From my point of view, I get a special reg who knows exactly what he’s doing. From your point of view, I’m not going to change the way you work—and you can get on with being a doctor and leave the hospital politics to someone else. So, let’s start again. Perhaps, this time, we can do it on first-name terms.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Miranda Turner. Pleased to meet you, Jack.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Miranda.’ Jack took her proffered hand. ‘I’ve seen your re´sume´. If that didn’t convince me, the ward round proved you know your stuff.’

She didn’t push for a grovelling apology, he noticed. She just gave him a quick smile. ‘Thanks.’

Jack refused to acknowledge the beat his heart had just missed. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues and that was it. And even if Miranda hadn’t been the professor’s daughter, he’d already learned his lesson with Jessica. The hard way. ‘I’ll ring Jordan Francis—he’s our theatre manager, if you haven’t met him yet—and see if he can fit us in tomorrow.’

‘If Imogen agrees,’ Miranda added. ‘We need to talk to her great-niece as well. I don’t want to send her home without any support.’ Not after what had happened to May. ‘Perhaps there’s someone else in the family who can help. Or maybe Imogen could stay in a convalescent home short term, then we can arrange to get someone to look in on her at set times when she comes home and take her dog for a walk.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, I need to phone the kennels.’

By the time they’d finished writing up their notes, Jack had booked theatre time and Miranda had reassured Imogen that Floss was fine, it was nearly lunchtime.

‘So, are you having lunch with your father?’ Jack asked.

‘You must be joking!’ Was that a look of horror on her face or was it his imagination? When he looked again, her expression had been carefully schooled into neutral. ‘I doubt if he’d have time.’

‘On your first day?’

She shrugged. ‘Would you expect him to have lunch with any other consultant on their first day?’

‘Well—maybe not. But you’re his daughter.’ If he’d been in her position, his mother would have had lunch booked from the word go. His father…Well, Jack tried not to think about his father. But any normal father would make sure she’d settled in OK, surely?

‘Here I’m a doctor. Family doesn’t come into it.’

Was she upset about that? Or was she the one who’d insisted on it? Jack couldn’t quite work her out. ‘So what are you doing?’

‘I thought I’d go for a walk, get some fresh air. Maybe grab a sandwich.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m off to the canteen in twenty minutes, if you want to join me.’

‘Are you being nice, or do you mean that?’

He couldn’t help smiling. ‘You’re right. You do believe in straight talking.’

‘And?’

It took him a bit by surprise, but… ‘I meant it.’

‘Good. You can tell me what not to pick in the canteen. And, as it’s my first day, it’ll be my shout.’

‘You’re on.’

Miranda sneaked a glance at Jack as she drank her coffee. Now they’d cleared the air, there was a good chance they’d have a decent working relationship.

And that’s working, Miranda Turner, she emphasised to herself. Yes, Jack Sawyer was attractive, with intense dark eyes, dark hair, pale olive skin and the kind of smile that made her heart beat a little bit faster. Yes, he had a beautiful mouth, generous and soft. Yes, he had nice hands—clean, well-shaped fingernails, the kind of hands she could only too easily imagine stroking her skin and playing with her hair.

But imagination was as far as it could go. He was her colleague—her junior, to boot—and that made him off limits. Particularly as she was working in her father’s hospital. Ralph Turner would be less than pleased to hear she was seeing one of her staff. It simply wasn’t done. Besides, she’d already learned the hard way that relationships weren’t for her. She was focused on her career. Completely.

Jack kept both hands wrapped round his mug of coffee. This was crazy. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Even if he had been, his boss was the last person he should be thinking about.

And yet…Oh, hell. Behave, he told his libido. So what if her eyes are the colour of the sea on a winter’s day? So what if her mouth is a perfect Cupid’s bow? And don’t even think about reaching over to unpin her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders like rippling oiled silk. Just concentrate on the fact that she’s your boss. She may be efficient, straight-talking and think on her feet—everything you like in a woman—but laying so much as a finger on her would be professional suicide. You’ve worked hard to get as far as you have—don’t blow it now just because you fancy her. Stay away, he warned himself. Hands off.

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE start of her shift on Wednesday, Miranda felt as if she’d always worked at Calderford General. All the staff on the coronary care unit seemed to accept her as part of the team—including Jack, she thought with relief—and she’d settled into the ward routine.

Wednesday morning’s angina clinic flew by and Miranda kept her lunch-break short, to make sure she was on time for her theatre appointment with Imogen Parker. But just before Imogen was due to have her pre-med, the phone rang in Miranda’s office.

‘Miranda Turner.’

‘Hi, Miranda, it’s Jordan Francis.’

There was only one reason she could think of why the theatre manager would call her. ‘Hi, Jordan. I hope you’re not going to tell me there’s a problem with my two o’clock,’ she said, keeping her voice light.

‘’Fraid so.’

‘Majax?’ she asked, using the hospital’s shorthand term for ‘major accident’ or ‘major incident’—meaning that the A and E department needed all the theatre slots to deal with surgical emergencies.

‘Um, no.’

She picked up on the slight trace of guilt in his voice. ‘Jordan, I know it’s not your fault, but CCU booked that slot for a reason. If there isn’t a major emergency, why are you pulling the slot?’

‘The prof needs it.’

‘Why?’ she asked, knowing that she was putting the theatre manager on the spot but unable to stop herself.

Jordan sounded uncomfortable. ‘He’s booked a demonstration.’

‘Oh, has he?’ she said crossly. ‘Don’t tell me—he said I wouldn’t mind.’ She scowled. She should have guessed her father would pull a stunt like this. Well, he’d soon find that she wasn’t a pushover any more. ‘Jordan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. Thanks for letting me know. When’s the next available two-hour slot?’

‘Friday morning, half-past nine. Do you want me to book you in?’

‘Yes, please. And, Jordan?’

‘Yes?’

‘If anyone tries to override it—unless it’s a majax—can you refer them to me, please?’

‘Sure.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Um, Miranda, I was wondering…would you like to come out for a drink with me? Or dinner, or something?’

‘Yes, that’d be nice.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Sorry. I’m on a late. How about Monday?’

‘Great. I’ll book somewhere…say, for seven? And do you like Italian?’

‘Seven’s fine and I love Italian—thanks. Talk to you soon.’

She cut the connection, rang the professor’s secretary and asked to speak to him.

‘I’m afraid he’s with someone, Miranda. He’s on his way to a demonstration.’

‘It’ll only take ten seconds, Ally. Promise. And it’s urgent. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’

‘All right. As it’s you.’

A second later, a testy voice informed her, ‘Miranda, I don’t have time to talk to you right now. I’m about to do a demonstration.’

‘I know. In my theatre slot.’

‘For heaven’s sake, you were only doing an angioplasty. It’s a routine operation. You can reschedule.’

‘My patient has unstable angina.’ Didn’t that mean anything to him? Had he forgotten May so easily? ‘If she has an MI before I can do the angioplasty, I’ll have to do an emergency bypass and I don’t want to put her through that.’

‘It’s not that likely, and you’re making a fuss.’

‘Too right I am, Professor.’

His voice hardened. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m your father.’

‘We’re at work. Which means I’m a doctor first and your daughter second.’

‘Miranda, I don’t have time for this!’

She knew exactly what that meant. ‘Don’t tell me you discussed it over lunch, thought it was a good idea, saw my name on the list and decided that I’d make the least fuss about losing my slot. Wrong. I expect exactly the same treatment—the same courtesy—as you’d give any of your other consultants. Why didn’t you ask me first?’

‘We’ll talk about this later.’

‘Fine. And you’ll have my formal letter of complaint on your desk when you get back.’

‘This demonstration’s important. It could bring money into the hospital.’

‘And money’s more important than a patient’s health?’ Miranda asked scornfully. ‘This wasn’t an elective op. I’d have understood if there was a majax, but a demo? Why couldn’t your VIPs watch one of the scheduled operations?’

‘Don’t be difficult.’

She could feel her blood pressure rising. After all the years she’d spent training—all the exams she’d taken—he still treated her like a four-year-old who knew nothing, instead of a highly qualified thirty-two-year-old. ‘Difficult? Some would say I was a chip off the old block. Though from the days when he cared about people more than politics,’ she informed him sharply. ‘Enjoy your demo.’ She put the phone down before she really lost her temper.

She was still shaking when she saw Leila and asked her to hold the pre-med.

‘Are you OK?’ the senior sister asked.

‘Fine,’ Miranda lied. ‘I’ll explain to Imogen that her operation’s been rescheduled then I’ll be in my office, if anyone needs me. I may as well get stuck into the paperwork now I’m not in Theatre.’

She’d just printed off her carefully composed letter to her father when there was a rap on her door. She looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway ‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she said tightly.

His raised eyebrow said it all. She sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m just annoyed that our slot was pulled at the last minute. I’ve rescheduled Imogen’s op for Friday morning.’

‘Don’t tell me—A and E?’ he asked.

‘Nope. Politics.’ She signed the letter with a flourish. ‘And this is a complaint letter. I’m just going to take it down to Ally.’

‘Pulling strings with the Prof?’

How could he even think that she’d go running off to Daddy at the first sign of trouble? ‘The Prof,’ she said in disgust, ‘is the one who took our slot—without having the courtesy to ask us. The complaint’s about him.’

‘Ah.’

‘Don’t worry, you won’t be caught in the crossfire.’ She folded her arms. ‘The Prof just needs reminding that I’m not a yes person. And I’ll fight for my ward’s rights.’

Jack exhaled slowly. ‘I think I’ll make sure I stay on your right side. Shall I ask Leila to pass the word round that you turn into Attila the Hun when someone crosses you?’

The tension suddenly drained from her, and she gave him a rueful smile. ‘Sorry. When hospital politics interfere with my patients, it drives me round the bend. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.’

‘Sounds to me as if you need chocolate,’ he said, producing a bar from the pocket of his white coat. ‘Catch.’

‘Thanks.’ She broke off a square, smiled and threw the rest of the bar back to him. ‘Perhaps it’s my lucky day after all—having a special reg who can read my mind.’

They exchanged a glance and her smile faded. On second thoughts, she hoped he couldn’t read her mind. Because chocolate wasn’t what she wanted right then. She wanted Jack Sawyer’s arms round her. And that beautiful mouth teasing hers…

No. She had to keep a very tight rein on her imagination, or it would play havoc with her work. ‘Thanks for the chocolate. I needed that. I’ll just drop this off—I’ll be five minutes, max. Bleep me if you need me.’

‘OK, boss.’

The ‘boss’ had been more for his benefit than hers, Jack thought. Because when he’d seen her sitting there, angry and upset on their patient’s behalf, he’d wanted to put his arms round her, tell her that everything would be all right. Hold her close. And to hell with his job.

‘I will not tolerate this!’ Ralph stormed, waving the piece of paper at his daughter. ‘What do you think you were doing?’

‘Exactly what I told you I’d do. Complaining about your behaviour. In future, I expect professional courtesy from you as a member of your staff,’ she emphasised.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t play games with me.’

‘I’m beyond that,’ she said crisply. ‘This is about my ward. My patients come first.’

‘You sound like May.’

Miranda smiled. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ Even though it had been given grudgingly—and she wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant it as a compliment. She knew he hadn’t ever really forgiven May for stepping in when Miranda had been eighteen.

‘You’re impossible. This is exactly why I didn’t want you working here.’

‘Because I’m not a yes person? I don’t think Jack Sawyer is either. Though if he’d got the job, you wouldn’t have taken his theatre slot without asking, would you?’

‘As clinical director, I have to make unpopular decisions.’

‘Agreed. But they don’t have to be stupid ones.’

‘Miranda,’ Ralph said warningly.

‘Professor, I know you won’t admit it, but you were in the wrong. And if you do it again, I’ll complain again—and I’ll copy my letter to the CEO next time, as well as to Human Resources.’

‘For your information—and not that I should have to explain myself to you—I’d booked the demo several weeks ago. Someone else needed the theatre I’d booked, because of the specialised equipment, and I had to move things around. Yours wasn’t the only slot I moved.’

‘Oh.’ She flushed. She hadn’t known that. Jordan hadn’t told her.

‘So I suggest you check your facts first next time before you write stroppy letters.’

She took a deep breath. But before she could apologise there was a rap on the door and Jack came in.

‘Sorry—I’ll come back later,’ he said.

‘Not at all. We’ve finished. Come in, my boy,’ Ralph said.

Miranda’s stomach lurched at the words. My boy. She wasn’t his boy—and never could be. The tone, too, was different: when he called her ‘my girl’, it meant he was putting her in her place, not being genial and proud.

‘I wanted to see you anyway,’ Ralph continued, smiling at Jack.

Why didn’t the professor ever smile at her like that?

‘We’ve got a little one coming into Paeds tomorrow. Possible tetralogy of Fallot. I’d like you to take a look at her.’

Well, excuse me. I’m supposed to be the consultant here, Miranda thought. But her father had made it obvious that he respected Jack’s abilities above her own.

‘Is that OK with you?’ Jack asked, looking at her. ‘Or do you need me here?’

What could she say? If she said, no, he couldn’t do it, they’d both think she was being petty—jealous even. The worst of it was, they’d be right. She was jealous of Jack, and the fact that the Professor clearly respected him. A respect he certainly didn’t feel for his daughter. ‘Fine,’ she said tightly. ‘Was there anything else you needed me for, Professor?’

‘No.’ His voice cooled noticeably as he looked at her. ‘Just think about what I said.’

She nodded, her throat tight with misery. Same old, same old. She’d thought by working with her father she’d finally persuade him to value her abilities. All she’d done had been to make things even worse between them.

When Ralph left, Miranda virtually snapped at Jack. ‘So what can I do for you?’

He lifted his hands in surrender. ‘Hey, what did I do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ When she said nothing, he folded his arms. ‘So much for straight talking.’

‘If you must know, the Prof was tearing me off a strip. Apparently he’d booked the demonstration ages ago. Ours wasn’t the only slot he’d moved.’

Jack shrugged. ‘Might be better to check before you act next time.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘So you think I’ve been unreasonable?’

‘Yes and no. You were right to challenge our slot being moved—but you should have made sure of your facts.’ Maybe he should have warned her about Jordan’s slapdash tendencies—though he’d tried to be fair and let her make up her own mind about their theatre manager instead of prejudicing her against him.

‘Great. So you think I’m incompetent, too.’

Jack frowned. ‘No, of course not.’ And her father couldn’t think it either, otherwise he wouldn’t have let the others on the selection panel offer her the job. ‘Just…you’re playing a dangerous game.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? Curry favour with the Prof?’

Was that what she thought he was doing, just because he’d agreed to go down to Paeds? It wasn’t that at all. He was interested in paediatric cardiology—besides, he owed it to his family to get on as well as he could at the hospital. He wasn’t going to turn down opportunities just because Miranda was having a private war with the Prof. Just in time, he stopped himself telling her that. It was none of her business. ‘If you’re going to argue with your father, that’s up to you—but leave the ward out of it.’

Her eyes darkened. ‘I’m not playing games.’

Yeah, right. And neither had Jessica, he thought bitterly. Except on a day with a Y in it. ‘You asked my opinion. I gave it to you.’

‘OK. I’m sorry. What did you want to see me about?’

He couldn’t remember now. Not now she’d made him think of Jessica. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Some other time.’ He left, closing her office door and resisting the temptation to bang it. He was not going to let her get under his skin. In any way.

Thursday was less fraught, until Miranda promised to help their new student with setting up an ECG and reading the results.

‘Dr Sawyer, can I borrow you for a second?’ Miranda asked.

‘Sure,’ Jack said, with a smile that turned her knees temporarily to jelly. ‘What’s up?’

‘I need a model. I’m walking Hannah through a 12-lead ECG, and she doesn’t want to do it on a patient.’

‘So you’re just after my body?’

She wished he hadn’t said that. The images his words brought to mind were way too disturbing—particularly after the way he’d smiled at her. But she wasn’t going to let him know that he’d rattled her. ‘That’s right. Any old body’d do, but I thought Hannah might find a supposedly young and fit male easier for her first ECG,’ she said, adopting the same light, teasing tone he’d used. ‘Come into my office and strip to the waist.’

Definitely disturbing, she thought as Jack took off the white coat, shirt and tie to reveal a perfectly toned torso and a light sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. Just pretend he’s middle-aged with a paunch, she told herself. He may be gorgeous, but he’s off limits. ‘OK, Hannah. The V1 lead goes on the edge of the sternum, on the patient’s right-hand side. Count down between the ribs until you get to the fourth intercostal space.’

‘Here?’ Hannah asked.

‘Perfect. The V2 lead goes in the same place on the left-hand side.’

Hannah did as she was asked.

‘Now we’ll do the V4 lead. Why do you think I want to do that one next?’

‘No idea,’ Hannah admitted.

‘V3 goes halfway between V2 and V4, so it’s easier if you put V4 in place first,’ Jack explained.

Miranda was forced to meet his eyes. She stopped herself blushing—just. She only hoped he wasn’t a mindreader—she definitely didn’t want him knowing what she was thinking, right then. ‘Exactly. V4 picks up the patient’s apex beat. That’s the point furthest from the manubrium—that’s the hexagonal part at the top of the breastbone—where we can still feel the heart beating. It’s in the fifth intercostal space, in a line roughly halfway across the collar-bone.’ She found the spot and her fingertips brushed lightly against Jack’s skin. Just as well he was the one having the ECG, she thought. Her own heartbeat had just become extremely erratic, simply from touching him. This was crazy. He was her colleague. Her junior. She couldn’t think like this about him. Particularly when she’d agreed to go on a date with someone else. This really, really wasn’t good.

‘Can you show me where you’d put V3?’ she asked Hannah, avoiding looking at Jack.

Hannah nodded. ‘Here.’

‘Well done.’ Miranda smiled at her. ‘The rest of the leads go in a horizontal line with V4. V5 is here, in the anterior axillary line, and V7 is on the posterior axillary line. So V6 goes…?’

‘Halfway between them?’ Hannah guessed.

‘Spot on,’ Miranda said, then talked the junior doctor through placing the rest of the leads. ‘Great. You’re done.’ She switched the monitor on. ‘The trace shows the electrical activity of the heart so we can see what’s going on. We can tell if someone has had a heart attack, and roughly when it was—in the last few hours, days, weeks or months.’ She let the machine run until she had a strip of a dozen heartbeats, and turned it off. ‘This is a good example of normal sinus rhythm. There’s a small rise here at P just before the upper heart chambers contract.’ She marked it with a cross and labelled it ‘P’. ‘Then there’s the QRS spike…’ again, she labelled the points on the trace ‘…which happens just before the lower heart chambers contract. And finally there’s the rise at point T at the end of the beat.’

‘To find the number of heartbeats per minute,’ Jack added, ‘you measure how many big squares there are between the R points—what we call the “R-R interval”. The ECG machine usually runs at twenty-five millimetres per second so you just divide three hundred by the number of big squares.’

‘Some machines run at fifty millimetres per second, so always check if you’re not sure,’ Miranda added.

Hannah looked at the trace and did a quick calculation. ‘Three hundred divided by four—that’s seventy-five.’

‘Well within the normal resting range,’ Miranda pronounced.

She couldn’t help looking at Jack. And there was a distinct question in his eyes which she dared not answer. She forced herself to think of work. ‘Do we have a book of sample traces, Jack?’

‘For teaching? Yes—I’ll go and get it.’ He removed the leads. ‘You’ll be surprised how quickly you learn to spot the differences in the waves and what they mean,’ he told Hannah. ‘When you first start, you think you’ll never remember them all, but you’ll soon get the hang of it. And you can always ask one of us if you’re not sure. We won’t mind or think you’re stupid. We’ve all been in the same position.’

Miranda fiddled with the machine until she heard Jack put his white coat on again. Her face felt hot and she hoped it wasn’t too obvious. She could claim that her office was too warm—it was unusually hot for March—but she had a nasty feeling Jack would guess why she was flushed.

She needed to get her professional objectivity back. Fast.

And then she heard the call, ‘Crash team!’

‘We’ll carry on with the traces later,’ she told Hannah. ‘Come on, we’re needed.’

She walked quickly out into the ward and saw the light flashing above the door of Room One. Her heart sank. No. Please, not Imogen, she thought.

Jack was already there, giving CPR at the rate of five chest compressions to one breath, while Leila was getting the defibrillator ready.

‘She’s in VF,’ Leila said. VF, or ventricular fibrillation, was an abnormal heart rhythm—it meant Imogen’s heart was contracting quickly but not effectively.

Miranda went straight into action and attached the defibrillator paddles to Imogen’s chest so Leila could check the monitor. ‘Charging to 360. And clear,’ she said. Jack stopped the CPR so Miranda could shock Imogen.

‘Still in VF,’ Leila said, watching the monitor closely.

‘Have you given her adrenaline?’ Miranda asked.

‘Not yet,’ Leila said.

‘Hannah, get me some adrenaline now. Charging to 360. And clear,’ Miranda repeated. Imogen had to respond. She had to. They weren’t going to lose her.

‘Still in VF,’ Leila reported.

‘Charging. And clear,’ Miranda said.

‘She’s back in sinus,’ Leila said. ‘Well done.’

Tears pricked the backs of Miranda’s eyes. Thank God. ‘Jack, we can’t wait until tomorrow morning for the angioplasty. Not now she’s had an MI.’

‘Bypass?’ he asked.

‘Yup. I’ll call Jordan and sort out a slot in Theatre now. Can you prep her?’

‘Will do,’ he said.

‘Leila, can you get in touch with Emma and tell her that we’re taking her great-aunt down to Theatre now, please?’ she asked.

‘Will do,’ Leila said.

‘Hannah, check if Leila needs you for anything—if not, you’re welcome to come and observe,’ Miranda continued.

‘Thanks,’ Hannah said, flushing faintly.

Miranda rang Jordan and organised an emergency theatre slot. On the way down to Theatre, Imogen arrested again but Jack managed to bring her back. Before Miranda could make the first incision, Imogen arrested again.

‘Come on, come on,’ Jack said. ‘We’re not letting you go, Imogen. Stay with us. Charging. And clear.’

But this time they couldn’t bring her back.

‘It’s been twenty minutes,’ Jack said softly as Miranda continued CPR. ‘Do you want me to call it?’

‘No. We can’t give up now.’ She continued giving CPR. ‘Come on, Imogen. You have to stay with us.’

But it was no use. Gently, Jack put his hands over hers. ‘I’m calling it,’ he said. ‘She’s been down too long.’

‘No.’ Miranda shook her head in frustration. ‘No. We can’t have lost her.’

‘She’s gone,’ he said, his voice compassionate yet firm.

Miranda nodded dully, then glanced at the nurse’s watch on her white coat. ‘Time of death, three twenty-four.’ She stroked the old lady’s forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Imogen. I’m so, so sorry,’ she said softly, then turned away. ‘I’d better go and ring Emma.’ She swallowed hard and walked back to her office to ring Imogen’s great-niece.

‘But—but she was going to have her operation! I thought she was going to be all right,’ Emma said. ‘You said you were going to put a balloon in her arteries to clear them, and it would stop her getting the pain any more.’

‘I’m so sorry, Emma. We did everything we could. But her heart had just had enough.’

‘Poor Imogen. She was…It’s my fault,’ Emma said. ‘We should have had her to live with us.’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ Miranda reassured her. ‘And it wasn’t your fault at all. She was ill.’

‘I should have done more.’

‘You did your best. You came in to see her when you could, and rang when you couldn’t—and it isn’t easy to care for an elderly relative when you have three small children to look after as well.’ Easier if you didn’t have children. She could have done more for May. But she hadn’t, had she?

‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’ Emma’s voice was unsteady. ‘And Floss…I don’t know what we’re going to do about Floss. We can’t have a dog—we’re renting and the landlord won’t let us have pets, not even a hamster. We can’t keep her in kennels but I can’t have her put down. She’s not that old and she’s not even ill.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Miranda promised. ‘Someone here might be able to give her a new home.’

‘Can I…can I come and see my great-aunt?’

‘Of course you can. And I’ll be here if you want to talk to me.’

‘Thank you.’ Emma was clearly crying as she rang off.

Miranda returned the receiver to its cradle, put her arms on her desk and rested her head on her arms. If only she’d done the angioplasty the day before. If only…

She heard a click and looked up. Jack had closed her office door. He walked towards her and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Hey, it’s not your fault. It was a risk with anyone who had her condition. You know that.’

‘I lost her, Jack.’

‘We can’t save them all,’ he said softly. ‘I know how you feel. She was a sweetheart. But she’s not in pain any more, and you did your best for her.’

‘No, I didn’t. I should have told the Prof to stuff his demo and insist on taking my slot back.’

‘And she might have arrested on the way down to Theatre yesterday afternoon. Besides, you know the risks with angioplasties. When the balloon inflates and blocks the artery temporarily, that sometimes triggers an MI. The chances were, it would have happened in Imogen’s case.’ He pulled up a chair next to hers and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Miranda.’

She knew she shouldn’t lean towards him. Shouldn’t let him hold her. But right then she needed the comfort.

‘So what’s the real story?’ he asked softly. ‘We’re all upset when we lose a patient—but this really seems to have knocked you for six. You spent time with Imogen when you were supposed to be off duty, and you went and took a photograph of her dog for her. That’s going beyond the call of duty.’

Miranda shrugged. ‘I liked her.’

‘And?’

‘I suppose she reminds me of May, my great-aunt.’ She hadn’t intended to tell Jack any more than that, but somehow the words spilled out. ‘May was a cardiac nurse, years ago, and I used to love listening to her stories about the ward. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to work in the same area. My father didn’t want me to be a cardiologist—he didn’t even want me to be a doctor—but May told me to follow my heart and do what I really wanted to do. She said if he cut off my allowance, as he’d threatened, she’d support me through my training.’

Jack whistled. ‘I bet that went down well.’

Miranda nodded. ‘She was the one who advised me to do my training in Glasgow, away from him—not here. And she was right.’

‘And you feel that because we lost Imogen you’ve let your great-aunt down?’

‘Something like that,’ she admitted.

‘Hey.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. ‘She was a medic, too. She knows you try your hardest but you can’t save everyone. I bet if you talk to her about it, she’ll tell you you’re being ridiculous.’

‘I wish she could.’ Miranda swallowed hard. ‘She died two years ago. She—she had unstable angina. She didn’t tell any of us, so we had no idea. One day I had a funny feeling. I couldn’t get hold of her on the phone, so I dropped in on my way home from work. I had a key and that’s when I found her. She’d had a massive MI. And…’ she closed her eyes ‘…it was too late to do anything.’

He groaned. ‘Oh, hell. I’m sorry. No wonder you’re so upset. I had no idea. I didn’t mean to make things worse.’ He leaned forward and kissed away the single tear from her cheek. ‘Miranda…’

She wasn’t sure which of them moved first. But the next thing she knew, he was kissing her. Really kissing her, his mouth warm and soft and demanding all at the same time. And she was kissing him back, sliding her fingers into his hair and urging him on.

His hands slipped to her waist and he pulled her onto his lap, still kissing her. It was only when she realised that he’d loosened her hair that she pulled back.

‘No. We can’t do this.’

His pupils had expanded so much his eyes were almost black with desire. His lips were full and slightly swollen, his cheeks were flushed and his hair was a mess. Miranda had a nasty feeling that she looked just as bad. And an even nastier feeling that if she didn’t move off his lap right now, she’d end up initiating another kiss. And another. She wanted him to touch her, stroke her skin all over, soothe away her pain with those clever fingers and that beautiful mouth—

No. She had to stop this, right now. With an effort she stood up.

‘Miranda, I—’ he began.

‘I know.’ She put her hands behind her back and clenched them together, to stop herself placing a finger on his lips. Stop herself touching him. ‘It was unprofessional. But understandable. We were both upset about losing our patient, both wanted comfort—and we were both here.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ His mouth was saying he understood. His eyes were saying something entirely different—that he wanted her, and he knew she wanted him, too. It hadn’t been just comfort.

‘We’re colleagues. It wouldn’t work out.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Again, his eyes held a different message. How do we know until we try?

‘And I…’ No. She couldn’t pull rank on him—even though she was his boss, she wasn’t going to rub it in that she’d got the job he’d gone for. ‘I’m not looking for a relationship.’ She might be going out to dinner with Jordan Francis next week, but she’d make very clear to him that it was as friends only. ‘My career’s the most important thing in my life.’

‘Me, too.’

‘Good. Then we’re agreed—this was a one-off and it didn’t mean anything.’

‘Yep.’

She dropped her gaze. ‘I—um, I’d better sort out the paperwork. And I promised Emma I’d see what I could do about Floss. It’s the least I could do for Imogen.’ She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Do you have a dog?’

‘No, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep one. Not when I live on my own and work doctors’ hours.’

‘How about your family?’

‘How about yours?’ he fenced.

Her mother might, possibly—but her father would definitely refuse. She sighed. ‘All right. I’ll put a notice on the board in the staffroom and see if anyone wants to take her on.’

‘Right. I’d better get cracking on a ward round.’

She couldn’t let him walk out of her office looking like that—not unless she wanted the hospital rumour mill to work overtime! ‘You…um, you’d better do something with your hair first,’ she said, rummaging in her desk drawer and pulling out a comb.

‘Leave yours,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a crime to hide hair that beautiful.’

She flushed, and his body stirred. Hell. They’d just agreed that nothing was going to happen between them. But just looking at her made him want her. Made him remember how her warm, soft mouth had responded to him. How she’d kissed him back.

He was really going to have to keep a tight rein on himself.

‘I’ll see you at the end of the ward round,’ she said. ‘Take Hannah with you.’

‘Yes, boss.’

She was already pulling her hair back in that severe style. Putting her Ms Brisk-and-Efficient front on. The trouble was, now Jack knew what lay beneath it. And he wanted to know a lot, lot more.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO HOW are you feeling, Sid?’ Miranda asked.

‘Nervous,’ he admitted. ‘The wife’s been looking things up on the internet. Surgery on what I’ve got is really risky, isn’t it?’

They’d already discussed it before Sid had signed the consent form for the operation, but Miranda had been prepared for last-minute nerves. ‘It’s risky, yes—but nowhere near as risky as leaving it. If it ruptures—which it’s very likely to do, in the next five years—you’ll lose a massive amount of blood and you’ll only have a fifty per cent chance of making it to hospital. If you do make it, you’ll have a fifty per cent chance of coming through the op. That’s a one in four chance of surviving.’ Miranda squeezed his hand. ‘Whereas with surgery you’ve got an eighty-five to ninety per cent chance of surviving. Better than that, in fact, because that’s the average, and Dr Sawyer has plenty of experience. So have I.’

‘Bronny says there’s something you can do that doesn’t mean cutting me open.’

‘Keyhole surgery? Yes, but it’s still being trialled. There’s also something called an endovascular stent, which is a special wire that supports your artery, but again it’s experimental. I need to get funding for a trial here before I can do either of them,’ Miranda said.

‘Can’t I wait until you’ve got the funding?’

She smiled. ‘Oh, Sid. I don’t know how long it’ll take—and I’m not taking any risks with you. If you really, really don’t want to have surgery, I’ll respect your wishes—but I do think it’s in your best interests to have the op.’

‘OK, Doc.’ Sid looked glum.

‘Hey, cheer up. You’ll be on your feet again tomorrow and you’ll be eating normally in four or five days. And I’ll cook you a bacon sandwich myself, to celebrate.’

His smile was watery. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Doc.’

‘It’s a deal,’ she said. ‘No butter—but you can have lots of tomato ketchup.’

‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ he said. ‘I’m starving!’

‘I know. But you’ve got something to look forward to now.’

‘And seeing my first grandchild. My Lauren told me yesterday she’s expecting.’

‘Hey, that’s great news. Even better, you’re going to be able to play with your grandchild without everyone worrying that you’ll keel over.’ Miranda squeezed his hand again. ‘I know it’s hard, but try not to worry, Sid. Claire Barker’s going to give you your pre-med, and you’ll be out of Theatre before you know it.’

She went to join Jack. ‘Ready to scrub?’

‘Yep.’

‘Miranda?’ Claire came over to them, looking worried. ‘Sid Patterson’s complaining of a pain in his back, between the shoulder blades.’

Jack and Miranda looked at each other. ‘Dissection?’ Jack asked.

‘I don’t know what’d be worse, that or a rupture. Claire, is he talking about pain in his chest, arms or stomach?’

‘No. He just says he feels a bit funny and his back aches.’

‘Let’s get him down there now,’ Miranda said.

The aneurysm was in the descending part of the aorta, just beneath the heart. ‘Fusiform,’ Jack commented, seeing the distension all the way round the aorta’s circumference, tapering at both ends. ‘An absolutely textbook example. The good news is, it hasn’t ruptured. I can’t see any sign of a tear either—so let’s just hope his back pain was due to nerves. Everyone ready?’

‘Ready,’ the team confirmed.

‘OK. On bypass, please.’

Jack worked quickly, clamping the aorta and checking the blood pressure with the anaesthetist and perfusionist. He cut out the damaged part of the blood vessel, then grafted the synthetic material into the artery. Miranda worked flawlessly with him, as if reading his mind—before the words were half out of his mouth she was giving him exactly what he needed.

He was good, she acknowledged. Very good. He’d make an excellent consultant. And, the way things were going between herself and the Prof, that might happen sooner rather than later.

‘Ready for clamp removal?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Let’s increase the flow rates, see what happens.’ He kept a close eye on the suturing. ‘Looks as if it’s holding up.’

‘Release the clamps gradually, please,’ Miranda instructed.

They watched the graft area closely as the clamps were released. And then Jack gave a sigh of relief. ‘We’re there.’

‘Want me to close?’ Miranda asked.

He nodded. ‘Let’s leave the double lumen tube in until tomorrow.’

‘OK. You go and shower—I’ll finish up.’

‘Cheers.’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘Any chance of a back massage as well?’

At least he didn’t bear grudges—after he’d stomped out of her office the other day he’d been fine with her. He’d even started bantering with her, the kind of casual, teasing remarks that made her feel as if she’d worked with him for a lifetime instead of just a few days. He was easy to be around. And that, in itself, was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to get involved. Even if she hadn’t worked with him…No. She’d sworn off relationships for good. Dates were fine—but no commitment. Her judgement in men was lousy, so it was safer to stay on her own. Much safer.

‘On your bike, Sawyer,’ she informed him with a grin. ‘I’ll see you back on the ward.’

She stayed with Sid in the post-operative recovery area, then accompanied him back up to the ward.

‘It went really well,’ she told Bronny Patterson. ‘Dr Sawyer did an excellent job. Sid’s going to have a tube in his throat for another twenty-four hours to help him breathe and get over the operation, but we’ll get him a pen and pad so he can still communicate with you.’

‘I don’t think anything would stop him communicating,’ Bronny said with a smile.

‘Bless him.’ Miranda echoed her smile. ‘He’s going to be hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood-pressure monitor, too, and there’s a drain in his wound so it doesn’t get infected,’ she explained. ‘I know we went over all this before the op, but sometimes it’s hard to take in until you see him, and I don’t want you to be frightened by all the tubes and wires. It all went really smoothly, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary in his post-operative care.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Sid told me you’d been doing some research.’ Miranda smiled. ‘There’s some scary stuff out there.’

Bronny nodded. ‘I wished I hadn’t started when I saw some of the statistics.’

‘We’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Anyway, I owe him a bacon sandwich. I don’t think he’ll risk missing that,’ Miranda said lightly. ‘Or his first grandchild—congratulations, by the way.’

Bronny smiled. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll take you through to him now. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘No, pet. I’ll be fine. But thanks. We both appreciate what you’ve done.’

‘Not me. Dr Sawyer did the hard work.’

‘Taking my name in vain?’ Jack teased as he met them by the door. But he was oddly pleased all the same. Miranda hadn’t known he was there, but she’d still made sure he’d got the credit he was due. It almost made up for the row they’d had after she’d seen the Prof in her office. And even that he could understand now—she’d overreacted because Imogen had reminded her of losing someone she’d loved dearly.

‘Thank you, Dr Sawyer,’ Bronny said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

‘No problem,’ he said with a smile. He waited until Bronny was settled in with Sid, then caught Miranda on her way out of the room. ‘I’ll stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘Just in case.’

‘You will not,’ she informed him. ‘You’re off duty and I have the bleeper.’

‘But—’

‘Plus I’m expecting you in the Calderford Arms,’ she added. ‘When I said I’d buy everyone on the ward a drink, I meant everyone.’

‘What about the night staff?’ he fenced.

‘That’s covered, too. I’ve left them a stack of nibbles and some decent soft drinks.’ She eased her shoulders. ‘We’ve had a rough week. I think we all need to let our hair down. I’m taking my bleeper and my mobile, so I can get back here quickly if I’m needed.’ She smiled at him. ‘Go and get your glad rags on.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He could just see it now. The rest of the staff would be dressed up to the nines, but she’d still be wearing her formal business suit, with her hair scraped back.

‘See you there. Seven o’clock sharp.’

‘I’ll be there,’ he promised. ‘Though I hope you’re not going to start doing paperwork now.’

She gave him another of those smiles that clearly said, Don’t ask questions. ‘See you in the Calderford Arms.’

When she strolled into the bar at precisely seven o’clock, Leila dug Jack in the ribs. ‘Close your mouth,’ she said.

‘Uh,’ was all Jack could say. Because Ms Fluffy was back—and how! Her hair was loose and fell over her shoulders in glossy waves. She wasn’t wearing much make-up—no more than a light slick of lip-gloss and a coat of mascara—but it was her clothing that really floored Jack. A crop top which revealed a smooth, flat torso, a pair of black trousers that were slung low round her hips, high-heeled strappy shoes and what he had a nasty feeling was a real diamond in her navel.

She looked a million dollars. And the desire he’d felt for her when he’d kissed her in her office was suddenly magnified a thousandfold.

‘Evening, all,’ she said. Still in her posh voice. Still as if she were on the ward. It was like having double vision, he thought. Or as if his audio and visual systems weren’t working in synch. She sounded like the efficient doctor he’d worked with for the past week—but she looked like a bad boy’s wildest dream.

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