He lifted her chin and looked down at her. ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening, Claire. I want you to know that this past month has been one of the happiest times of my life.’

She waited to hear the rest, wondering why it sounded awfully like a dismissal.

‘And of course we’ll carry on seeing each other, though it’s not going to be easy—with your hours and my being on call so much.’

‘I know.’ She gazed at Luke’s mesmeric eyes, so grey tonight, wanting to lock the memory of them firmly away for ever.

‘I want you to know . . .’ his voice faltered a little. ‘You mean so much to me, Claire, but . . .’

‘Luke . . .’

He shushed her gently. ‘Listen, my darling. You’re still so very young. You’ve your whole life in front of you, and it has only been a month. We must neither of us make any promises which we may not be able to keep. Do you understand?’

Claire nodded numbly.

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…

To Break a Doctor’s Heart
Sharon Kendrick
writing as Sharon Wirdnam

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Don, Joan and

Eileen

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HER ROOM in the Nurses’ Home was small and cramped. She still found it hard to believe she was where she was; sometimes she would hover in the warm half-world between sleeping and waking, blinking in surprise when eventually her eyes opened.

The walls had once—unbelievably—been painted in a dark olive green emulsion, she knew this because great murky patches showed through the present light green colour, which was peeling off in handfuls. But Claire didn’t care, the gloomy surroundings didn’t matter—even they could not quell the enthusiasm which had been bubbling up inside her for weeks now and was threatening to spill over at any time. As she pinned the brand new fob watch on to her uniform, the sunlight caught the glass and it flashed brilliantly—a symbol of the bright new future that lay ahead of her.

She rubbed her finger along the inside of the unfamiliar stiff, starched collar and surveyed her image in the mirror, really starting to believe for the first time that she was now Student Nurse Scott. The girl who stared back at her was no longer the leggy, successful top model, whose wide professional smile for the camera concealed a growing awareness of her shallow life-style, but one of the general public’s very own ‘angels’.

Her copper curls—once her most bankable trademark—had been tied and tamed, and now only their colour appeared riotous beneath the white linen cap. She wore a white starched apron over the pale blue striped uniform dress, and the white belt which covered her waist marked her out as one of the Introductory Block, or ‘new girls’ as they were known at St Anthony’s. The fine black stockings and neat shoes accentuated her slim ankles and shapely legs. She had been in the School of Nursing wearing mufti for almost twelve weeks, but today was to be her first on the wards proper.

She could hear echoing sounds of laughter and chattering outside her room, presumably in the direction of the canteen. She had just drunk a cup of tea which she had made in her room earlier—she knew that they served a variety of breakfasts from as early as six a.m., but she felt far too excited to eat anything.

She glanced at her fob watch for the twentieth time. She still had over ten minutes before she should start out for Belton Ward, and just for a moment she allowed herself to think of him. Luke Hayward. She would not be standing in a nurse’s uniform if it were not for him. Her whole life had changed direction and Luke Hayward had been the catalyst, and she knew about him—what?

Practically nothing really, she mused as she gave the regulation black shoes a final flick with a cloth. Except that he had seemed dedicated to his work, and very caring. And that he had intelligent grey-green eyes, firm lips, a strong jaw and hair which was a curious mixture of golden and brown. Which was little more than she knew when she had first seen him from across the other side of a crowded restaurant . . .

It had been a fashionable fish restaurant in North London and he had been sitting with three women, including a slim woman with pale hair who had been smiling up at him lazily. Claire had been dining with Simon Saunders—he had been asking her out for months and eventually she had agreed to have supper with him.

She had been aware that her colleagues would have been envious if they had known that she was out with the tall, shaggy-haired photographer, but she had been bored by his gossipy comments about the other models he worked with. It seemed that he was as superficial as most of the other people she usually hung around with.

Claire had looked up, vainly trying to stifle a yawn, when she had found herelf staring into a pair of very amused grey-green eyes, and he had raised his glass to her and smiled, with a kind of elegant old-world courtesy which had charmed her, and she had blushed.

That had been all, but the questioning look in those eyes had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, causing her to begin to analyse the quality of her whole lifestyle—never realising that at their next meeting he was to help her change it irrevocably.

She sighed as she gathered up the scarlet-lined woollen cloak and a slight frown appeared between the dark brows which framed slanting eyes of hyacinth blue. She was longing to see him again, longing to tell him that she had thrown caution to the wind and had taken his advice.

She took a final glance around the room as she opened the door—it really was tiny; the expression ‘no room to swing a cat’ might have been invented for the nurses’ accommodation at St Anthony’s Hospital!

A narrow bed and rather scratched bedside locker had somehow been squeezed in. In the corner of the window stood a large old-fashioned white enamel wash-basin. At least the view made up for it—the rather Gothic architecture of Hampstead contrasted dramatically with the unexpectedly wild sweep of green which was Hampstead Heath.

It had been drummed into the nurses how lucky they were to be training in North London, since apparently at another famous London hospital, the Nurses’ Home backed on to a very large prison!

Mrs Haynes, her tutor, had explained that they liked the Introductory Block to live in the Nurses’ Home for the first twelve weeks—partly to get to know each other and partly to become fully integrated into hospital life.

‘I have no objection to your living out in a flat after that,’ she had told Claire in her first week. ‘Although I do think that you might find it a bit of a trek to get here on time from Notting Hill, especially on an early duty. Why not move closer?’

Claire had taken her at her word, had put her old flat on the market, sold it almost immediately, and was due to move into her new flat in Primrose Hill that weekend, only a couple of miles from St Anthony’s.

She set off for the main hospital building, which was a short walk away. Today was an important day. Today, as Mrs Haynes had joked to the class, they were about to be let loose on the patients! They were each to spend the Friday morning on their allotted wards, as a kind of gentle grounding before they started on the wards full-time next week.

Claire was to report to Sister Thompson on Belton Ward at seven-thirty a.m. She felt excited yet slightly apprehensive as she carefully smoothed her spare apron over her arm, trying not to crease it.

Mrs Haynes had warned them that the first day on a new ward was often a baptism of fire. ‘Some are smitten, others take longer to like it, while some can’t stand it and come straight to my office with their notice written out.’

Claire hoped fervently that she wouldn’t be amongst the last group. She had enjoyed her time in the School of Nursing tremendously, but the wards were a different story completely, with different demands. She prayed that she would find them a challenge rather than daunting.

At least in class she had already found herself a friend. She had found herself sitting next to a small, dark girl with an infectious grin, called Mary Wells. The two girls had shared an immediate bond as they had both worked at other jobs before starting nursing. The other twenty-four in the class had all come straight from school, and to Claire they seemed much younger.

As she walked towards Belton, she could see huge silver trolleys being trundled down the main corridor by the catering staff, with hot breakfasts on their way to each of the wards.

She had been a student nurse for eleven and a half weeks, but in all that time she had not had the opportunity to speak to Luke Hayward. The School of Nursing was quite separate from the main hospital building, and she had never seen him at lunchtime in the canteen.

She could of course have had him bleeped and arranged to meet him, but what on earth would she say? She could hardly blurt out, ‘Hello, Luke—it’s Claire Scott. I’m the girl you saw in the restaurant and then we met briefly in Casualty—remember? And you gave me some advice and I took it, and here I am. Oh, and by the way, I feel I can trust you more than anyone I’ve ever met, even though I hardly know you.’ A small smile crossed her lips as she tried to imagine his reaction to such an outburst.

In fact, she had seen him only once since she’d been at the hospital, and that had been from a distance. A group from her set were being shown around the Pharmacy and were just about to leave, when suddenly about five doctors all tore past the door, their bleeps shrilling in a relentless high-pitched tone.

And one of them was Luke, Claire had noted dispassionately.

At that moment a voice on the tannoy began repeating, ‘Cardiac emergency—Casualty. Cardiac emergency—Casualty!’

A hush had fallen over the chattering group of student nurses, and the pharmacist had quietly explained that the Medical Registrar, the anaesthetist and any spare doctors would be needed to try to resuscitate a patient whose heart had stopped.

Claire had stood back with the others and watched them retreat to the end of the long, wide corridor. She had thought she detected a murmur of approval as he dashed past them, running like an athlete, a shaft of sunlight turning his hair into molten gold, his face tense with concentration.

She hadn’t mentioned him to anyone, not even to Mary, but then again—what could she possibly say about him? That she had seen him once in a restaurant, and had been besotted by him, like a schoolgirl? Or that she’d seen him almost in a professional capacity, when he had gently eased her out of shock that day? And that she’d told a complete stranger secrets close to her heart?

She wondered what Mary would say if she knew that if it hadn’t been for Luke Hayward’s casual suggestion, coming as it did like a bolt out of the blue, she wouldn’t have been standing here in her brand new uniform, but would probably have been yawning her way through yet another photo session.

As she passed the Pharmacy, down the same wide corridor, she reflected on how much she had enjoyed the Introductory Block, and how she had taken to studying again like a duck to water.

Contrary to what her mother had told her, she had positively thrived under all the new intellectual demands. The uninterested pale student of her schooldays, still reeling from her parents’ divorce, had blossomed into an eager consumer of all this new, scientific knowledge. She had found the anatomy and physiology fascinating—it was like the most marvellous detective story she had ever read, to discover how the human body worked. Mrs Haynes was an enthusiastic teacher, and covered some basic bio-chemistry and pathology in her lectures.

‘It isn’t strictly necessary for a nurse to know any of the chemical pathologies. But no knowledge is ever wasted, and the broader your education, then the better nurse you’ll be for it,’ she had told them.

Claire walked briskly up the stairs to the first floor corridor, her new black shoes shining brightly. At the ward entrance she stood peering around, feeling for a moment very young and inexperienced, and then she spotted a sign saying ‘Sister’s Office’ and, clearing her throat nervously, she tapped softly on the door.

A voice called out ‘Come in’ and she stepped inside.

The Ward Sister, distinguishable by her dark navy dress and elaborately frilled cap, sat at her desk, a coffee cup in front of her and a set of notes by her hand. She looked to be in her late thirties, was very plump, and had the kindest face that Claire had ever seen.

‘Hello there,’ she said. ‘Nurse Scott, isn’t it?’

Claire nodded. ‘Yes, Sister.’

‘Good! Nice and early, that’s what I like to see. Now, I’m just about to get the night report from Sister, so I’ll get Nurse Hunter to show you where to hang your cloak, and what’s where, and then you can all come in for report after you’ve given out the breakfasts. Nurse!’ she called in a loud voice from the door, and a nurse as tall as Claire appeared. She wore her thick black hair tied back in a bun and looked at Sister inquisitively.

‘Show Student Nurse Scott where to hang her cloak and around the ward, will you, Hunter?’

‘Yes, Sister. Follow me.’

Claire trotted off obediently behind her. The blue belt she wore identified her as a third-year.

‘This,’ announced Nurse Hunter, ‘is Belton Ward.’

It was an old-fashioned Nightingale ward in design, with rows of beds on either side of a central aisle. At the far end was the patients’ day-room and the four bathrooms. Sister’s office, the clinic-room, doctors’ office, kitchen and sluice were nearest the ward entrance.

‘You’ll soon get to know where everything is,’ the older nurse advised Claire. ‘Come on, we’d better get a move on.’

Then began the busiest morning that Claire had ever known. She scarcely had time to draw breath as they tipped cornflakes into bowls, poured teas and dolloped spoonfuls of marmalade on to the sides of plates. And all the time Nurse Hunter kept up an astonishingly fluent commentary which had Claire’s mind in a spin, wondering if she would be able to remember any of it.

‘That’s the sluice over there, but you don’t keep going in and out of there at mealtimes, not unless you absolutely have to—or Sister’ll have your guts for garters. Morning, Mr Atkins! Pleased to be going home, are you? Mr Atkins has been with us nearly three months, haven’t you, Mr Atkins?’ she asked him cheerfully.

‘Yes, Nurse. Looked after me good and proper, you ’ave.’

Nurse Hunter beamed and piled two heaped teaspoonfuls of sugar into his tea. ‘Always try and learn whether your patient has any special dietary needs,’ she confided. ‘I’ll never forget on my first ward when I asked a diabetic patient if he wanted sugar!’ She burst into laughter at the memory, the smile lighting up her rather sallow face.

After they had finished serving out the breakfasts, she showed Claire where the clinic-room was. ‘That’s where we draw up injections and get out dressing trolleys ready,’ she explained. ‘And never take a dirty dressing trolley back in until you’ve cleaned it down properly, or Sister’ll be after you!’

Sister sounded formidable, thought Claire, although Nurse Hunter seemed to speak of her quite affectionately.

‘Let’s just strip this bed before report,’ she stopped by a rumpled empty bed. ‘Mr Fellowes is always first into the bathroom. Then he goes down to the day-room for a smoke.’

Claire looked surprised. ‘Are they allowed to smoke, then?’

The other girl pulled a face. ‘Not really, but some of the old boys have smoked for so long that they just can’t give it up. Sister lets them have one or two if they’re desperate.’

So the practice didn’t always follow the theory, thought Claire as she and Nurse Hunter rhythmically folded each sheet and blanket into three and then turned the bottom sheet over and straightened it. Mrs Haynes would be horrified to think that smoking was allowed!

Sister Thompson appeared at the door of her office, beaming widely down the ward.

‘Morning, gentlemen,’ she cried.

‘Morning, Sister!’ they chorused back at her.

‘Right, girls. Into my office for report, please.’

‘What’s your first name?’ hissed Nurse Hunter as they trooped into Sister’s office behind two yellow-belted second-year nurses.

‘Claire. What’s yours?’

‘It’s Anna—but christian names aren’t allowed on the wards. Don’t forget!’

Claire nodded and sat down next to Anna Hunter, her pen and notebook in her hand, thinking what an awful lot of rules there were to remember.

Sister then began to run through a list of the patients, their age, diagnosis and treatment and whether there had been any change in their condition during the night.

‘You won’t understand much to begin with,’ she told Claire kindly. ‘But don’t worry—by the time you leave us, you’ll be telling me what to do!’

She let out a great thundering guffaw at this remark and the other nurses, including Claire, laughed politely, though she could never imagine knowing a fraction of the conditions which had been mentioned already. Pleural effusion; diabetic keto-acidosis; congestive cardiac failure; unexplained splenomegaly and purpura—the list seemed endless, and she wasn’t even sure that she had spelt them properly!

It was all very well learning the twelve cranial nerves in class by reciting a complicated rhyme:

‘On old Olympus’ towering tops

A fierce and glowering vulture always hops.’

But learning about real diseases was going to prove a lot more difficult.

She realised that Sister was speaking to her.

‘I’d like you to do a blanket bath on a patient who was admitted during the night with acute bronchitis. He’s a bit washed out this morning, poor fellow.’ She smiled at Claire. ‘If you get stuck—just ask. Don’t be shy. Things are always a bit hectic here, especially first thing in the morning, and I have to get ready for Dr Stellingworth’s ward round. But later on I’ll show you round properly.

‘Right then, let me introduce you to your patient.’

She walked swiftly to the second nearest bed to her office. A very thin, anxious-looking man, his face partially obscured by a green oxygen mask, lay gasping against a great heap of pillows.

‘Good morning, Mr Lucas,’ said Sister quietly, bending down to talk to him. ‘I’ve brought one of our new nurses along. This is Nurse Scott and she’s going to give you a bed bath. Then Dr Stellingworth will be coming to see you. All right?’

He gave her the glimmer of a smile. Claire gulped nervously. He looked terribly ill, and what was she supposed to do about his oxygen mask while she was washing his face?

As if sensing her hesitation, Sister Thompson said softly:

‘Don’t worry—Mr Lucas is able to do without his mask for short periods. I’d really liked to have stayed and helped you with him, but we’re so desperately short-staffed this week. Come with me and I’ll show you where we keep the bowls.’

Claire filled a plastic bowl with warm water and drew the curtains around the cubicle, as she had been taught by Mrs Haynes.

It was certainly easier to bath the life-sized plastic doll in the School of Nursing than a real person, she thought, as she gently patted her patient’s face dry. She sensed that Mr Lucas was too breathless to want to chat, so she went about her work gently and silently. She changed the water in the bowl several times, and when she had finished washing him Sister came in and helped change his pyjamas and make the bed.

‘I’d like you to go to coffee with Nurse Hunter when you’ve finished here,’ said Sister.

Claire nodded—she was dying for a cup of coffee, but already she felt twice as confident as she had done when she’d walked on to the ward that morning. She had given her first blanket bath and the patient had come through unscathed!

It was while she was finishing off Mr Lucas’s chin with the electric shaver that she heard a male voice echoing outside the cubicle.

‘Come on, Sister. I haven’t got time to dawdle while you fuss around powdering your nose!’

‘That’ll be the day,’ retorted Sister goodhumouredly, pulling back the curtain. ‘You can go to coffee now, Nurse Scott. Dr Stellingworth is waiting to examine Mr Lucas.’

Luke Hayward, standing by the notes trolley with his house officer, senior house officer and a whole clutch of medical students, heard the name and started involuntarily. Surely it couldn’t be the same Scott?

But then he saw her, coming out of the cubicle, looking like a sweet, seductive angel, her eyes sparkling like jewels and her cheeks pink from her exertions. A single red-gold curl lay on her cheek like a sculpture. She had done it—she had taken his advice!

Claire, carrying a basin full of soapy water, was mortified to see Luke Hayward standing there, surrounded by a crowd of other doctors, and her colour heightened even more.

She walked towards the sluice-room and you could have heard a pin drop. Then the silence was broken by Dr Stellingworth demanding, ‘Where’s the admitting houseman who wrote these appalling notes?’ He strode behind the curtains, followed by a terrified-looking young doctor.

Pulling his stethoscope out of his white coat, Luke watched out of the corner of his eye as she and another nurse collected their cloaks and left the ward. He’d seen literally thousands of girls in uniform over the years, but he had never seen anyone wear it quite like Claire.

Bill Dixon, his SHO, also stood there, his eyes frankly appraising. He made a soft sound. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘It looks like the décor of the ward has been a hundred per cent improved!’

‘I see that there’s been no peak flow reading done on Mr Lucas since the time of his admission,’ interrupted Luke coldly.

‘I’m sorry,’ the other replied, slightly taken aback. ‘I’ve done two, actually—it’s just that I haven’t written them in the notes yet.’

‘Really, Bill,’ said Luke sarcastically. ‘If you used just one quarter of the enthusiasm in your work that you display whenever a pretty nurse is around, then you’d be a far better doctor, in my opinion.’

Scowling, he pushed back the curtains to join the consultant and Bill Dixon was left standing there, feeling rather bewildered. It was not like his boss to be so snappy. They’d both often commented on good-looking nurses before. He raised his eyebrows at one of the medical students who had overheard the proceedings and grimaced, then began to write the peak flow results down.

Forcing himself to concentrate on a discussion with Dr Stellingworth about the various options open for treating Mr Lucas, Luke was himself surprised at his behaviour. Bill hadn’t acted so appallingly, had he? Of course he hadn’t. But he wanted to protect the girl from the men like Bill who would all be flocking round her like wasps round a jamjar. He felt responsible for her, that was all. If it hadn’t been for his suggestion, then she most probably would never have come here to St Anthony’s.

She was so heartbreakingly young—far too young for him. And far too young for every stag of a houseman to be pursuing her, he thought grimly.

Nevertheless, when the consultant’s round finished and they all adjourned to Sister’s office for coffee, he found himself loitering by the notice board until he found the nurses’ off-duty list and could see when she would be there next.

CHAPTER TWO

AND ALL Claire could think about as she and Anna pushed open the ward doors was that day on Primrose Hill . . . a cold sunny March morning which was to change her life.

She remembered deciding to travel to North London for a change—she wanted to pay a visit to a little shop she knew in Primrose Hill. It was in a small parade just yards from Regent’s Park Zoo and sold delicate antique lace and dresses. It was not far from the restaurant which Simon had taken her to a fortnight earlier, where she had seen the man with the enigmatic eyes, whose one brief glance had seemed to startle her out of her boredom and complacency.

Was that why she had come here today? Was she perhaps hoping to see him again? an inner voice asked her. But she told the voice to be quiet; London was a huge city and she would probably never see him again.

She took a bus all the way, and it was packed with people, but once beyond Marble Arch the crowds thinned away and she was able to sit and think in peace.

There had been a letter from her mother that morning, gaily telling her that she was planning an extended trip to America with her new husband.

Claire couldn’t help but give a small sigh. She had tried so hard to like Ian McGregor, tried for her mother’s sake as well as his. But she couldn’t shake off her initial impression that he was a poor replacement for her father. Perhaps it was fortuitous, then, that the new husband should have taken his wife to live in New Zealand, and that all three were to be spared the confirmation of an uneasy relationship.

The bus stopped and Claire stepped out on to the pavement just below the Hill itself. It was a perfect spring morning, with a sky the colour of a bird’s egg. Although the sun shone, the air was sharp and tangy and the first purple and white crocuses were beginning to peep out from beneath the bases of the trees.

She hoped that a shopping trip and a change of scene might dispel some of the niggling gloom which had recently threatened to envelop her. And yet there was no real reason for despondency—she was nineteen years old, a successful model earning a very creditable salary, with her own flat in the centre of London. What more could she possibly want?

She didn’t know, but she felt as though a better life could be within her reach, if only she knew how to go about grasping it.

Success had come to her early—she had been living on her own since she was sixteen, and she had had to learn to protect herself from the men who seemed hell-bent on seduction. She had been teased for being standoffish by the wine-swilling account executives and the braying immature city stockbrokers whom she met. But their wild, drunken parties had held not the slightest attraction for her—she preferred solitary evenings in front of the television to the forced jollity of the crowd’s ‘high jinks’.

She gave her shoulders a little shake, and mentally chided herself. It was pointless feeling sorry for herself—it was a glorious spring morning, she had a free day ahead of her, and she was going to jolly well make the most of it!

She spent an enjoyable hour looking through the racks of dresses, and eventually settled on a diaphanous creation in the palest of pink silk tulle. The skirt fell in many layers to just above the ankle and the top layer was edged with a delicate border of embroidered flowers.

It was far more than she had wanted to pay, but it was ages since she had bought anything, and besides, she felt like treating herself. She paid by cheque and, thanking the young owner, took her carrier bag and went outside.

She looked at her watch. It was getting on for midday. Maybe she should stroll on the Hill for a while and then look for somewhere to lunch.

As she opened the gates which led on to Primrose Hill, the first subtle wakenings of spring reminded her of her holiday in Greece, and her blood quickened slightly. She had stopped going to the clubs and parties which were simply a hot, smoky crush, and which she hadn’t been enjoying at all, and she felt much better for it.

Simon had been phoning her all week, but she had told him that she intended to live a quiet existence for the time being, and he had told her to ‘give him a bell’ when she felt like company again.

She had told her agent to lessen up on her bookings and had sent for several brochures from her local night school, thinking that she might take up painting. It might not completely solve her discontentment, she thought, but at least it might take her mind off it.

She walked briskly up to the summit of the hill, swinging her white and silver carrier bag as she did so. Her curls blew wildly around her head, the bright sunshine lighting them from behind so that they blazed red-gold, like a furnace.

When Claire reached the top of the hill, she stood there, breathing deeply and marvelling in the superb panoramic view across London. She could see the tall column of the Post Office Tower in the distance, and in the foreground the bizarre shrouded shape of the Zoo’s aviary.

She could see a man walking up towards her, not sticking to the path, but walking between the quaint little lamp-posts. He was moving rather oddly, she noticed. Even from a couple of hundred yards away, she could see that his face was red and glistening with sweat, and as she watched his gait became even more unsteady.

As he approached, she could hear the laboured sound of his breathing. He was pulling at his tie and then, to her absolute horror, she watched him fall to the ground, gasping, and clutching at his chest.

For a moment she remained frozen and immobile, and then she sprang into action. She had reached him in a few seconds, and she saw that his face was almost grey, and his lips tinged with blue.

‘Help me, please help me . . .’ The words died on his lips.

Claire looked around wildly. She saw a teenager on a bike, a dog running behind him.

‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Go and ring for an ambulance. Quickly!’

To her relief he didn’t hesitate, but sped down the hill at a breakneck pace.

Claire felt utterly, utterly helpless. She looked down at the man. At least he was still breathing, although with a horrible low, moaning sound which terrified her.

She didn’t have a clue what to do; she had never even done so much as a first aid course at school. She remembered that the man had been tugging at his collar, and so she undid the two top buttons and loosened it. He had a handkerchief in his top pocket, and she gently removed it and wiped away the sweat from his face.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked, taking his hand in hers.

‘Phillips—Alex Phillips,’ he whispered.

‘Well, try not to worry, Mr Phillips,’ she told him, with more confidence than she felt. ‘The ambulance will be here soon.’

He squeezed her hand gratefully and Claire sat there praying that the ambulance would get there soon.

She heard the siren from several streets away and then she saw the ambulance speeding towards them. It skidded to a halt outside the railings, the blue light on the roof spinning round and round like a propeller. She saw the young boy run up to the vehicle and point in her direction, and then the two ambulance men were pulling the stretcher from the back and running up the hill towards them.

When they reached her, one of them put two fingers on the man’s neck.

‘Weak pulse,’ he said briefly. ‘All right, miss, we’ll just get him on the stretcher now.’

Claire stood back as they gently rolled him on to the stretcher, releasing his hand as she did so. His eyes flickered open briefly and he looked up at her.

‘Stay with me,’ he muttered. ‘Please stay.’

She looked questioningly at them. One of them shrugged.

‘That’s OK. You can come, but you’ll have to step on it.’

Forgetting her shopping, she ran behind them, back down the hill. They carefully lifted the stretcher into the back of the ambulance and Claire joined one of the crew in the back, while the other ran round to the cab, jumped in and started the engine.

She watched as the ambulanceman attached a monitor to the man’s chest, and a thin luminous green light began to track across a small screen like a television.

‘Sinus rhythm—that’s good,’ he said, to no one in particular. ‘But ST elevation, though.’

He seemed to have forgotten who Claire was, he was speaking to her almost as though she were a nurse, although he might as well have been speaking in Greek, for all that she understood.

The man’s eyes flickered open again. He was middle-aged, but a slim, fit-looking middle-aged. She didn’t think that men like that had heart attacks. His thick hair was frosted with silver. It could have been her father lying there, she thought, then tried to block out the thought immediately.

He glanced over to where she sat on the edge of the opposite stretcher and gave her a weak smile. Claire smiled back as encouragingly as she could. Meanwhile the ambulance was tearing through the streets, only switching on the shrill, terrifying blare of the siren if they came to traffic jams or red lights.

Through the darkened glass at the back she could see that they were going up Haverstock Hill, and there, at last, on the right-hand side, was the entrance to the hospital.

They stopped by some double doors, where they seemed to have been expected, because they flew open immediately and two nurses and a doctor came running out to meet them.

The doctor leapt up the three steps in one, and Claire gave a small gasp. It was the man from the restaurant!

She saw the light of recognition in his eyes, and then he was turning to the patient, his fingers feeling for a pulse, his eyes glued to the small screen, watching the line of the monitor as it rhythmically rose and fell, looking to Claire’s untutored eye like a graph from one of the financial papers.

‘Any fibrillation or VT?’ he asked the ambulanceman.

‘None seen, Doctor.’

‘Good. Let’s get him inside as quickly as possible. Put him into cubicle four, will you?’

He stood aside to let the stretcher be lifted down, then turned to Claire.

‘Are you a relative?’ he asked, very gently.

‘No. He collapsed in front of me.’

‘I’d like to speak to you, after I’ve examined the patient. Can you stay for a little while?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was tremulous. ‘Yes, I can.’

‘Thanks,’ he said briefly, and jumped down from the vehicle and followed the stretcher.

One of the nurses showed Claire into a small, bare office, where she began to shake violently. The whole incident had been so shocking, and then to see him there!

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ asked the nurse, her voice concerned. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Would you like me to bring you a cup of tea?’

Claire nodded blankly, and thanked the nurse automatically as she came back with a cup and saucer, but it lay untouched on the desk as she sat there, hopelessly dazed.

Presently the door opened and he was standing there, looking down at her and smiling.

‘You!’ he said.

So he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t recognise her, she thought with relief. Instinctively, she felt that this man would always be honest with her.

Under his white coat she could see that he was wearing a checked cotton shirt and olive green cords. Again she was struck by the physical presence of him. He looked so alive, and strong and dependable.

He walked over to her and saw the tea-cup.

‘You haven’t touched your tea,’ he remarked.

Claire shook her head. ‘Will he . . . Will Mr Phillips be all right?’ she asked, her face chalky white.

‘Well, the next twenty-four hours will be crucial, but he’s in the best place possible,’ he answered noncommittally but kindly. He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Look, I can’t possibly let you go home in that condition, and I’d like you to tell me what happened. My SHO is putting a drip up on him just now. Let me take you over to the canteen—I need my lunch before this afternoon’s ward round, and I might be able to rustle you up a hot cup of tea. By the way, my name’s Luke Hayward.’

She looked up and gave him a watery smile. ‘Claire Scott,’ she said politely. ‘Thank you very much, I’d like that.’

She had never been in a hospital canteen before, and was slightly taken aback at the level of noise and activity which greeted her. Luke Hayward led her over to a small, quiet table, well away from the counter, and sat her down.

‘I’ll just go and find you some tea. Do you want any lunch?’

She shook her head.

While he joined the queue, she looked around at all the crowded tables. There were groups of chattering nurses, in a huge variety of different coloured uniform dresses and belts. Some sat with doctors. Other tables seated young women and men with short white coats, who Claire supposed must be the medical students.

Perhaps it was a naïve impression, she thought, but everyone looked so animated. She was used to spending lunch-breaks on a shoot with other models who sipped at mineral water, and filed their nails and looked bored.

Luke came back with a tray and placed a cup in front of her. For himself he unloaded an enormous plate full of food with masses of vegetables and potatoes, with fruit to follow. Claire’s eyes widened slightly. Surely he wasn’t going to eat all that! It was more the sort of meal you expected a labourer to eat. The men she usually mixed with picked at a chef’s salad and then consumed a bottle of wine!

Luke must have seen her expression, because his eyes twinkled.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, ‘I haven’t usually got quite such a gargantuan appetite, but I was called to coronary care first thing and missed breakfast, and only had a scratch supper last evening. Drink some of your tea now.’

She took a sip. It was the colour of treacle and tasted as though it were composed of treacle too, but she had never enjoyed a cup of tea so much.

Luke ate his meal quickly, like a man used to hurrying, then pushed his plate away and turned the full force of his grey-green eyes on her.

‘Feel better?’ he asked, and she nodded.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

She recited the events of earlier that day as succinctly as possible. ‘But I felt so useless,’ she told him. ‘So impotent, because I wasn’t able to help him in any way.’

‘And just what did you do, exactly?’ he questioned.

‘After I’d told that young boy to call for the ambulance, I loosened Mr Phillips’ collar, wiped his face and sat there holding his hand until help arrived. That’s all,’ she finished glumly.

‘Claire,’ he said, quite seriously, ‘if you’d been a State Registered Nurse, you couldn’t have done any more for him. You did all the right things, and by instinct. Most important of all, he knew that someone was there, caring for him.’

‘Did I? Did I really?’ She looked anxiously into his eyes, but she could only see the truth reflected there.

He nodded, and she drank the last mouthful of her tea, and gave him an enormous smile.

‘You didn’t look very happy at dinner the other evening,’ he observed. ‘Why was that?’

Claire looked at his strong, firm features, the broad set of his shoulders and the penetrating eyes. Suddenly she found herself telling him everything. Telling him about feelings which she hadn’t even acknowledged to herself. And about those she had—about her general dissatisfaction with her life, and her job as a model. And how most of the people she mixed with cared for nothing more than money, and image.

Luke let her talk and talk. She hadn’t spoken to anyone like that for years, not since her father had died. And all the time he listened intently, occasionally nodding.

Eventually she stopped and looked at him, a rueful smile on her lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, ‘I didn’t mean to place you in the role of father confessor over lunch!’

He ignored the joke and sat there studying her for a minute longer, noting her ice-blue sweater and the glossy abundance of copper curls which fell around her shoulders. Then he leaned over towards her and spoke very softly.

‘Claire,’ he said, ‘forgive me if this sounds like a ludicrous suggestion, but—have you ever thought of becoming a nurse?’

She had not known that he had stood there for almost five minutes on the top step of the main entrance, lost in thought as he watched the tail lights of her taxi disappear into the traffic, wondering what on earth had possessed him to make such a suggestion to her, advising her to come and train at St Anthony’s. He had seen her eyes light up eagerly and she had looked up at him like a little lost puppy.

Was it because she too came from a divorced home, a family in splinters? He had found all the commitment and unity a family provided from hospital life. Could it fulfil her in the same way?

Damn and blast, why the hell hadn’t he just asked her for a date?

Because she was too young. Because a girl like that was probably sick of being asked for a date by every man she met.

Luke had been a doctor long enough to realise that the fleeting gift of beauty was inconsequential without substance. Beneath the sophisticated veneer he had seen the silent appeal in Claire’s lonely eyes. She needed a friend, not a lover. But if she arrived as his protégée, it could make life difficult.

Still, was she really likely to give up modelling—to don a uniform and work all the hours that God sent, as a nurse? If the idea appealed for even half a day, it would be no more than the capricious whim of a very young and impressionable girl, soon to be forgotten when her tall boyfriend reappeared.

The slender young staff nurse from Casualty had appeared at Luke’s elbow, her brown eyes seductive beneath the pert blonde fringe.

‘Excuse me, Dr Hayward,’ she said, smiling, ‘but Switchboard says your bleep isn’t working, and the lab have some urgent results for you, and must speak to you personally.’

He nodded and re-entered the building, his hands deep in the pockets of his cords, his white coat flapping as he strode down the corridor in search of a phone, his ludicrous suggestion already forgotten.

CHAPTER THREE

SEEING Luke standing there outside the cubicle had made Claire’s heart start hammering loudly in her chest, and as she walked briskly alongside Anna Hunter she tried to behave as normally as she could—attempting, without much success, to subdue her rapid breathing.

His physical presence, as always, had sent her into a complete spin. She had known that he was a physician, and she had been assigned to a medical ward, so it was inevitable that their paths would cross sooner or later. She just hadn’t been prepared for it to happen on her first day on the wards, or for the sudden rise in her pulse rate.

Luke hadn’t spoken to her, but she couldn’t miss the fleeting look of amazement which had appeared in his eyes. She was certain that he had expected her to totally dismiss his suggestion that she become a nurse. He had probably forgotten all about her after that day.

And she wouldn’t have expected him to say ‘hello’. Even in the short time since she had been at St Anthony’s, she had realised just how rigidly stratified hospital life was.

They had been taught the rudiments of etiquette in class, and this morning Anna Hunter had reminded her that nurses did not call each other anything but ‘Nurse’ on the wards. Sister was always formally called just that, and senior doctors certainly did not pass the time of day with the most junior of student nurses in the middle of the consultant’s ward round! Claire sighed as she recalled how strong and how gorgeous Luke had appeared, standing next to the note-trolley, the thick golden-brown hair waving on to the collar of his white coat.

As she and Anna pushed open the swing doors into the canteen, Claire wondered if Luke was involved with the pale blonde girl she had seen him with in the restaurant. He might even be married.

The sharp pain which this thought produced made her pray fervently that he wasn’t. But he had been with three women that evening, and a good-looking man of his age was bound to be involved with someone.

Fortunately, her schedule for the next two days was frantically busy, and there certainly wouldn’t be time to spend mooning over Luke Hayward.

She was looking forward to this weekend off—when she started on the wards full-time next week a weekend off would become like gold-dust—probably only every fourth week. She must make the most of it, and she was looking forward to moving into her new flat. It was slightly smaller than her old one, but it was situated in the middle of an elegant square with a lovingly tended garden in the centre. And the view from her bedroom window was incredible—she could see the foot of the hill and beyond to the mysterious swathes of netting which formed the aviary at the Zoo, and in the distance, London’s buildings and skyscrapers, with the Post Office Tower standing tall and proud like a rocket.

She had elicited the help of both Mary Wells and Simon to help her move—the latter claiming that he could drive the more delicate items along himself, to save them being damaged in the furniture van. Claire had thanked him enthusiastically, but wondered just how many trips he would have to do, since his low, narrow sports car was fairly short on baggage space!

By midday, every piece of furniture and clothing which she possessed sat in packing cases in the middle of her new sitting-room, so that the place resembled a jumble sale!

They all three set to work with a will, and by six o’clock some kind of order had been imposed. Simon had bought her an enormous bunch of white lilies, and these she placed in a tall black vase in front of the big windows in the sitting-room.

Claire walked in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I’ve found the box with the teapot and cups,’ she said, looking around vaguely. ‘But I haven’t managed to locate any tea to put in them!’ She smiled apologetically.

Simon looked at his watch. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘The pubs are open. Why don’t I buy you both a drink?’

‘I’d love one,’ said Mary immediately, dimpling at Simon.

They all queued up to wash the grime from their hands and make their hair look presentable.

‘Simon spends more time looking in the mirror than we do!’ joked Mary in her down-to-earth way, and Simon grinned sheepishly.

It occurred to Claire that she had never seen him teased quite so relentlessly as Mary had teased him that afternoon, and she noted with some surprise that he actually seemed to enjoy it.

They walked down the road to a large pub on the corner. The last of the shops were shutting up for the night and the restaurants were preparing to open. There was a soft warmth in the air, with the promise of a hot day to follow. They were a companionable threesome, and linked arms until they reached the pub.

Simon went up to fetch the drinks and Claire and Mary found a table beneath a stained glass window, which sent pools of bright clear colour on to the dark polished wood of the table.

‘He’s gorgeous!’ whispered Mary enthusiastically. She looked anxiously at Claire. ‘You and he? Are you . . .?’

‘No, we’re not,’ interrupted Claire hurriedly, smiling at Mary’s embarrassment. ‘We’re—to use that awful phrase—just good friends.’

Simon carried three drinks of lager over from the bar and sat down. Claire sipped her drink and sat there quietly, watching as the other two tried to outdo each other with jokes about doctors!

She had never seen Simon so animated. His girlfriends had all been tall, fragile-looking fashion-plates, a complete contrast to Mary, sitting there happily in old jeans and a sweat-shirt. She was a petite girl with a glossy wing of raven hair, big grey eyes and a wide, sunny smile. One of her hobbies, it seemed, was gardening, and Claire listened in astonishment when Simon said that he had an allotment in Shepherd’s Bush.

‘You never told me that!’ exclaimed Claire.

‘You never asked me!’ he retorted, his eyes on Mary.

He invited them both for supper, but Claire said she was tired.

‘I’ve still got lots of sorting out at the flat to do, and I want to bone up—if you’ll excuse the pun—on the digestive system before I start on Belton on Monday.’

The other two didn’t look as though they minded her excuse one bit, she observed wryly.

‘Claire’s the class swot,’ said Mary. ‘She came top in the end of Block exams.’

Simon turned to her. ‘Did you really? That’s absolutely marvellous, Claire! I had no idea you were any good at exams.’ He sounded genuinely pleased for her.

‘Neither did I,’ she told them. ‘But I find I just love anatomy and physiology. Let’s just hope I can apply it to the practical side of nursing.’

She left them outside the pub and walked back up to the flat. Twinkling stars were faintly discernible in the sky. For one impetuous moment she almost felt like taking the longer route home, past the restaurant where she had first seen Luke, wondering if he ate there regularly. Then she scolded herself silently for thinking like a lovestruck little schoolgirl.

Lovestruck. An odd choice of word, she thought as she let herself in through her new front door.

But an accurate one.

On Monday morning she started on Belton full-time, and began to learn a little more about the daily routine of the ward.

Every second of every hour was taken up with something. Each one of the twenty-four patients had to be washed, fed and cared for, and this was the basic job of the nurses. The doctors were there to diagnose and prescribe treatment, and this treatment was then carried out by the nurses.

There might have been time to do everything were it not for a chronic shortage of staff, and the medical emergencies which could arise at any time. Claire quickly discovered that the entire staff for the morning shift could consist of Sister or staff nurse, a third-year and two very inexperienced first-years. Sometimes they were lucky enough to be sent ‘help’, but this invariably took the form of an auxiliary who didn’t know the ward properly and was not allowed to give out drugs or to do dressings.

Claire realised that she would have to learn to walk around the ward at the same breakneck pace as the other nurses, who seemed to be in perpetual motion, as though they were on roller skates.

Sister Thompson always tried to take the student nurses for half an hour’s teaching in the afternoon, when there was an overlap with the late shift. She was a fierce but tremendously kind woman, who expected only the very best from her nurses, and usually got it.

On Wednesday, Sister Thompson was on a late duty and so the report was given by Staff Nurse Lee, a young woman in her mid-twenties, who wore a shiny engagement ring on a chain around her neck, and managed to bring her fiancé into any conversation she could.

‘Hello, Nurse Scott,’ she said briefly, then bowed her neatly shorn head to look at the workbook. ‘I’ve put you with Nurse Hunter again. I’d like you both to make beds, please, and then help out with general baths. All right?’

‘Thank you, Staff,’ answered Claire politely, and went off to find Anna Hunter. She located her outside the linen cupboard where she was piling great heaps of newly laundered sheets, pillowcases and bedspreads. They started at the top end of the ward, stripping each bed in turn.

‘Haven’t seen you since last week. Did you have a good weekend?’ asked Anna, as she bundled a dirty sheet into the linen skip.

‘Yes, lovely, thank you,’ said Claire. ‘Did you?’

‘Awful! I was on a late on Saturday, followed by an early on Sunday. Old Staff Nurse Droopy-drawers was in a foul mood because she wanted to be with her beloved Nigel, choosing wallpaper. I’m shattered today. Still, I’ve got a long weekend coming up.’ Anna glanced at her fob watch. ‘Better get a move on—it’s Stellingworth’s grand round today.’

Claire’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the grand round mentioned. Perhaps she would see Luke. She worked quickly and efficiently, watching the more experienced third-year for any short cuts.

They were halfway down the ward when Claire recognised one of the patients. ‘Why, it’s Mr Lucas, isn’t it?’ she asked. What a difference five days could make—she could scarcely believe that it was the same man. He sat in a chair by the side of his bed, still slightly breathless, but needing no oxygen and with a vastly improved colour.

He nodded. ‘You’re the little nurse who washed me on me first day, ain’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ smiled Claire. It was the first time that a patient had ever called her Nurse, and it gave her a real feeling of pride.

After they had finished the beds, Anna helped Claire put an elderly patient in the bath. His limbs were rigid and he stared straight ahead, drooling a little from the left side of his mouth.

‘Mr Poole has had a bad stroke,’ Nurse Hunter explained. ‘But the physiotherapist likes us to keep him as mobile as possible. If you give him a quick bath, I’ll go and do the four-hourly temperatures and pulses, and be back in time to help you get him out and dressed.’

‘Thanks,’ said Claire, and squirted some bubble bath into the water. She gently began to wash the old man, pushing the flannel between his contracted fingers. Mrs Haynes had taught them that a patient should always be treated with the utmost respect and dignity, whether he appeared to understand what was going on or not. And so Claire began to chat to him, telling him her name and talking about the weather, and what was happening in the news that day.

Anna came back ten minutes later and helped Claire get him into pyjamas and back into his wheelchair.

‘Come and join me in the clinic-room when you’ve given him a drink. Oh, and don’t forget to write how much he takes on his fluid chart!’

Claire nodded and wheeled Mr Poole into the sunny day-room. She bent down to reposition his feet and was just getting up again when she heard footsteps approaching and, as she stood up, she turned and there was Luke behind her, his green-grey eyes scrutinising her.

‘You—again!’ He smiled at her. ‘Young Nurse Scott.’

He looked crumpled and rumpled and very slightly disreputable. His tie was loose and his chin was dark with five o’clock shadow. His eyes looked incredibly weary.

‘You look terrible,’ she said, without thinking.

His eyes crinkled at the corners at her frankness. No one had spoken to him like that for years, and normally he would never have tolerated a comment like this from such a junior nurse. But this girl was different.

‘I’ve been up all night,’ he explained briefly, and looked her up and down. ‘How are you? Are you enjoying it? You look very efficient in your uniform, I must say.’

She blushed. ‘Do I? I don’t feel very efficient, I can tell you! I’ve been given a pile of textbooks that seems as high as Mount Everest! I don’t think I’m ever going to learn it all.’ She looked at him, and her dazzling blue eyes were serious. ‘But I love it so far, really love it.’

She did too, Luke thought. She really looked happy—like a different girl. ‘It obviously wasn’t such a ludicrous suggestion after all, then?’ he asked.

Claire shook her head and smiled. ‘Only for about an hour! I rang the School of Nursing the next day and had an interview the following week. I managed to convince them I was serious about the idea! They took some convincing. They were able to offer me a cancellation and I had a place within the month, and—here I am!’

‘So I see.’ He couldn’t take his eyes off her. ‘I suppose they thought you were crazy, throwing up something like modelling for nursing?’

She nodded. ‘Everyone—my parents, my agent, even the Director of Nursing Education—was sceptical for a bit. They automatically assumed that I’d never be able to manage on a nurse’s salary.’

‘And can you?’

‘No,’ she joked. ‘It’s a diabolical pittance!’ And they both laughed.

‘I’d better go now,’ Claire said apologetically, tugging at her crisp white apron. ‘I must give Mr Poole a drink and Nurse Hunter will be waiting for me in the clinic-room.’

‘Yes, of course you must. I’ll see you soon.’ Luke gave her that heart-wrenching grin of his.

She smiled back at him and walked up the ward towards the kitchen.

So she was conscientious too. He hated the nurses who would stand around and chat and bat their eyelashes, while the needs of the patients went unanswered. Perhaps he’d known too many nurses like that in the past.

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