More Than Time
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS a typical April Fool’s Day joke, Lizzi thought disgustedly—and a sick joke at that.

Having caused havoc overnight, the unpredicted snow had now turned to slush, and a steady gentle rain was washing away the last traces. The white mantle that had fallen silently over the countryside on Sunday afternoon had had its fun. Now, on Monday morning, everyone was making their way to work, the mayhem forgotten.

As she turned into the hospital car park, Lizzi wondered what she would find on her ward as a result of the weather’s little games. No doubt orthopaedics would have come off worst, but there were bound to have been a fair smattering of internal injuries resulting from the inevitable car pile-ups. With a little frown she wondered how they would find room.

Her mind on her work, Lizzi turned sharply into a space and then gasped in disbelief as her obedient little car ignored her explicit directions and sailed gracefully into the side of the vehicle on her right.

As it ground to a halt, Lizzi sat stunned for a second and then wriggled out of the passenger side and walked reluctantly round to inspect the damage.

Ouch!’ she winced. Her front wing was scraped and the light cluster was cracked, but that wasn’t what was worrying her. It was what it had scraped itself on that made her heart miss a beat.

She walked round to the rear of the car and read the badges. ‘Daimler Double-Six. Damn. Wouldn’t you know?’ A further inspection revealed that under the layers of road dirt the car was the same dark forest green as her own, but, unlike hers, it was a mess inside and out, with crisp packets and apple cores scattered all over the back seat on the otherwise immaculate cream leather. Whoever owned it didn’t deserve to, she thought with a sniff, looking proudly at her well-kept Metro. She had bought it in August, and it was still in showroom condition—or it had been until a few minutes ago!

With a heavy sigh, she slid back into her car, worked her way across behind the wheel, and reversed carefully out of the space, slotting herself in again with rather more accuracy.

As she stepped out, her feet shot out from under her and she slithered awkwardly into a pile of slush. She muttered something distinctly unladylike under her breath.

Someone had obviously been here over the weekend and had recently cleared the snow off his or her vehicle, leaving it in a pile—the pile she had just happened to hit as she drove in.

Picking herself up, she brushed off her coat and, ignoring a twinge in her shoulder, reached inside the car for a notepad.

Then she looked for the staff permit on the windscreen.

Nothing.

Well, would you believe it? she thought. Seizing her pen, she wrote her telephone number, instructed the owner of the car to contact her that evening, and added a cryptic note to the effect that if the car had been in the visitors’ car park where it rightly belonged the accident wouldn’t have happened.

Shaking the crumbs out of an old sandwich bag, she slipped the note into it and tucked it under the Daimler’s windscreen wiper before locking her car and headed for the entrance.

She was too late now for a cup of coffee in the staff canteen, so she headed straight for her ward.

As she passed the entrance to the ward, she noticed almost absently that there were several new faces, and an obvious reshuffle of patients around the ward. She frowned. She liked her patients to get used to one station, keeping them there if possible at least for the duration of their convalescence, if not from immediately post-op. Too much change just confused them and slowed down their recovery, and that wasn’t to anyone’s advantage. She knew that the night sister agreed with her, so there must have been something fairly drastic going on to necessitate the changes.

She went into the staff cloakroom and hung up her coat, then rolled up her sleeves, straightening the white cuffs automatically. Glancing in the mirror, she frowned at the light mist of raindrops which clung to her blonde hair. A few fair strands had escaped and curled in damp tendrils round her neck, softening the severity of the look. She tucked them firmly back into the bun she wore at the nape of her neck, and pinned her lace cap on absently, her thoughts still on the patient reshuffle.

Her wide violet eyes troubled, her soft mouth set into a firm line, she strode briskly into the ward kitchen and came to an abrupt halt.

It seemed to be full of people, although on closer inspection there were only two. Still, they filled it. A tall man in theatre greens waved a coffee-pot at her and smiled wearily.

‘Hi. Coffee, Lizzi?’

‘Please, Oliver. I didn’t have time. What’s happened to you? You look as if you’ve been run over by a truck!’

‘God, you do wonders for a man’s ego, Sister!’

Lizzi snorted. ‘I’m not here to do wonders for your ego, Mr Henderson. You have a wife for that.’

‘Mmm. I’ll have to remind her—if I ever get the time!’ He waved the coffee at the other man. ‘Ross?’

Her eyes swivelled towards the stranger. He was tall, taller even than Oliver, and well made, neither gangly nor heavy. His coffee-cup seemed tiny in the long, strong fingers. His forearms were dusted with dark hair, and in the V of his green theatre tunic she could see crisp black curls edging the hollow of his throat. His lean hips were propped against the worktop, his feet, still in anti-static boots, crossed at the ankle.

Weary though he undoubtedly was, he exuded a sort of natural energy, a healthy coiled strength that hinted at youth and vigour, but that was misleading. His most startling feature was the mass of soft, thick silver hair which looked casually tousled—as if a woman had just run her hands through it, Lizzi mused, surprised at the untypical and highly personal direction of her thoughts. As she watched, he thrust it back off his face with those lean, hard fingers, rumpling it even further.

Then he lifted his head and their eyes met, and Lizzi blinked. Warm, gentle grey-green eyes, eyes that seemed to see straight through her façade. She suddenly felt totally exposed—and very vulnerable.

‘Sorry, you two haven’t met, have you? Lizzi, this is Ross Hamilton, our new consultant. Ross, Lizzi Lovejoy, our own personal whirlwind.’

‘Sister Lovejoy.’ Ross extended a hand, and Lizzi found her own engulfed in its warmth and strength.

‘Welcome to the madhouse, Mr Hamilton.’

One side of his mouth lifted in a wry, lop-sided grin that made him look years younger. She realised with a shock that he was, in fact, much younger than she had at first supposed. It was his silver hair that aged him, that and tiredness.

And he was, she saw, quite exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, and shadows, and the lines bracketing his mouth were harshly etched, as if he had been overworking for weeks—or even years.

As she took all this in, he turned to Oliver and refused another cup of coffee.

‘I want to go to ITU and see a couple of patients, then I really ought to try and get respectable before my outpatients clinic’

He ran his hand over his jaw, rasping against the stubble and, coincidentally and unexpectedly, Lizzi’s nerve-endings.

‘OK. I’ll catch up with you at lunch,’ Oliver replied.

‘Uh-huh.’ His voice was soft, deep and husky with a Scots burr that was strangely attractive.

He crossed the tiny kitchen in a stride, and Lizzi watched, transfixed, as he reached her. Tall as she was, he was so close that she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes.

A smile flickered around his full, firm lips. ‘I’m sorry to run away, but I’ve been in Theatre all night. I’ll come and see you later.’

Lizzi felt a rush of confusion. Why should he want to see her? She felt threatened, strangely excited. Close up she could see the rough stubble on his jaw, and he looked utterly disreputable and totally fascinating. A surge of adrenalin brought a flush to her cheeks and a pulse to life in her throat. Her lips moved soundlessly.

His brows twitched together, and he seemed to have difficulty dragging his eyes away from her lips. Unconsciously, the tip of her tongue came out to moisten them, and his eyes flicked up and tangled with hers for an endless moment.

‘Yes, later,’ she managed, almost normally.

‘Good.’ Still he stood there, as if he was waiting for something. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and then the smile which had been waiting sprang to life on his lips and touched his eyes with subtle humour. His big, strong hands came up and cupped her slender shoulders, and he moved her gently out of his way before brushing past.

Lizzi realised, belatedly, that she had been standing like a fool in the doorway, blocking his exit. She watched him walk away, his stride confident, unhurried, yet covering the ground at a good speed. So that was him, she thought, the much talked about James Kinross McKenzie Hamilton, BSc, MB, BCh, FRCS …

Oliver was watching her speculatively. ‘Coffee?’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and dragged her mind back into a professional gear. Ross was out of sight now.

She turned back to Oliver. ‘I take it you’ve been busy?’

‘Hell on wheels. That snow really screwed things up. I’ve been here since five o’clock yesterday afternoon, and Ross rang in at six to find out if we needed help.’

Lizzi took the coffee from him and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘That was good of him.’

Oliver nodded. ‘He’s a damn fine surgeon. We were lucky to get him. He’s been going flat out all night, and he’s only just finished moving in to his new house. I gather he’d been to Scotland over the weekend and just got back down yesterday afternoon before the snow started. He said he’d been running in his new car rather faster than was advisable!’

Lizzi frowned. She didn’t want to be reminded about cars just then. ‘So, what’s new on the ward?’

They gravitated back to her office, deep in conversation, and Lizzi found the night sister and the nurses on the early shift gathered for report.

‘Morning, all,’ she said cheerfully, and quickly pulled up a chair. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting; Mr Henderson was just filling me in on the new admissions.’

The night sister, Jean Hobbs, flicked open the Kardex, and went systematically through the patients. The additional information on the three new ones caught Lizzi’s attention.

The first, Roger Widlake, was a man in his forties who had suffered severe internal injuries, including a ruptured spleen, punctured lung and ruptured liver following an RTA. ‘No doubt he’ll drive more carefully in future if he lives long enough,’ Jean Hobbs commented.

‘Why isn’t he in ITU?’ Lizzi asked, horrified.

‘No room,’ Oliver put in. ‘They’re run off their feet. He’s in a side-ward—Hamilton operated on him. He’ll be back down later; he wants to talk to you about his care.’

So that was why he was coming back. Lizzi felt a little surge of disappointment. ‘How stable is he?’

The night sister shrugged. ‘Difficult to say. He’s only been down from Recovery for two hours. We’ll have to watch him like a hawk.’

Lizzi nodded. She would put Sarah, her best staff nurse, on to special him for the morning at least.

The next patient was a woman with similar but less severe problems. Jennifer Adams had sustained a ruptured bowel and a messy abdominal tear when her steering-wheel had snapped and penetrated her abdominal wall.

She was, Lizzi thought, extremely lucky to have got off as lightly as she had.

Oliver joined in again. ‘There was a minor abrasion on her left ureter, and her left ovary was also slightly bruised. Apart from that she’s fine, and came through surgery very well. She’s had two units of whole blood but she’s on saline now. Her worst problem will be scarring, I suspect. I’ve done my best, but she’ll probably need plastic surgery later.’

Lizzi nodded. She had seen these sorts of injuries before.

The third patient to catch her attention was a young man of twenty, Michael Holden, who had been thrown clear of his car and then run over by another vehicle, causing a whole range of internal injuries.

‘He should definitely be in ITU!’ Lizzi protested, mentally assigning herself the task of specialling him.

‘He will be,’ the sister replied. ‘They’ll take him as soon as they can clear a bed. They’ve got a head-injuries patient they’re hoping to transfer to Addenbrookes, and a spinal injuries case for Stoke Mande ville as soon as he’s stable enough. That should clear two beds. I would think they’ll take him then. Of course, if the bloody fool had been wearing a seatbelt——’ Jean Hobbs looked up and smiled. ‘That’s it, then. Over to you!’ She flipped the Kardex shut, stood up and stretched. ‘You’re welcome, let me tell you!’

Lizzi smiled grimly. The week had really got off to a flying start, she thought with disgust.

She sent Sarah Godwin off to relieve the night nurse with Roger Widlake, put her other staff nurse Lucy Hallett in charge of the ward and headed off with Oliver to see Jennifer Adams and Michael Holden.

Jennifer was feeling very sorry for herself and Oliver wrote her up for more powerful pain relief before leaving her and taking Lizzi into Michael Holden’s room.

His breathing was very light and harsh, and his face was pale and clammy—the bits that weren’t bruised and cut, at least.

‘How is he?’ Oliver asked the staff nurse sitting at the head of the bed.

‘His respiration’s very irregular, and he seems to be in pain. His pupils are still uneven and unresponsive, and he doesn’t react when you talk to him, but he’s very restless. We had to tie his hands down because he kept going for the drip.’

Oliver nodded and studied the chart for a moment, then the heart monitor. ‘It’ll be a miracle if he makes it. He’s a mess. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such massive internal injuries except in a post mortem.’

‘I’m surprised he hasn’t broken anything apart from a few ribs,’ Lizzi commented.

‘He probably has. The radiographer’s coming up to X-ray him again. There was so much blood mass obscuring the plates it was difficult to see, but his pelvis is a definite candidate. The orthopods will come and see him later if he hangs on long enough. I reckon the head of his left femur cracked the acetabulum as he landed, but we’ll see. He could also have a slight skull fracture.’ He glanced at his watch and gave a short, tired sigh. ‘I must get on. Will you be all right?’

Lizzi gave him a wry grin. ‘I’ll do my best. What about Roger Widlake?’

‘Ross will be down to talk to you about him before long, I expect. See you later.’

Lizzi scanned the charts, smiled at the nurse and told her she could go. ‘I’ll special him,’ she said. ‘Could you ask Lucy Hallett to come and see me in a minute?’

But it was Ross and not Lucy who opened the door a few minutes later. He walked over to Lizzi and stood close to her as he studied the chart.

‘How’s he doing?’

Lizzi shrugged. ‘Not well.’

Ross shook his head. ‘I doubt if he’ll make it. He’s so badly shocked, and he was under the anaesthetic for hours. Oliver and I were working on him together.’

Lifting up the edge of the bedclothes, Ross frowned at the drainage bag from the catheter.

‘His kidney’s been bleeding a bit.’

‘Kidney? Just one?’

‘We had to remove the left one. It was shot to bits.’

They watched dismally as a steady trickle of blood ran into the bag.

‘Damn.’

‘Will you have to open him up again?’

Ross shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He opened up the drip a little so that the whole blood ran faster, and checked his blood-pressure. ‘Pressure’s OK. I think we’ll just watch him closely. It may stop on its own. The last thing he needs is another anaesthetic. He’s got so much alcohol in his system that he really can’t take it. His system is depressed enough.’

‘He was drunk?’

‘As a skunk. The police are waiting to talk to him.’

As the old familiar rage swept over her, Lizzi lost all compassion. ‘Why the hell was he driving?’

‘Good question. He caused the accident, apparently. Ploughed into Jennifer Adams—it’s her husband in ITU with the head injuries, by the way—and then spun off and caught Roger Widlake and his wife broadside. She’s fortunately only slightly injured.’

‘Bastard,’ Lizzi whispered, it would serve him right if he died!’

Ross blinked. That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?’

‘It’s no more than he deserves!’ Lizzi said bitterly.

Just then there was a dramatic drop in blood-pressure, and the heart monitor registered a flat trace.

‘Here we go again,’ Ross said with a sigh, and rolled the man carefully on to his back, tipped back his head and breathed into his mouth while Lizzi automatically slid a board under his chest, then, locating his sternum, he crossed his hands and pumped steadily.

‘Get an airway in, Lizzi.’

Lizzi hit the alarm button, ripped open a Brook’s airway and inserted it carefully into the man’s mouth, forcing her professional side to take over from the unprecedented surge of emotion. Suddenly the room was full of people. Someone took over the air bag, attaching it to the airway and squeezing it steadily in the gaps between Ross’s rhythmic cardiac massage.

‘Do you want the defibrillator?’ someone asked.

‘No, he’s gone into asystole. He’s just given up—he may have a ruptured aneurism. We’ll have to keep him going if we can. If it isn’t that, he may pick up again.’ Ross snapped out instructions which had already been anticipated by the well-trained team. The atropine, calcium and adrenalin were already drawn up, and were injected into the giving set in the patient’s arm, as soon as they had been checked.

There was no response, and adrenalin injected directly into the heart was equally ineffective. The trace remained persistently, stubbornly flat.

After several more fruitless minutes, Ross straightened up with a sigh. There’s nothing more we can do. It must be his aorta—the PM will tell us. All right, thank you everybody.’

No one was surprised. The staff filtered out of the room, and left Lizzi and Ross alone with the dead man.

‘Probably just as well,’ Lizzi said flatly as she removed the airway and switched off the monitor.

‘Aye. Maybe.’ Ross sounded gruff, and Lizzi shot him a look.

‘Don’t you agree?’

‘Depends on your reasons for wishing him dead. If it’s to spare him any further suffering, then yes. If it’s just because he was young and irresponsible, I think it’s a bit extreme.’

Lizzi blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to over-react. I just—feel very strongly about drunk drivers.’

Ross straightened, and flashed her a weary grin. ‘Technically I agree with you, but I’d just spent several hours of my life struggling to save the young fool, and it’s hard to see it all thrown away. I like working miracles, and I don’t like to be cheated! But you’re right, the poor bloke’s better off dead. God knows what complications he would have had if he’d lived.’

Lizzi followed him out of the room. ‘What about relatives?’ she asked.

‘They hadn’t managed to contact any by the time they brought him down this morning, I don’t think.’

But they had. Lucy Hallett ducked her head out of the office door and smiled.

‘I’ve got Mr and Mrs Holden in here. They’re wondering about how Michael’s getting on.’

Ross and Lizzi exchanged glances, and he nodded.

Thanks, I’ll see to it. Perhaps you’d get him presentable?’ he murmured quietly to Lizzi.

Lucy frowned, and Lizzi shook her head slightly. Lucy’s mouth formed an ‘O’, and she came soundlessly out of the room as Ross went in and closed the door firmly behind him.

‘What happened?’

‘He arrested—probably as a result of a traumatic aneurism. Just as well. Mr Hamilton was about to have to take him down to Theatre to sort out his kidney again, because it was still bleeding. Did his parents realise how bad he was?’

Lucy gave a hollow little laugh. ‘I doubt it—I didn’t know, and they were getting their information from me. I was having difficulty holding them; they were almost determined to find him.’

Lizzi went back into Michael’s room and took down the drip, removed the catheter and tidied up the bed. No doubt his parents would want to see him now, and she did her best to disguise the damage. Just as she was about to leave the room, Ross appeared with Michael’s parents.

She left them to it. Telling relatives was a part of her job that she liked the least, and she wasn’t particularly good at it. She realised she was also feeling very angry with the dead man still, and probably wasn’t the best person to deal with his relatives anyway. Maybe it was cowardly of her, but she made her escape nevertheless and went to see how Sarah was doing with Roger Widlake.

He seemed to be holding his own much better than Michael had, and Lizzi went back to her office and contacted the mortuary technician, and then rang ITU to tell them that they now only needed one bed.

Shortly afterwards she saw Ross escorting the Holdens out, and she didn’t see him again until much later, by which time Roger Widlake was in ITU and her ward was her own again.

She was sitting in her office doing battle with the rota when he opened the door and popped his head round.

‘Can I come in?’

Of course.’ She straightened up and pushed the paperwork away from her. ‘What can I do for you?’

He grinned. ‘You could offer me a coffee and we could talk about Roger Widlake, in that order. I think I’m going to fall asleep otherwise!’

‘Mr Widlake’s been transferred to ITU,’ she told him.

‘Good. Then I’ll settle for the coffee!’

He dropped wearily into the chair opposite her desk and rubbed his hand over his face. He had shaved and changed into a suit, but he looked just as tired.

She smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can find. Have you had breakfast?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’d missed the chance by the time I’d dealt with the Holdens.’

Lizzi felt guilty. ‘I’m sorry I left you to cope with that. I should have done it so you could go and rest for a while.’

He gave her a weary, lop-sided smile. ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose you would have enjoyed it either, even though you think he got his just deserts.’

‘I-’ Lizzi’s mouth opened and closed, and she floundered to a halt. Was she really that vindictive? Was her judgement really so clouded that she couldn’t deal with the relatives of a patient because she had tried him and found him guilty?

Ross smiled understandingly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I had difficulty, too. It’s hard to explain that someone’s golden boy is not only dead but has caused havoc on the way. It was easier than I’d thought. His father asked straight out if he had been drinking, and I think his attitude was much the same as yours, but tempered by love. He’s a policeman.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh. Lizzi?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Coffee?’

‘Oh. Sure. Sorry.’

She left the room and went into the kitchen, making toast and fresh coffee. She found some butter and marmalade and laid a tray, and took it back into her office.

He was asleep, his head propped on his arms, sprawled across her rota. He had taken off his jacket, and his shirt pulled and eased with the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad shoulders. The sun gleamed on the soft, thick mass of silver hair, turning it to pale gold. It looked impossibly soft. Lizzi wondered how it would feel in her fingers. She felt a strange, primitive urge to nurture and protect—but not maternally. Oh, no. There was nothing maternal in her feelings, and she drew in her breath sharply.

She hadn’t felt like this for years, not since—not for years. She put the tray down with a tiny clatter, and he stirred and sat up.

‘Sorry.’ His voice was gruff, sleep-roughened. He ran his fingers through his hair and her fingers ached with jealousy. The elemental urge strengthened.

Grasping the coffee-cup, Lizzi filled it and set it down in front of him, her hands trembling slightly.

‘Black or white?’ Damn, why did her voice sound breathless?

‘Black, I think. Thank you.’

‘Toast?’ That was better. Her voice was her own again.

‘Lovely. Do you spoil all the doctors like this, or are you just taking pity on me?’

She blushed and busied herself with her own cup. He was right. Normally she would have sent them off to the canteen rather than let them raid the ward provisions. Sometimes when they were very rushed Oliver would grab a sandwich, but waiting on them? With a tray? What was she thinking about?

She knew perfectly well what she was thinking about, and she blushed again as he caught her eye. She struggled for a neutral topic.

‘Oliver told me you’d had a hectic weekend.’

He chuckled. ‘Is that what you call it? I picked the boys up from school in Norfolk on Friday and took them back to their mother in Edinburgh on Saturday, then back down yesterday.’

‘Your wife’s in Edinburgh?’ Lizzi asked, surprised—as much as anything at herself. She never, never asked personal questions—or answered them, come to that!

‘My ex-wife. Her husband’s a GP. She works part-time in the practice.’

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry——’

He waved the toast dismissively. That’s OK. It’s public knowledge. What about you?’

‘Me?’ Her voice rose, and she made an effort to bring it down. ‘What about me?’

His mouth curved appealingly. ‘Are you married? Engaged? Entangled?’

She swallowed, ‘I——’

The phone rang, its warble loud in the sudden silence.

‘Sister Lovejoy here. Oh, hello, Bron.’

As she dealt with the details of the new admission, Lizzi was aware of Ross’s eyes on her as he munched his way through the toast.

When she put the phone down, he asked the question again.

She stood up, straightening her skirt with a tug. ‘Mr Hamilton, I make it a point not to discuss my personal life or anybody else’s with anyone at work. I’m afraid I can’t see the relevance.’

She swept out of the room, collared the young houseman and instructed him to clerk the new admission coming up from A and E.

‘Acute appendix, man of twenty-four. We’ll put him in Bay One.’

For the next twenty minutes or so she supervised the admission of the new patient, training a student in the preparation of the charts and the taking of the first TPR and BP readings, the notice over the bed which read ‘Nil by Mouth’, the urine sample to be obtained if possible and the tests to be done on it, the checking of valuables and other possessions and so on down the endless list, while the houseman obtained the relevant medical information.

She had seen Oliver come on to the ward a few minutes earlier, and so she headed back to her office to find out whose list the patient would be put on. As she approached the door quietly in her soft-soled shoes, she heard Ross’s deep voice murmer a question, and then Oliver chuckled.

‘Lizzi? You’ve got to be joking! The junior staff call her the Ice Maiden—that or Sister Killjoy.’

‘She’s not that bad, surely?’

Oliver laughed again. ‘Save yourself the effort, Ross. You’d need a PhD in cryogenics to thaw our Lizzi. She doesn’t play—not ever, not with anyone!’

Ross laughed, soft and very masculine, and murmured something else that Lizzi couldn’t quite hear. She heard Oliver’s reply, though, and it chilled her.

‘Nobody knows. She wears a wedding-ring on a chain round her neck, but whether he’s dead or gone AWOL nobody knows. She may not even have been married. It could be her grandmother’s ring or something. She hasn’t ever mentioned anyone, though. Forget it, Ross. If it’s recreational sex you’re after, you need look no further than that young scrub nurse in Theatre with us last night—given a chance she’ll be all over you like a rash——’

Lizzi had had enough. She swept into the room, clicked the door shut behind her and glared at them both.

‘How dare you both discuss me behind my back? That is exactly the reason I tell no one anything! And as for your locker-room comments about recreational sex—what kind of a reputation do you think you’re giving the medical profession? You’re behaving like a couple of medical students! Now get out of my office so I can get some work done!’

As they stood up, looking severely chastened, Lizzi remembered the reason for her mission. Oliver, your wife has just admitted a patient for appendicectomy. Whose list is he going on?’

‘Mine. I came up to see him. Where is he?’

She glared at Oliver, her eyes furious. ‘In Bay One. Dr Haig is with him.’

‘Lizzi, I’m sorry——’

‘So you should be!’ She slapped the case file into his hands.

With a shrug, Oliver left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ross picked up his jacket and hooked it over his shoulder on one finger, running the other hand through his hair.

‘Lizzi, I’m sorry, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked him about you, but I was curious——’

‘How dare you pry into my life? It is private—I won’t be discussed like some tacky pin-up just to satisfy your idle curiosity!’

Lizzi realised that she was flushed, her fists clenched, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her anger got the better of her. Forcing her hands to relax, she struggled for control of her temper and met Ross’s eyes challengingly. His lips firmed, and his eyes flashed angrily for a second, and then another emotion flared, just as strong but somehow more shocking, and Lizzi had to turn away.

She held her breath as his almost silent footsteps took him to the door, then he paused.

Thank you for the toast and coffee. It’s a long time since a beautiful woman’s cooked my breakfast—and, for the record, my curiosity wasn’t idle. I had every intention of acting on it.’

He left her rooted to the spot, speechless.

CHAPTER TWO

LIZZI had forgotten about her bump in the car park. By the time she got back to her car at the end of the day, the relentless routine of the busy surgical unit had driven everything else out of her mind. Now, though, she was reminded that there could be a nasty confrontation ahead later that night, and she sighed.

The confrontation wouldn’t be improved, she realised, by the fact that the offending car had also been wheel-clamped by the ground staff. She was surprised that it was still here. She was torn between smug self-satisfaction and pity, but her urge to take the note off the windscreen was snookered by the fact that it was already missing.

Perhaps the owner had been back already and was now trying to find a porter to release the wheel-clamp? Anxious to avoid a physical battle with the seething driver, Lizzi made her escape and drove home.

The bungalow was silent, with the sort of silence that meant emptiness. Her mother was out—Lizzi remembered that it was her watercolour class that afternoon, and she always went back to her friend’s house for the evening afterwards. Lizzi would be alone all evening, and in her present mood it was probably for the best.

She felt restless, disorientated and unaccountably depressed. No, not unaccountably, she thought bitterly. Michael Holden, the irresponsible young drunk driver, was largely to blame. Did Ross really believe she thought he had got his just deserts? Was she really so hard? Or just too vulnerable? It didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do to change things.

Lizzi went along to her bedroom and undressed, pulling on clean jeans and a soft sweater the same colour as her eyes. As she sat at the dressing-table to brush out her hair, her eyes strayed to the photo in the silver frame propped up beside the mirror.

A young man with laughing eyes looked out at her, his carefree smile showing a row of even white teeth. One of the top ones was chipped slightly—Lizzi remembered how he had come back from a rugby match with a swollen lip and she had chided him gently while she put ice on it.

Suddenly her eyes filled and she picked up the photo and held it to her chest as the tears spilt down her cheeks.

‘Why did you leave me? I’m lonely now,’ she whispered. She bit her lip and fought down the sobs. ‘They call me the Ice Maiden, David. But I’m not really, am I? Why can’t they just leave me alone?’

She rested her cheek against the cold glass, and gradually the tears slowed and stopped.

She put the picture back, rubbing the tearstains off the glass with her sleeve as she did so, then she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and went into the kitchen to cook herself something light for supper.

There was nothing on television, and the book she picked up couldn’t hold her attention. She lit the gas fire to ward off the chill, and curled up on the settee with her feet tucked under her bottom. She felt cold inside, filled with a sort of dread that she couldn’t place. Was it because she was waiting for the phone call from the irate driver of the Daimler, or was it because tomorrow she had to go back and face Ross and Oliver after her fit of temper? However justified, her harsh words didn’t make for a happy ward.

With a deep sigh she wriggled further down the settee, propping her chin on her hand and staring into the hissing fire. Her mother wouldn’t be back for hours, and she really couldn’t justify going to bed at six-thirty!

Anyway, when her mother got back she would need help to prepare for bed, so there was no point.

Suddenly Lizzi realised just how blank and empty her life was. The reason she never talked about it at work was that there genuinely was nothing to talk about. By not talking about it, she was hiding that nothingness—from herself as well as her colleagues. True, she had her mother, and she was needed in her way, but all the normal things that people of her age took for granted were missing from her life. Her time was reasonably full, but her heart was empty. No man, no social life, no children—angrily she dashed aside the tears and stood up. No point in sitting moping.

She got out the vacuum cleaner and started attacking the carpets—anything rather than allow the wallowing self-pity that had been creeping up on her.

When she turned off the vacuum cleaner she realised that the phone was ringing, and she snatched it up just as the caller hung up.

Damn. Now the waiting would start all over again.

She put the vacuum cleaner away and dropped disconsolately back on to the settee. Forcing herself to submit to discipline, she picked up her book again and made herself read four pages before she went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

The ringing phone held her transfixed for a second or two, and then she lifted the receiver and gave the number automatically.

‘Lizzi? It’s Ross Hamilton.’

‘Ross!’ She was startled, her surprise showing in her voice. What on earth did he want? And another, more pressing question presented itself. ‘How did you get my number?’

He laughed, a low, mirthless chuckle. ‘Easy. You left it on my windscreen.’

She must be mad, she thought for the thousandth time. Surely they could have found a time and a place at the hospital to discuss this? Why had she suggested that he should come here? What if her mother came home early? She would never let Lizzi forget it! Oh, God!

She stomped around, bashing cushions and straightening pictures, tidying the already immaculately tidy bungalow until the doorbell rang, almost savage in the silence.

She practically leapt out of her skin, and then had to pause and steady herself before going to the door.

She wiped her hands on her jeans and smoothed them over her hair. Why was it so unruly? And why was she so thoroughly unsettled and agitated?

When she opened the door, Ross was standing in the porch, his hands thrust into the pockets of his duffle coat, a white sweater in stark contrast to the tanned skin of his throat. He looked disturbingly male, and Lizzi panicked into overdrive.

‘Come in. Ross, I’m sorry, the note was unnecessary, I wanted to take it off the windscreen but it was gone when I came out. Let me take your coat. Can I get you a drink? What would you like, tea or coffee, or something stronger? Come on through.’ God preserve me, I’m babbling like an imbecile! she thought, and bit her lips.

‘Lizzi.’ His voice behind her was full of quiet authority, and she stopped, her head bowed, and waited for the axe to fall. ‘Relax. I’m not angry with you.’

She spun round, her eyes wide with amazement. ‘But your lovely car——!’

He shrugged. ‘It can be mended—though how you managed to wreck all four panels on that side is a mystery to me. I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose, so we’ll just hand it over to the insurance companies and let them fight it out.’

‘How can you be so calm? I realised after I’d spoken to you—Oliver said something earlier—it’s brand new, isn’t it? You must be livid!’

He chuckled. ‘I vented most of my spleen in the porters’ lodge!’

‘Of course—your wheelclamp!’ Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the grin, but he saw it and glowered at her.

‘Gloating, Lizzi?’

She moved away from him, her amusement gone. ‘No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—it was just the irony—Ross, I——’

‘Lizzi?’ His voice was deep, gentle. He cupped her shoulders in his hands and drew her nearer towards him. ‘I was only teasing. Don’t be afraid of me.’

She looked up and met his eyes, then looked away again. ‘I’m not,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m just not used to inviting men back to my house. It threw me for a minute.’

She could feel his eyes on her, studying her thoughtfully.

‘Would you rather we did this another time? Perhaps at the hospital?’

‘That would be silly,’ she murmured. ‘Anyway, you’re here now.’

‘It needn’t take long, then I’ll go, if I’m making you uncomfortable. Is it because of this morning?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not really. I’m sorry about that, too. I haven’t really given you a very warm welcome to the hospital, what with one thing and another.’

He laughed. ‘At least it’s going to be memorable!’

She tried to smile, but failed. ‘We haven’t really got off to a good start, have we?’

‘No. No, we haven’t, and at least part of that is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Oliver——’

‘Then why did you?’ Her question was short, harsher than she had intended, but his reply was quiet, sincere, softly voiced.

‘Because I wanted to know about you. You seem so aloof, but I know you’re not. No one who can blush like you did is aloof—far less an ice maiden.’

She blushed again under his gently teasing regard, and eased out of his grip. ‘I’m not available, Ross. Not for—what was it Oliver called it? Recreational sex?’

He laughed softly. ‘He didn’t imply that you were—or that I was seriously in the market for anything so tasteless.’

Lizzi felt unaccountably relieved. ‘Was she?’

He frowned. ‘Was who what?’

‘The girl who was all over you like a rash—was she in the market for it?’

His face cleared, and his mouth lifted in the now familiar lop-sided smile. ‘I didn’t even notice, to be honest. Sorry to disappoint you.’

Her relief escalated to full-blooded optimism, and she treated him to a broad smile that lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.

Oh, I’m not disappointed,’ she assured him.

Ross’s smile widened. ‘Good. How about that coffee before we sort out this paperwork?’

Lizzi’s face dropped. She had forgotten why he was here, and she was carrying on like a lovesick teenager!

She led him into the kitchen and they made coffee and then, sitting at the kitchen table, exchanged information about the accident, both making all the necessary notes for the claim form.

Then when all the business was completed he pushed back his chair and stood up.

‘I’ll get out of your hair now.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to go! Have another coffee or something—I didn’t even ask if you’d eaten!’

He grinned. ‘I have, thank you, but if it won’t offend you I’ll take a rain check on the coffee. I’m dying to get to bed. Sunday morning seems a long time ago.’

Filled with remorse, Lizzi retreated into herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, ‘I’d forgotten you’d had such a dreadful night. Of course you must be exhausted. I don’t know what I was thinking about asking you to come here this evening.’

‘I’ll survive. Anyway, it was a good excuse to see where you live—another piece of the jigsaw that’s Lizzi Lovejoy. I intend to unravel you, you know!’

She followed him numbly to the door. She was feeling distinctly unravelled already!

He shrugged into his duffle coat and opened the door, then he turned and dropped a light kiss on her lips just as a car swept into the drive.

He raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

‘My mother,’ Lizzi explained, wondering how she would ever get away with that innocent kiss—not that it had felt innocent. Her lips were still tingling from the explosion of sensation that had occurred as his lips brushed hers, and she felt rocked off her feet. She just hoped her mother hadn’t seen, because she didn’t feel up to the lengthy evasions that would be necessary. In fact, she rather hoped he would go, but of course he couldn’t because his car was blocked in and she was stuck with him at least until her mother was over the threshold!

Td like to meet her,’ Ross murmured.

‘Good, because there’s no way we can avoid it,’ Lizzi muttered under her breath.

He had acute hearing, if the chuckle that came from him was to be relied on.

She glanced at him. Six foot three, and fit as a fiddle, even if he was tired.

‘Come on, then,’ she said, ‘you can make yourself useful getting her out of the car. She’s disabled.’

Ross walked with her to the car, where Lizzi performed the briefest of introductions, and Ross lifted her mother easily out into her wheelchair.

‘Don’t forget to think about it, Mary!’ the driver called.

Lizzi’s mother smiled mischievously. Oh, I will, dear. Good night, and thank you so much.’

They watched the car out of the drive, then Ross wheeled the chair easily to the door and over the slight step.

Thank you, dear,’ she said as the front door closed behind them again. ‘Now, who did you say you were?’

‘Ross Hamilton—I’m working with Lizzi at the hospital. I started today.’

‘How nice. I thought I hadn’t heard your name. Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Dr Hamilton.’

‘Mr, Mum. He’s a surgeon.’

‘How silly that is. Fancy going to all that trouble just to deny your qualifications!’

Ross laughed. ‘I quite agree, Mrs Lovejoy.’

There was sudden silence, then Lizzi’s mother looked at him quizzically. ‘I’m Mary Reed, actually. Lovejoy was Lizzi’s married name. It used to suit her, too.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, well, all water under the bridge. Stop glaring at me, darling. Why are we all congregating in the hall?’

‘Ross was just leaving. He had a busy night in Theatre.’

‘What a pity. Still, it’s lovely to meet you, Ross. I hope we’ll be seeing you again?’

‘I hope so too, Mrs Reed,’ Ross said with his lopsided smile.

‘It’s so nice that you and Lizzi have made friends so soon——’

‘This isn’t a social call, Mum,’ Lizzi cut in, her embarrassment running at full strength. ‘I hit his car this morning in the car park—we were just sorting out the insurance details.’

‘Oh, dear! What a shame—is it that very nice car on the drive?’

‘Yes—and it’s extremely new,’ Lizzi commented drily. ‘In fact, I couldn’t have targeted a worse thing to hit.’

He chuckled. ‘Let’s say your daughter’s car has unerring good taste, Mrs Reed.’ Lizzi opened the door, and he bade Mrs Reed goodnight and followed her squirming daughter out.

‘Well, Mrs Lovejoy,’ Ross murmured, ‘another piece in the puzzle. Will you tell me, or do I have to guess?’

‘I’m a widow,’ she said quietly.

‘And your husband was killed by a drunk driver.’

She gasped. ‘How did you know?’

His smile was full of compassion. ‘I didn’t, but it doesn’t take a great deal of intuition to guess. Was it long ago?’

‘Seven years.’

‘That’s when I got divorced. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and sometimes it seems forever. I expect you feel the same.’

‘You can hardly compare the two,’ she said stiffly.

‘Why?’

‘I hardly think that the grief of bereavement ranks in the same league as walking out on your wife.’

He snorted. ‘You’re prejudging me, Lizzi. My wife walked out on me, and took my two sons, aged six and four. I grieved, all right. I’ll grant you it’s not the same, but it’s pretty damn traumatic, nevertheless.’

But Lizzi was cornered, and she wasn’t in the mood to be conciliatory. ‘At least you know she’s still alive, walking around in the world. If you loved her, that would be enough—anyway, there’s no smoke,’ she muttered, and Ross sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

Oh, yes, I know she’s alive—alive and well and in another man’s bed. That takes some getting used to, Lizzi. I dare say I was at fault too, but no more than any other junior hospital doctor struggling to establish a career. At least your husband left you reluctantly, without destroying your belief in yourself as a lovable human being! Hell, I’m too tired for this. We’ll argue about it another time. Thank you for the coffee.’

With that he was gone, and she let herself back inside. Her legs were trembling slightly, and she felt shaken and upset.

It wasn’t improved by finding her mother waiting for her in the kitchen.

Lizzi sighed. Here we go, she thought. She wasn’t wrong.

‘What a charming man, Lizzi. He doesn’t seem the least bit cross with you.’

She snorted. ‘He is now.’

‘Oh, Lizzi, how have you upset him?’

‘He was prying about David. It serves him right.’

Her mother sighed. ‘I don’t know how you expect to find another man if you——’

‘I don’t want another man! I’m quite happy the way I am! Nobody suggests you should rush out and find yourself another husband, so why should I?’

‘Because, my dear, you’re twenty-nine years old and I am fifty-four. I’ve had my family, I’m confined to a wheelchair and I have very little to offer. You, on the other hand, are young, beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of you. You need a partner, Lizzi. You aren’t whole any more. You need the love of a good man to make you complete.’

Her heart gave a sudden thump. ‘You have an overactive imagination, Mum,’ Lizzi said, and changed the subject firmly. ‘What was it Jean told you to think about?’

‘Oh, nothing much,’ her mother replied airily, waving her slender hand. ‘Just a little trip we thought we might take—and don’t change the subject. We were talking abut Ross.’

‘No, we weren’t! You were trying to marry me off!’

‘Quite! Now, about Ross——’

‘No, Mother!’ Lizzi said firmly, and changed the subject again.

However, later that night, lying restlessly in bed, she raised her fingers to her lips and touched them lightly. How odd, she thought, that they should still tingle. An image of Ross sprang to mind, and a wave of heat washed over her body. Was her mother right? Did she need a man’s love? Then the heat drained away, insignificant in the aching emptiness. She’d had that love once, and lost it. Did she dare try again?

She thought again of Ross’s words. Did he really think he was unlovable? That was crazy. He was warm, generous, funny, professionally extremely competent and thorough, quick to anger but even quicker to forgive, as she had found out. All that, coupled with his striking good looks and lazy sensuality—no woman in her right mind could fail to love him, Lizzi thought, and then the heat washed over her again, leaving her trembling with fear and anticipation—and surprise.

Surely not? No! She couldn’t fall for him—she wouldn’t allow it! To expose herself to that terrible agony of loss all over again—no, it was out of the question. Anyway, it was probably just hormones. She would ignore him, she decided, and he would give up.

But what if he didn’t? What if he persisted in unravelling her, as he had put it? What would she do then? What she had done in the past—freeze him out. They gave up quickly, usually. Men hated rejection; it was bad for the ego. She didn’t want to hurt Ross, and for that reason it would be best to act immediately, before he felt he had a hope. Her mind made up, she turned over, punched the pillow into shape and fell instantly asleep.

It was another busy morning. Jennifer Adams had had a restless night and was in pain, and Oliver came up to see her and adjust her drugs.

‘Ross was in a towering paddy last night, by the way,’ he commented. ‘Seems someone wrapped his new car in the car park yesterday.’

Lizzi blushed, and he eyed her speculatively. ‘Was it you?’ She nodded, and he cleared his throat. She thought it sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh. ‘Have you seen him yet?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have, we sorted it out last night, but I’d be grateful if you didn’t spread it around.’

Trust me,’ he said with a wicked twinkle, and left the ward for Outpatients. As she turned round, Lizzi almost fell over Dan Haig, the houseman. He was smirking.

‘Haven’t you got anything to do?’ she snapped, and marched into her office.

Ross was thankfully absent, as it was his list that morning, and he was tucked away in Theatre, leaving her in peace.

At twelve Lucy Hallett came into the office and told her that Jennifer Adams wanted to talk to her. She made her way to the little side-ward, and perched on the edge of the chair beside the bed.

Jennifer was young, only twenty-three, and understandably frightened and unhappy. Her soft brown eyes were puzzled, and she was pale. She gripped Lizzi’s hand.

‘How’s Peter?’ she asked. ‘Nobody seems to know how he’s getting on. Someone told me he might be moved to Addenbrookes, but not why, and now I can’t seem to get any further information out of anyone. I have to know how he is!’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ Lizzi answered honestly. ‘I’ll do my best to find out.’

‘Why would they take him to Addenbrookes? That’s where they take the head injuries, isn’t it?’

Lizzi remembered that Jennifer’s husband had been the one in ITU the previous morning, who was to have been moved as soon as he was stabilised enough. ‘That’s right. I understand he did have head injuries, which is why they were moving him, but I have no idea of the extent of the injuries, or even if he’s been transferred yet. I’ll find out for you. And don’t worry, you’ll soon be feeling better and then you’ll be able to see him.’

She left the room and went back to her office, troubled. Why hadn’t the consultants told Mrs Adams about her husband’s condition? She flicked through the Kardex, but there was no relèvent note on it. She phoned ITU, and the sister there told her that Mr Adams hadn’t been transferred.

Oh, good. He must be less severe than at first thought, then?’ Lizzi speculated.

‘Unfortunately not. He’s too fragile to move. He had a massive depressed fracture and they did a craniotomy, but his intra-cranial pressure’s risen and he’s leaking CSF from his nose. We’re ice-packing him now to induce hypothermia—that might reduce it, but he’s been on the life-support since they admitted him. They’re about to repeat the brain-stem test, but I think it’s just a formality. He’s got no reflexes and his pupils are fixed. I’ll keep you posted.’

Lizzi thanked her and hung up. It was worse, far worse than she had anticipated. She went back to Jennifer, put on a bright face and smiled.

‘He’s still here, and they’re running some more tests. I’ll let you know the results as soon as we have them.’

She went up to lunch, and poked a salad around her plate for ten minutes before giving up and taking her coffee into the lounge. Ross was there, slouched in a chair with his feet on a table, laughing with Oliver and his wife Bron. They looked up and waved her over to them. There was a cluster of people around the bulletin board, and as she walked across the room she noticed nudging and giggling aimed in her direction.

Her brow twitched into a puzzled frown. ‘What’s that all about?’ she asked.

‘I take it you haven’t seen it yet, then?’ Bron said, trying to hide her smile.

‘Seen what?’

Ross hauled himself up the chair and grinned. ‘The cartoon. Some wise guy’s decided to lampoon us.’

‘Us?’ she squeaked. ‘What us?’

‘You and me.’

‘I didn’t know we were an us!’

His mouth quirked. ‘Give me time,’ he murmured, so quietly that only she heard. She blushed instantly, and he smiled knowingly.

‘So,’ she repeated, ‘what us?’

‘Go and look,’ Oliver suggested, grinning.

Just then there was a shout of laughter from the vicinity of the board, and a tall black man wove his way between the tables and dropped into a chair beside Lizzi.

‘Hello, Dr Marumba. Seen something funny?’

‘Oh, Lizzi, it’s a classic! I love it! The Ice Maiden and the Abominable Snowman!’ He slapped his leg and rocked with laughter.

She glanced up at the board again. The crowd around it had faded away, and she just had to know—excusing herself, she stood up and crossed the room quickly.

There, in the middle of all the notices about job vacancies, training courses and voluntary aid programmes, was a cartoon showing her little car squaring up to Ross’s Daimler. Both cars were growling and pawing the ground, and Lizzi and Ross were standing on the top of the cars like charioteers, she looking aloof and victorious, he unmistakable with his shock of white hair, standing with his feet apart, brandishing a huge sword, challenging her.

The caption read,

Ice Maiden Targets The Abominable Snowman—does this herald a new ice-age? As the Yeti brings Arctic conditions with him, so Bizzi Lizzi tackles the invader. Has Sister Killjoy met her match, or is she in her element? Watch this space for further developments in the Cold War!

‘Good, isn’t it?’

Lizzi jumped, and turned to glare at him. ‘Good? Ross, are you out of your mind?’

‘Not at all. You have to learn to take a joke. I like the symbolism!’

‘Symbolism?’

‘Of the sword. Impressive, isn’t it?’

She blushed furiously as his meaning sank in. ‘Don’t be absurd!’

He grinned that infuriating lop-sided grin. ‘I’m rather flattered, actually.’

She ignored him and, snatching the cartoon down from the board, she walked away, her cheeks still touched with fire. Abandoning the remains of her coffee, she stalked back to the ward, incensed with rage, and marched into her office.

Lucy Hallett was just jotting down a note. ‘Oh, Sister, I’m glad you’re back. ITU just rang. They got the results of the brain-stem test on Mr Adams, and he’s been certified brain dead. He had a massive intracerebral haemorrhage, apparently, as well as the fractures. They’ve turned off the machine. The neurologist’s just coming up to tell his wife.’

Her anger drained away, leaving a huge void in its place. She stared sightlessly out of the window, remembering another time, another place, another young woman whose life had been shattered …

‘Sister? Are you all right?’

She turned back to Lucy, her eyes wide, and pulled herself together visibly. Thank you, Staff. I’ll deal with it. Perhaps you and Staff Nurse Tucker could do the drugs?’

Lucy nodded and left, and Lizzi sank down at the desk. Oh, God. Poor Jennifer. Most people would be able to distance themselves from the tragedy, and most of the time Lizzi could, but this case—these people, she corrected herself, were just too close to home. She felt cold, so cold, as if icy fingers were clutching at her heart.

When the neurologist tapped on her door and came in, he found her busy working at her desk, her face outwardly calm—at least, Lizzi hoped she looked calm. Inside she was a seething mass of dread, but she was used to putting on a front, and today was no different from many others.

She got up and went with him, and watched his gentle but systematic destruction of the young woman’s life with as much distance as she could manage.

When Jennifer started to cry, he stood by helplessly waiting for Lizzi to comfort her, and eventually she did, moving mechanically to cradle the young woman against her taut chest while she thought vainly of sea breezes and long walks in the country, how she would reconcile the following week’s duty rota with everyone wanting Easter off, and whether she needed to go to the supermarket on her way home. There was also the nagging question of her car. It would need to go into the garage at some point for inspection by the insurance company’s assessor, prior to being repaired—good, her tears were subsiding. Lizzi eased away from her, smoothed her hair back from her face and smiled.

‘I’ll get you a cup of tea, and I’ll find a nurse to come and sit with you.’

She stood up, led the neurologist out of the room and went back to her office.

‘Does she really need a cup of tea?’ the neurologist asked with a quirk to his eyebrows.

She shrugged. ‘Universal panacea. They don’t often want it, but drinking it gives them something to do. Did you want something?’

He shook his head, raised one eyebrow at her rather curt dismissal and left.

She wanted to scream, to sob and rage and throw herself down and weep for hours, but it was impossible. After she had detailed a nurse to take Mrs Adams a cup of tea and sit with her, she did the next best thing and took some junior nurses round the ward for a teaching session. She was unreasonably hard on them, and several times they exchanged glances of commiseration with each other, but they all stuck it out and came away wiser.

Lizzi went into her office and closed the door. ignoring their comments behind her back. They all knew she was in a grotty mood, but of course they thought it was because of the cartoon. It would never occur to them that the cool, detached Sister Killjoy could possibly feel any emotion because someone had done something as everyday as die!

She heard her door open and shut, but she didn’t lift her head.

‘Hiding?’

The voice was soft, Scots and full of teasing good humour. She put down her pen with a sigh.

‘No, Mr Hamilton, I’m not hiding. I’m working, unlike some people. If you want to kill time, perhaps you’d find somewhere else to do it!’

Her glare wiped the grin off his face, and he dropped into the chair opposite and steepled his fingers, then lifting his head he gave her a level look.

‘I have very good reasons for being here, Sister Lovejoy,’ he said, with just the barest of emphasis. ‘It may have slipped your attention that you have six patients on your ward who were on my list this morning, and who are now in your care, but it hasn’t slipped mine. I’ve come to see how they are, and I wondered if you would care to come round with me. That is,’ he said with a heavy layer of sarcasm, ‘if it isn’t too inconvenient!’

Lizzi blushed under the implied rebuke. ‘It is never inconvenient. You’re welcome to come and see your patients at any hour of the day or night. I’ve finished what I was doing, anyway.’ Ages ago, she thought, but pushed back her chair and stood up and joined him at the door.

As they went round she watched him, conferring with the nurses specialing the post-op patients and examining the patients themselves, asking how they were feeling and giving them details of the operations and how they went; Lizzi thought again what a good doctor he was. He had that easy blend of charm and sincerity that put people immediately at ease, and he was never patronising.

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