Midwives on Call

January 2020

Midwives on Call:From Babies to Bride

February 2020

Midwives on Call:Stealing the Surgeon’s Heart

March 2020

Midwives on Call:Her Baby Surprise

April 2020

Midwives on Call:A Forever Family

About the Authors

ANNE FRASER always loved reading and never imagined that one day she would be writing for a living. She started life as a nurse and helpfully, for a writer of medical romances, is married to a hospital doctor! Anne and husband have lived and worked all over the world, including South Africa, Canada and Australia and many of their experiences as well as the settings find their way into her books. Anne lives in Glasgow with her husband and two children.

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on, because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor’, she has also written under the name Trisha David. She’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career teaching statistics. Finally, she’s figured what’s important and discovered the joys of baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time! Marion is an international award winning author.

FIONA LOWE is a RITA® and R*BY award-winning, author. Whether her contemporary books are set in outback Australia or in the USA, they feature small towns with big hearts and warm and likeable characters that make you fall in love. Sign up for her newsletter at bit.ly/1FmSvHN. All social media links are at fionalowe.com

Midwives on Call: Stealing the Surgeon’s Heart

Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife

Anne Fraser

The Surgeon’s Doorstep Baby

Marion Lennox

Unlocking Her Surgeon’s Heart

Fiona Lowe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90603-0

MIDWIVES ON CALL: STEALING THE SURGEON’S HEART

Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife © 2009 Harlequin Books S.A. The Surgeon’s Doorstep Baby © 2013 Marion Lennox Unlocking Her Surgeon’s Heart © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife

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

EPILOGUE

The Surgeon’s Doorstep Baby

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Unlocking Her Surgeon’s Heart

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Midwife

Anne Fraser

CHAPTER ONE

‘HAVE you seen him yet?’

Harriet Farrell had barely taken her jacket off before the question on everyone’s lips was directed at her.

‘I assume we’re talking about the new consultant,’ Harriet responded, rolling pale blue eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ve already had two of the late staff waylay me and tell me how divine he is. And, no,’ she added, turning to the mirror and pulling her straight, sandy red hair back into a ponytail. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘He’s divine,’ Charlotte, one of the grad nurses, sighed dreamily. ‘Spanish,’ she added, as if that information alone was enough to exalt him to sex-idol status.

‘Well, with a name like Ciro Delgato, even I’d managed to work that one out,’ Harriet responded with a dry note to her voice. ‘I just hope he’s good at his job. Have you seen how full the waiting room is? Unless Dr Divine is as good as his résumé attests, we could be in for a very long night.’

‘Oh, come on, Harriet, don’t be such a killjoy. Anyone would think you didn’t want to be here tonight.’ Susan, one of the more senior nurses on the night shift, grinned. ‘I’m as happily married as you are, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t appreciate a fine specimen when he comes along, particularly one with a dreamy accent! It certainly makes a night shift in Emergency go faster.’

‘Ah, but you’re not married to Drew Farrell, Susan,’ Charlotte teased, not noticing Harriet’s flaming cheeks as she rummaged in her bag for red and blue pens. ‘I, for one, wouldn’t want to leave my famous, good-looking husband alone in bed to do a Saturday night shift in this place, no matter how good-looking the new consultant was.’

It had been meant as a joke, Harriet knew that.

But even as she watched her colleagues head out for handover, even as she smiled and told them she’d be along in a few minutes, her throat was so thick with emotion she thought she might break down at any moment. Charlotte’s comment had been so inadvertently near the mark it felt as if Charlotte must have read her diary.

Not that Harriet kept one!

Sitting down on one of the rickety plastic chairs, she allowed herself the indulgence of a few moments alone, letting the bright smile that was so much her nature slip for a while.

And she should have a lot to smile about.

Married to Drew Farrell, living in a gorgeous house in an exclusive beach-side suburb in Sydney, attending A-list events draped in the latest fashions. It was easier to smile and say that life was great than open up to relative strangers and admit the truth, easier to just carry on pretending that she and Drew were the perfect, golden couple.

If only they knew the truth.

Burying her burning cheeks in her hands, she let out a low moan.

If only they knew that ‘happy’ was the last word she’d use to describe her marriage right now. If only they knew how hard it had been to paint on a smile and come to work tonight because they were desperately short of experienced staff. That just because she was married to a man whose name seemed to be on the tip of every thirteen-year-old’s lips, just because the man that adorned teenagers’ walls also shared her bed, it didn’t automatically mean that life was wonderful. Standing up, Harriet stared into the mirror, every freckle magnified somehow, her snub nose scarlet now from her short emotional lapse. Even though the tiny mirror stuck to the wall with Blu-tack didn’t reveal it, she could feel every lardy pound of overweight flesh digging into her waistband, could almost feel the incredulity behind the stares when Drew remembered to introduce her to his new friends. She could still hear the heavy silence that had resounded last night when she’d walked shy and uncertain down the stairs, draped from head to foot in a thousand-dollar dress, and the tiny beat of disappointment that had resonated. Drew’s eyes had told her that, despite the best designer, despite two months of mortgage money being spent on shoes, make-up and hair, she still hadn’t quite looked the part of a certain actor’s wife.

The look in Drew’s eyes had told her that she looked every bit the fat night nurse she was…

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ Harriet said it out loud, forcing herself out of her self-imposed misery. After all, hadn’t Drew been nice tonight? Hadn’t he made her a coffee when she’d put down the telephone and told him that she’d be working an extra shift? He’d even filled her a hot-water bottle when a griping stomach pain had hit around seven p.m. and she hadn’t been sure that she had been up to going in. He had tenderly rubbed her back and told her that she’d feel better soon.

He loved her.

She had to hold onto that—had to believe that the man she’d married, the man she’d believed in all these years, was still there under all the hype. That the dreams they’d built amounted to something.

‘Thanks for this!’ Judith Kerr, the senior nurse handing over the late shift, gave Harriet an attempt at a smile as she walked over. Having trained and worked in the military for a quarter of a century, Judith clearly couldn’t quite come to grips with the rather more relaxed attitudes in civilian nursing and seemed to have a permanent air of disbelief about her. ‘We’re just so short tonight, not on numbers…’ She gestured to the gathered crowd and didn’t even bother to lower her voice. ‘More on experience.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Charlotte moaned, but Judith was unfazed.

‘I’m here to run a department, not massage your tender egos. You might have read the textbooks, Charlotte, come top in all your assessments and exams, but until you’ve walked many miles in Emergency you need someone experienced to oversee the department. Now, Harriet might only have been here for a few months but she’s been doing the job for years and, like it or not, that’s what this place needs on a Saturday night! Especially when we’ve got a new doctor on.’

‘How is he?’ Harriet asked, far more interested in Judith’s professional assessment than the dreamy whispers she had heard in the locker room.

‘He seemed OK.’ Judith sucked in her breath, which effectively meant ‘but’.

‘He was working his way through the patients beautifully at first, I was hoping to have the place a bit more ordered for you, but he went into cubicle four about an hour ago and has barely moved since.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Nothing!’ Judith said, clearly exasperated. ‘There’s a young head injury that needed to be discharged but instead of getting on, he’s chatting away—even the patient’s mother is getting impatient and wanting to leave.’ Seeing Harriet frown, Judith explained further. ‘The young girl studies classical ballet. Apparently she’s really talented and, given that Dr Delgato has a “special interest” in sports medicine, he’s decided to give her the five-star treatment.’

‘Judith!’ Even though it was a mere word, a single syllable, Harriet knew without turning her head this must surely be the new consultant. ‘I would like to take some blood on this patient.’ His thick accent was as deep and delicious as promised, but as Harriet swung around she was mentally knocked sideways at the sheer impact of Ciro close up. For once, the girl talk in the locker room had been woefully inadequate. Sexy didn’t come close to describing him. Straight raven hair flopped over a divinely sculptured face, cheekbones razoring his haughty profile, but his delicious mocha-coloured eyes started to darken as Judith’s tongue sharpened.

‘That patient is a simple head injury who should have been discharged an hour ago,’ Judith barked. ‘You’re not working at the sports institute now, young man. If she wants specialist treatment just because she’s a ballerina, then a city emergency room isn’t the place to get it.’

You had to know her to love her.

Had to know that behind that rather rigid exterior beat a heart of solid gold.

And even if Harriet had only known Judith a few short months, she’d met many Judiths in her time. Women whose barks were far, far worse than their bites. Old-school nurses who thought anyone under the age of fifty were just babies who needed to be told.

But whatever mould Judith came from must have broken when it hit the Mediterranean because clearly no one had spoken to Ciro like that before. His brown eyes were almost bulging now, his expression utterly incensed, and Harriet almost felt herself bracing for an impact, half expected a tirade of Spanish expletives to fill the emergency corridor. But even if his voice was controlled when it came, even if his stance remained utterly composed, the force of his angry glare, the slight twist of his lips as the staccato words came out had even the formidable Judith withering a touch under his direct stare.

‘All my patients get special treatment, Sister. So do not even attempt to insinuate—’

‘I was merely pointing out—’ Judith attempted, but Ciro curtly shook his head.

‘Are you on duty in the morning?’ he demanded, waiting until Judith finally nodded.

‘Then you should be very grateful to me. Very grateful that you are not the sister in charge when a fifteen-year-old girl who was discharged from your department the previous night comes in either in a state of collapse or cardiac arrest! I will take care of this by myself.’ Stalking off, he left Judith, probably for the first time in her nursing career, standing open-mouthed and blushing.

Handover was rapid. Judith was unusually subdued and the rest of the day staff were no doubt keen to escape for the last few hours of Saturday night. When it was over Harriet took a few moments to allocate the staff beneath her, first asking if anyone had any preferences.

‘Resus,’ Charlotte immediately asked, and Harriet gave a small grin at her enthusiasm.

‘You can work in there, with Susan,’ Harriet agreed, keen to give the grad nurse the experience she needed, but ever mindful of staff-patient ratios. ‘But when it’s quiet, you’ll need to give a hand out in A bay.’

‘Louise.’ Harriet gave an apologetic grimace, knowing that most emergency nurses wanted to be in where the action was, not watching from a glass booth in the waiting room. ‘Do you mind covering Triage for the first part of the night? I’ll make sure that I rotate staff.’

‘Fine,’ Louise agreed with a not too thinly disguised sigh, which Harriet chose to ignore. As the senior nurse on duty she needed to be on the floor and needed to delegate the staff appropriately, and Triage was important. As the first port of call for patients it needed a perceptive, experienced nurse to assess the patients and categorise them. As much as most nurses hated being in there, it was one of the most important roles in a well-run emergency department and a leaf or two out of Judith’s book wouldn’t go amiss.

Judith!

After a quick check to make sure everything was in order, Harriet headed for the changing room and, sure enough, there Judith was, slowly emptying her locker, filling her wicker basket with her Thermos and sandwich container, her proud face not even looking over as Harriet slipped in quietly.

‘Judith?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I know you are,’ Harriet started, not quite sure how to broach this difficult, proud woman but knowing she was hurting. Knowing that, unlike the rest of the mob who had scampered off after handover to the pub or their families, Judith would be going home to an empty house and that the only part of the shift she would remember was the final part. ‘Look, in a couple of weeks you two will probably be friends,’ Harriet ventured, and Judith gave a tired nod.

‘Probably. Oh, Harriet, I didn’t mean to imply that he was giving her preferential treatment just because she was a dancer.’

‘No, you probably didn’t.’ Harriet gave a half-smile. ‘But that was what you said, Judith, and, given it’s his first shift in Emergency in this country and English isn’t his first language, and given that your sense of humour doesn’t come with a user manual, he’d be forgiven for thinking that you meant it.’

After the longest time Judith nodded, even managed a watery smile. ‘Should I apologise?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Harriet gave a far wider grin this time. ‘Never apologise to a doctor, Judith, you know that better than me.’

Heading back to the department, happy that Judith wasn’t if exactly cheered at least feeling a bit better, Harriet eyed the whiteboard, planning her next move. She wasn’t sure what reached her senses first, the deep voice or the heady scent of his aftershave, but for reasons she couldn’t even begin to fathom, every sense was on high alert as an all-too-familiar request met her ears.

‘Who is in charge?’

Harriet felt her confident introduction dissipate into a croak.

‘That would be me,’ she somehow managed, dragging her eyes upwards. Incredibly tall, he was easily a good few inches taller than Drew who stood at six-one, but there was nothing remotely slender about him. Ciro was an absolute brute of a man, impossibly wide shoulders, the short-sleeved theatre blues displaying muscular forearms, dusted with dark hairs. Even his hands, holding out a casualty card towards her, were somehow sexy—olive-skinned and long-fingered. Harriet immediately felt incredibly guilty for even noticing they were utterly devoid of a wedding ring.

‘The sister who was on before was very dismissive, but I am preocupado…’ Ciro hesitated. ‘Worried,’ he corrected, and even though she’d already guessed what he was alluding to she gave a small appreciative nod when he translated his word effectively. ‘Very worried and concerned about this patient.’

Grateful for something to concentrate on other than this divine specimen, she took the casualty card and skimmed through the notes written by the evening doctor Ciro had taken over from, cutting through the medical jargon in a moment and summing up the bare facts. ‘Alyssa Harrison, fifteen years old. Fell at a ballet rehearsal, lacerated scalp, sutured, neuro obs stable, ready for discharge. What’s concerning you, Doctor?’

‘A lot, I think.’ His voice was serious, and he gestured to an empty cubicle. ‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’

‘Of course!’ Harriet agreed, but nothing was that simple in Emergency. Before heading off, she flagged down a passing RN with the words, ‘I won’t be long,’ and, handing the drug keys to Susan, she added, ‘Dr Delgato wants a word in private.’

‘Lucky thing.’ Susan grinned. ‘Take as long as you need—I would.’

Thankfully the short walk allowed her blush to fade. No man had even come close to causing such a reaction in her and Harriet didn’t even need to glance at the ring that adorned her own finger to know that whatever she was feeling was inappropriate.

‘It would appear straightforward.’ Ciro wasted no time getting to the point. ‘Alyssa was seen and stitched before I arrived on duty—she had no neurological signs, etcetera, but the doctor who saw her suggested we keep her in for a few hours for head-injury observations, which have all been normal. Now her mother is very keen to get her home.’

‘But?’ Harriet asked, because clearly there was one.

‘I don’t think this young girl is well at all, I’m not happy to discharge her, yet she doesn’t want to get undressed for a full examination,’ Ciro said grimly.

‘A lot of fifteen-year-olds wouldn’t,’ Harriet ventured, ‘especially…’ Her voice trailed off, but in the interests of patient care she cleared her throat and boldly continued, ‘Well, you’re a young man, good-looking—’

‘I have taken that into consideration,’ Ciro broke in, apparently not remotely embarrassed by Harriet’s rather personal observation. ‘She is swathed in legwarmers and a cardigan. All I have managed is to roll up her sleeve, check her blood pressure and take a small look at her ankles while I checked her reflexes. That was enough for me to see that this girl is not just thin, but I would say anorexic and severely malnourished. Her ankles are swollen and oedematous, which would suggest severe malnutrition, and her arms are very thin. Now, usually you would have the parent helping, telling the child not to worry, that it is a doctor examining her and this needs to be done, but instead the mother is agreeing with the daughter when she says that she doesn’t want to get undressed and loudly insisting that any further investigations are unnecessary and that she wants to take her home.’

‘OK.’ Harriet chewed her bottom lip as she realised the possible gravity of the situation, listening intently as Ciro continued.

‘I took her pulse for a full five minutes and she is having arrhythmias. I suggested that we put her on a monitor and do an ECG and some bloods, but the mother again refused. She said that she would take her to the family doctor tomorrow. It is my belief that the mother knows her daughter is grossly underweight, knows that if she is examined properly she will be kept in hospital, and is trying to avoid it.’

‘Have you managed to speak to Alyssa alone?’

‘No.’ Ciro shrugged, his shoulders moving just a fraction. ‘Sister…’

‘Harriet,’ she corrected automatically.

‘Harriet, I do not overreact.’ He stared unblinkingly at her. ‘I do not make problems when there are none. I have asked for the most senior nurse to come with me, as I am going to attempt again to examine Alyssa properly, and if the mother again refuses then I am going to have to get…’ Again he paused, again Harriet guessed he was trying to find the right word—only this time she attempted to help him.

‘Heavy?’ Harriet suggested, and from his slightly bemused expression clearly that wasn’t the word he’d been searching for!

‘If the mother doesn’t comply, then the polite requests and friendly small talk ends and I will call the mother into the interview room and tell her that unless the daughter is examined and treated properly tonight, not only will I be consulting with the paediatrician but also the Department of Community Services, because, although it may be unusual circumstances, Alyssa is at risk.’

‘You’ll get heavy!’ Harriet summed up for him with a smile.

‘Very!’ Briefly he smiled back as the alternative meaning of the word dawned on him, but it faded quickly, his voice slightly urgent when he spoke. ‘Harriet, this is not good.’

She believed him.

Despite the fact she hadn’t even observed him with a patient, had only known him for a few moments, Harriet knew, as nurses just did, that this was a voice of experience talking, knew to go along with his hunch in the knowledge it would be reciprocated; that one day when it was Harriet that was concerned, that when everything on paper told her that the patient was fine, she’d be able to turn to him and tell him that today or tonight or whenever the time came to follow a hunch, she was worried about a patient.

And he would listen.

‘Let’s go and get Alyssa examined and speak with Mrs Harrison, shall we?’

‘Are you OK, Harriet?’ He was still frowning. ‘You look a bit…flushed.’

She felt a bit flushed, only, unlike earlier, it had nothing to do with six feet four of Mediterranean hunk and everything to do with her stomach pain which, despite a hot-water bottle and some painkillers, was still making itself known, but she certainly wasn’t about to tell Ciro that.

‘I’m fine.’ Harriet shook her head dismissively, walking briskly towards the cubicles, ignoring the griping pain in her stomach and mentally preparing for the potentially unpleasant task ahead.

But Ciro clearly hadn’t quite finished. One hand caught her arm as she went to go, those observant eyes staring down at her, narrowing slightly as he took in the pale lips in her flushed face and the tiny grimace of pain as she swung around to face him.

‘You are unwell.’ His statement was delivered as fact, his eyes holding hers as Harriet’s mind raced for some witty response, desperate to shrug off his attention. Sympathy was the very last thing she wanted or needed right now if she was going to get through the night but, given that she had no choice but to get through the night, Harriet decided to swallow her pride and ask this relative stranger for a bit of help.

‘I’m feeling a bit nauseous,’ she admitted. ‘Would you mind writing a script for some Maxalon for me?’ She watched as his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I don’t usually ask things like this, anyone will tell you that, if I could just have something to get rid of the nausea…’

‘Fine.’ He gave a short smile and Harriet gave a relieved one. ‘After I’ve examined you.’

‘Examined me?’ Horrified, her mouth dropped open. ‘I just asked you to write me up for two anti-emetics, Dr Delgato. Most doctors—’

‘Are you saying that doctors here are prepared to prescribe drugs without examining their patients?’ Ciro questioned, his frown deepening.

‘I’m not your patient, Dr Delgato,’ Harriet pointed out. ‘I’m your colleague.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Ciro answered in the same tight vein, ‘the answer is no.’

‘Then we’d better get on with our work,’ she responded tersely, reclaiming her arm from his grip and walking towards the cubicle more determinedly now. ‘If you can give me a couple of minutes alone with her before you come in, I’ll see if I can get Alyssa undressed so that you can examine her.’

‘You won’t get anywhere with the mother,’ Ciro warned.

‘Just watch me.’

Smiling, Harriet breezed into the cubicle, introducing herself to the patient who lay on the trolley. As Ciro had said, she was swathed in legwarmers and a thick cardigan. Her dark hair was drawn back in a small bun and gorgeous velvet-brown eyes, huge in her face, were blinking in confusion as Harriet produced a gown. Without pausing for breath, as if the entire conversation with Ciro hadn’t happened, as if she had no idea that the mother and patient were resisting treatment, Harriet explained in clear terms what was going to happen.

‘Mrs Harrison.’ Smile still in place, Harriet faced the well-groomed, heavily made-up woman. ‘We’re concerned that Alyssa’s heartbeat is rather irregular at times, so I’m just going to pop her into one of our gowns and then the doctor can examine her properly.’

‘No!’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was firm, her bracelets jangling as she went to grab at the gown, rouged lips furious, but Harriet’s smile remained intact. ‘I’ve already been through all this. I want to take my daughter home.’

‘Of course you do,’ Harriet replied sweetly, ‘but it really is imperative that Alyssa be examined thoroughly. Hopefully it’s nothing serious, but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, Mrs Harrison, we can’t just ignore an irregular heartbeat.’

‘As I’ve explained,’ Mrs Harrison snarled, ‘on several occasions, I’d rather my daughter was seen by our family doctor. I’ll take her there first thing tomorrow—’

‘This can’t wait till tomorrow.’ Harriet’s smile was still intact, but the slightly dizzy air to her tone had gone. Her voice was firm, holding the woman’s gaze as she spoke. ‘Your daughter has a cardiac arrhythmia.’ Still she stared directly at Mrs Harrison. ‘It has to be dealt with tonight. I’m going to get Alyssa into a gown and put her onto one of our monitors so we can keep a closer eye on her.’

And something in her unequivocal stance, something in her voice, must have told the woman that this was non-negotiable, and even though Harriet would never have forced Alyssa to undress, she demanded the mother’s co-operation, told her with her eyes that this had to be confronted. Finally, after the longest time, she felt an inward sigh of relief as Mrs Harrison gave a tiny reluctant nod and turned to her daughter.

‘Listen to the sister, Alyssa.’

‘Harriet,’ she offered, her smile softer now, her eyes kind as she approached the young girl. If Alyssa was, as Ciro suspected, suffering from anorexia nervosa then being undressed and exposed would be traumatic for her, and Harriet was determined to make the entire procedure as gentle and as unintrusive as possible, covering the young girl with a blanket as she helped her out of her clothes. Harriet had to keep her own emotions firmly in check as she briefly witnessed the stick-thin limbs. She talked in gentle soothing tones as she gently leant her patient forward to tie up the gown and even though there hadn’t been much room for doubt, any that might have lingered was quashed as she saw the length of Alyssa’s spinal column, vertebrae protruding, dry, flaky skin hanging off. Glancing up at Mrs Harrison, Harriet saw a flash of shock on the woman’s face but she didn’t comment.

Now wasn’t the time.

‘Well done,’ Harriet reassured the girl. ‘Now, these sticky things just go onto your chest, and it lets us keep an eye on your heartbeat.’ Placing the dots and leads on Alyssa’s frail chest, Harriet quickly covered her back up, before turning on the cardiac monitor. As Ciro made his way in he gave Harriet a brief appreciative nod when he saw that the family was now being more co-operative.

‘Alyssa, Mrs Harrison.’ Ciro smiled warmly. ‘I know you are both keen to go home, but first we need to ensure that Alyssa is well enough. Now, I know you’ve already been through this, but, given the doctor that first treated you has gone home now, can you tell me again what happened this evening when you cut your head?’

‘I was at rehearsal—we’ve got the first performance next Saturday.’ It was the first time Harriet had heard Alyssa speak, her voice, small and breathless, almost drowned out by the busy background noise of the emergency department.

‘She’s the lead,’ Mrs Harrison explained. ‘That’s why I want to get her home. She needs her sleep so she can practise tomorrow. It’s a very demanding role—’

‘Alyssa,’ Ciro broke in, ‘why did you fall?’

‘She landed awkwardly…’ Mrs Harrison started, but her voice trailed away as Ciro and Harriet both looked at Alyssa for the answer.

‘I was halfway through my routine and I just got a bit dizzy. It only lasted a second, but I was in the middle of a jump, so I fell awkwardly.’

‘How often do you get dizzy?’ Ciro asked, and Harriet could only admire his questioning, assuming, as was probably rightly so, that this was probably fairly normal for Alyssa.

‘A bit…’ She gave a tiny shrug.

‘OK.’ Ciro nodded. ‘Alyssa, I’m going to examine you, it’s nothing to worry about, and then I’m going to take some blood from you. Harriet has put you onto one of our heart monitors so that we can see what your heartbeat is doing and maybe find out why you’ve been getting dizzy.’

Infinitely reassuring, still he was commanding, his voice firm but somehow soothing. His hands were gentle as he first pulled down Alyssa’s lower eyelids, examining the conjunctiva, then her hands and nail beds. Lifting the blanket and checking her reflexes, his middle finger probed the swollen ankles that looked out of place on such thin legs.

‘You have some fluid retention. Does this happen often?’

‘Sometimes,’ Alyssa answered, ‘but Mum gives me—’

‘Just some vitamins,’ Mrs Harrison said quickly. ‘I get them at the chemist.’

‘OK.’ Ciro didn’t push for any further details, acted as if the information barely merited a comment, but Harriet knew, just knew, it had been noted, but that for now he was focussed on the important task of gaining Alyssa’s trust.

He listened to her chest, warming the stethoscope in his palms first, all the while keeping as much of Alyssa covered as possible. When he’d finished listening he probed her abdomen for a moment before replacing the blanket.

‘Thank you, Alyssa. I know that wasn’t pleasant for you, but it was necessary. I’m going to take some blood now. I’m going to insert a small cannula and leave it there, but from that I can take blood, and if we need to give you any fluids or medication we can do it all through there, so at least you’ll only get one needle. I’ll try not to hurt you.’

He didn’t. Slipping the needle in neatly, he collected several vials of blood before unclipping the tourniquet and flushing the bung to keep it patent with the heparin flush Harriet had pulled up. Only when the blood had been taken, when the IV was in and Alyssa attached to a monitor did he approach the most difficult part of the whole subject. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Would you get the scales?’ Ciro asked Harriet.

‘Alyssa knows her weight,’ Harriet responded without looking up at him, keeping her eyes on Alyssa. It would be easy to go and get the scales, but Harriet also knew that the delay and interruption could ruin the relatively compliant mood that they had somehow managed to foster, and it would be far better to forge ahead while the going was good. So instead she broached her patient, knowing, somehow knowing, this was what Ciro wanted her to do. Effective interview skills in Emergency required as much teamwork and synchrony as a surgeon and scrub nurse required, and with some doctors it took for ever—if ever—to perfect, yet with Ciro they fell into it easily, Harriet handing him the metaphoric scalpel without him needing to ask for it. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘Forty kilos.’ When still Harriet held her gaze, she answered again. ‘Thirty-eight and a half.’

Deliberately Harriet didn’t flinch and she was thankful that, when Ciro spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact.

‘We’ll need to check it before we give any medication,’ he said, more to Harriet, ‘but whatever way you look at it, this is very underweight.’

‘She’s a ballet dancer.’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was terse. ‘She has to watch her weight.’

‘Of course.’ Ciro nodded, smiling at the agitated woman. ‘But Alyssa is extremely underweight. I’m going to run some tests and then I’ll ask one of my colleagues to come down.’

‘And how long is that going to take?’

‘It might take a while,’ Ciro admitted, ‘but I will tell you that it is my belief that Alyssa needs to be admitted—’

‘No!’ Furiously Mrs Harrison shook her head. ‘This can all wait.’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Ciro shook his head. ‘Look, I understand—’

‘No, Doctor, clearly you don’t!’ Mrs Harrison angrily interrupted. ‘My daughter is dancing next week in a role that could see her getting into the most elite dancing school in Australia. She has to rehearse, she has to—’

‘Perhaps we could talk outside,’ Harriet suggested, anxious to move what could be a very emotional discussion well away from Alyssa’s bedside, but Mrs Harrison wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Perhaps we can’t!’ she smartly retorted, and Harriet knew that for now the conversation was over. ‘I’ll wait for those blood results, and then I’m taking my daughter home.’

‘Thank you for your help in there.’ Ciro caught up with Harriet at the nurses’ station as Harriet attempted to put to paper what had just taken place, knowing that a detailed record, though always required, was especially important in cases such as this, so that the staff that were involved later knew exactly what had been broached and what the response had been. ‘You were very good with Alyssa, the mother, too. It looked as if you actually knew what you were doing.’ He smiled as she frowned. ‘That came out wrong, forgive me. What I am trying to say is that you—’

‘I worked on an adolescent psychiatric unit when I did my training,’ Harriet explained, realising that no offence had been meant. ‘I really enjoyed it. For a while there I even thought of…’ Her voice trailed off, long-forgotten dreams briefly surfacing as she remembered the thrill of excitement at being accepted to study psychology and the thud of disappointment when her fledgling plans had been effectively doused. A part-time nursing wage, while she’d studied at uni, had been nowhere near enough to cover a very part-time actor, whose dreams had always somehow been more important than her own. But this was neither the time nor place for what could have been and, quashing memories, she concentrated instead on the matter in hand. ‘Mrs Harrison was shocked when she first saw Alyssa undressed,’ Harriet said. ‘I don’t think she knew, until then, just how thin her daughter was.’

‘Because she doesn’t want to know,’ Ciro responded. ‘At least, not until the concert is over and Alyssa has her scholarship. She wants her daughter to get into this dance school—that is her sole focus.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh.’ Harriet frowned, but Ciro stood unmoved.

‘I have worked with many athletes, and with their parents, too. Believe me, Mrs Harrison doesn’t want to hear anything that might compromise her daughter’s chances of performing next week, whatever the cost.’

His arrogant assumption annoyed her, and Harriet let it show, her forehead puckering into a frown, her mouth opening to speak, but Ciro got there first.

‘I don’t want them to leave the department.’

‘We can’t force them to stay—’ Harriet started, but Ciro halted her with a stern gaze, his voice clipped when he spoke.

‘I was not exaggerating earlier, Harriet. I will call Community Services if I have to. If Alyssa goes home, I can guarantee she will be back at the bar first thing tomorrow, rehearsing for her performance. And, from my clinical examination, it is my belief that that child is in danger of collapse and possibly sudden death if she exerts herself.

‘So, I repeat—I do not want her leaving this department!’

As Ciro called over the porter and handed him the bloods to take directly to Pathology, Harriet stood stock-still at the desk, pen poised over the notes she was writing, her eyes shuttered for a moment. It wasn’t Ciro’s ominous warning that caused her eyes to close in horror, but the use of the word ‘child’.

They were talking about a fifteen-year-old child, and she mustn’t lose sight of that fact. It was their duty to protect her, especially if Ciro’s educated hunch proved to be correct.

‘What was all that about?’ Charlotte nudged her, putting a massive pile of drug charts in front of Harriet that needed to be checked.

‘The patient in cubicle four,’ Harriet murmured, her mind ticking over. ‘Alyssa Harrison…’

‘The head injury that’s here with her mother?’ Charlotte checked. ‘I thought she was being discharged.’

‘Not any more. Ciro doesn’t want her to leave the department. I’m going to ask Security to keep an eye on them.’

‘But what if the mother wants to take her?’

‘Then a simple head injury will become incredibly complicated.’ Harriet gave a thin smile. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For now just keep an eye open and let me know straight away if they show signs of leaving.’ The emergency phone trilling loudly interrupted the conversation and had Charlotte practically dancing on the spot with anticipation. When the red phone rang, everything stopped! A direct line to Ambulance Control, it was used to warn the staff about any serious emergencies they could expect, and sometimes, if the situation merited it, an emergency squad of nurses and a doctor would be sent out.

Harriet answered the telephone calmly, listening patiently to Ambulance Control and shaking her head as Susan came over swiftly, with Ciro following closely behind, clearly wanting to find out what was coming in, or whether the squad needed to go out.

‘Just a plane about to land with one engine,’ Harriet said easily, and Susan gave a dismissive shrug, before wandering off. Even the easily excited Charlotte managed a rather bored rolling of her eyes and went off to answer a call bell.

Only Ciro remained, his expressive face clearly appalled at the news.

‘One engine!’

‘Yep,’ Harriet answered. ‘I’ll just let the nursing coordinator know.’

‘And then what?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Then what?’ Ciro barked, clearly frustrated by her obvious lack of urgency. ‘Am I to go out to the airport? Should we start moving patients out of the department?’

‘Ciro…’ Putting up her hand, Harriet stopped him. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Tell that to the poor souls flying thirty thousand feet in the air,’ he started, and somewhere deep inside, something flared in Harriet—a twitch of a smile on her lips, a small gurgle of laughter building within, a tiny flash of mischievousness at the realisation that she could prolong his agony, a glimpse of the old Harriet, the old, fun-loving Harriet, that seemed to have been left behind somehow. Ciro responded to it.

‘What?’ His lips were reluctantly twitching into a smile, too. ‘What is so funny? I am overreacting, no?’

‘Yes.’ Harried grinned. ‘You obviously haven’t worked in an emergency department that covers an international airport before.’

‘No.’

‘Those poor souls won’t even know there’s a potential problem. This type of thing happens all the time. Ambulance Control alerts us as a courtesy, to be ready in case…’

‘Then shouldn’t we be doing something, getting ready?’

‘Ciro, we are ready,’ Harriet answered. ‘The mobile emergency equipment was all checked at the beginning of the shift, we’ve got a major disaster procedure plan in place, ready to be implemented at any given moment. This is a fairly regular occurrence. Planes can and do land perfectly well with one engine. However, as a precaution, the airport emergency crews will all be ready to meet the plane and if, if, a disaster were to eventuate, we’d commence the major incident plan. But for now it’s way too soon to do anything.’ He didn’t look particularly convinced. ‘Ciro, if they had rung to say a plane was going to land with no engines, we’d be moving. This time next month you’ll barely turn a hair at the news. They’ll ring soon to say it’s landed safely.’

He gave a relieved nod and she should have left it there, should have ended it with a swift smile and got straight back to work, but she didn’t.

‘Unless, of course, the wheels get stuck in the undercarriage.’

‘Now you are teasing.’

‘Yes.’ Harriet smiled, but somewhere in mid-smile it wavered, somewhere in mid-conversation the witty responses ended and all she could do was stare. Stare back at those mocha eyes that held hers, stare at that full, sensual mouth. He smiled back at her and the terrible realisation hit that she was flirting.

Oh, not licking her lips and hand on hips flirting, but there was a dangerous undercurrent that was pulling her. A rip in the ocean that was slowly but surely dragging her in, this seemingly light conversation peppered with dangerous undertones. Surely, surely she shouldn’t be noticing the tiny golden flecks that lightened those velvet eyes, surely she should no more than vaguely register the heavy, masculine scent of him. But instead it permeated her.

Harriet could feel her own pulse flickering in her throat and from the tiny dart of his eyes Ciro registered it too, and for a slice of time the department faded into insignificance, for a second it was only the two of them, not two colleagues sharing a light-hearted joke, but instead a man and a woman partaking in that primitive, almost indefinable ritual. A ritual that somehow acknowledged mutual attraction, that managed, without words, to voice a thousand questions. Never had she been more grateful for the sharp trill of the emergency phone ringing, dragging her back to reality, a mental slap to her flushed cheeks, a chance to regroup, to pull back, a chance to stop something that must never, ever be started.

‘It landed.’ Her voice was high and slightly breathless as she replaced the receiver, taking great pains to calmly log the call in the book, anything other than look at him. ‘Safely.’

‘I told you it would!’ Blinking in confusion, she dragged her eyes to his, smiling despite herself when he gave a nonchalant shrug and somehow turned the previous few minutes on their head. ‘Didn’t I try and tell you that you were overreacting, Sister?’

One good thing about being busy was that the hours went by quickly. Ciro, clearly used to dealing with a full department, worked his way expertly through the patients. Harriet guessed that once he didn’t have to pause to look up every last phone number and find out where every blessed form was kept to order various tests, he’d be an absolute dream to work with—so long as you followed his rules!

‘Look at you, Harriet!’ Charlotte’s voice was almost a screech. ‘You’re in the newspaper! Why didn’t you say?’

Mortified, clutching a telephone receiver in one hand, with the other Harriet reached out to grab the paper, but Charlotte was having none of it. At twenty-one she was a huge fan of Drew’s and never missed an opportunity to talk about him.

‘I just saw one of the patients reading it! I told them that you worked here so they let me have the paper—Oh, Harriet, you look gorgeous!’

‘I look huge,’ Harriet corrected, refusing to even glance at the beastly photo of her on the red carpet at the acting awards ceremony that had been held the previous night.

‘Any results back on Alyssa?’ Ciro asked as he came over. ‘The medics are waiting to see her, but I want some more information before I speak with the mother again and tell her that we’re keeping her in.’

‘I’m still on hold.’ Harriet didn’t even look at him, couldn’t actually! She was concentrating too hard on breathing, tiny white spots dancing in front of her eyes, sweat beading on her forehead as great waves of nausea rolled over her. And Charlotte’s incessant voice wasn’t exactly helping matters.

‘But you’re not huge, you look stunning!’

‘Who looks stunning?’ she could hear Ciro asking, mortification heaped on mortification as behind her back Charlotte gleefully showed him the photo and took the new doctor on a whirlwind tour of her supposedly wonderful life.

‘Harriet here is married to a soap star.’

‘Soap?’

‘Soap opera!’

‘Her husband is an opera singer?’

‘No, he’s on TV. How come,’ Charlotte asked with the tactlessness only a very pretty twenty-one-year-old could get away with, ‘that with the patients your English is brilliant, but when you’re talking to us it’s—’

‘Charlotte!’ Harriet warned, putting her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, but Ciro was unfazed.

‘Because most of the English exams that I had to pass concentrated on medical terminology,’ Ciro answered easily. ‘I can name every bone in your body yet I cannot talk easily about television shows.’

‘He could name every bone in my body,’ Susan sighed as Ciro headed back to the cubicles, with Charlotte following like a faithful puppy. ‘He’s very good, isn’t he?’ Susan carried on, following Harriet’s far-away gaze as she sat on the telephone on seemingly eternal hold, trying to chase up Alyssa’s blood results. Despite marking the forms as high priority the results still hadn’t come through and Mrs Harrison’s already short fuse was clearly about to run out. Glancing over to cubicle four, Alyssa frowned as Mrs Harrison pulled the curtain, effectively blocking her view.

‘He’s doing well,’ Harriet admitted almost reluctantly, determined not to let even a hint of what she was feeling carry to her peers, rolling her eyes as yet again the switchboard operator asked her to stay on hold. ‘So long as you don’t ask him for any favours.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I asked him to write up two Maxalon for me and he refused. He said that he’d only write them up if he examined me first.’

‘And you said no!’ Susan teased. ‘I wouldn’t have to be asked twice to take my kit off. Are you OK?’ she asked more seriously when Harriet didn’t smile back, just fanned her face with her hand and licked lips that were suddenly dry.

‘No,’ Harriet finally admitted. ‘In fact, once I get these results I think I’m going to have to take first break. Susan, would you mind going and checking on Alyssa? Tell Mrs Harrison that we need the curtains kept open, unless she’s using a bedpan, of course.’

‘Sure.’ Susan stepped down from her stool. ‘And when I’ve done that do you want me to ring the supervisor, and see if she can send someone down to replace you?’

‘Fat chance.’ Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘I was the last of the last resorts already. I’ll just have to grin and bear it, I’m afraid. Let’s hope the department stays quiet.’

Jinx!

Even as the words came out of her mouth, even before the two nurses could touch the wooden desk in front of them in an effort to stop the jinx, the urgent call went up!

A loud crash, followed by a wail of horror filled the relatively quiet department and, throwing the receiver down on the desk, Harriet managed a rueful smile as she ran towards cubicle four, Susan quickly apportioning blame as she ran behind. ‘That’s your fault, Harriet!’

CHAPTER TWO

CIRO beat them there.

Pulling back the curtain and assessing in a split second what had happened, Ciro knelt down and swiftly examined Alyssa who lay unconscious on the floor. He checked her vital signs as Harriet pulled an oxygen mask from the wall and placed it over the young girl’s mouth, careful not to move her until Ciro gave the OK.

‘She said she felt OK,’ Mrs Harrison was sobbing. ‘I thought if I got her home to her own bed—’

‘Did she hit her head when she fell?’ Ciro’s question was direct.

‘No. She was just getting off the trolley and she went dizzy.’

‘Did you break her fall?’

‘Yes!’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was a screech. ‘What the hell’s happening? Has she fainted or something?’

That was what Harriet had been hoping when first she’d seen the young girl collapsed on the floor, but normally, with a simple faint, consciousness returned almost as soon as the patient was prone. But despite the oxygen, despite the seconds ticking past, Alyssa still lay unconscious.

‘Let’s get her over to Resus.’ Ciro’s expression was grim as he attempted to check her blood pressure, but as Harriet went to pull out the trolley Ciro impatiently shook his head. He swiftly removed the oxygen mask. Picking up the feather-light young girl in his arms, he carried her through the department to the better-equipped resuscitation room as Harriet moved like lightning ahead of him.

‘Fast-page the paediatricians,’ Ciro ordered, but thankfully Susan was already on to it. Even Charlotte was thinking ahead, pulling open a flask of IV saline to run through a drip, but though Harriet was pleased to see her acting independently, she still needed supervision.

‘Charlotte,’ Harriet called, as she attached Alyssa to a multitude of monitors, ‘run the saline through a paediatric burette. She’s extremely underweight so we have to be very careful of doses.’

‘We need to be very careful not to overload her with fluid,’ Ciro confirmed and even though he was busy, inserting an IV and connecting the drips, he still managed to find the time to explain his thought process to the eager grad nurse. ‘Her heart is beating irregularly, she may have some heart failure, so the last thing we want to do is give her more fluid than her heart can deal with. On the other hand…’ He paused as he carefully examined Alyssa’s neck, checking her jugular venous pressure. Then he whipped out his stethoscope and listened carefully to her lungs for a moment before resuming his knowledgeable lecture. ‘She is undoubtedly dehydrated. Let’s give her a stat 200 ml bolus. I want a catheter put in and her input and output strictly monitored.

‘Come on, Alyssa.’ His words were loud, the call to his patient sharp as he not-too-gently rubbed her sternum. It worked. Alyssa’s eyes flickered open as she attempted to push him away. ‘Good girl.’ Ciro’s voice was more soothing now, moving quickly to orientate his patient to her new surroundings. ‘You lost consciousness again, Alyssa, so we have moved you to a different area of Emergency where we can keep a closer eye on you…’ The frantic running of feet along the corridor outside heralded the arrival of the paediatric team, but instead of turning to greet them, Harriet noted with approval that he carried on talking to Alyssa, perhaps sensing that a full emergency team arriving at her bedside would be daunting for the young girl. Ciro took time to reassure her that, despite the apparent chaos, everything was very much in order. ‘We were concerned about you so there are going to be a lot of doctors arriving and a lot of talk that you don’t understand, but you are going to be OK.’

There certainly were a lot of doctors arriving. An emergency call always merited a rapid response, but the page had been put out as a paediatric emergency and though the difference was probably negligible, Harriet was sure that everyone had run just that bit faster to get there, from the anaesthetist to the nursing supervisor.

‘Alyssa Harrison,’ Ciro explained, ‘presented with a head injury secondary to a fall while dancing…’

Harriet listened as she worked on, listened to his heavily accented English barely faltering as he explained Alyssa’s complicated symptoms, and even though it was his first night, even though none of the doctors had met him before, he delivered his findings with a calm authority that demanded respect, explained without words to the rapidly gathering crowd that he was very much in control.

‘Can you chase up those results?’ Ciro looked over and Harriet let out a low moan.

‘I’ve left the pathologist hanging on the line.’

‘Tell him we’ll be sending some blood gases along shortly,’ Ciro called as Harriet rapidly headed back for the nurses’ station.

It took for ever to get through, the switchboard operator telling her in a rather pained voice that ‘yet again’ she was about to be connected, but suddenly those tiny white spots that had been dancing in front of her eyes earlier seemed to have returned for an encore. The nurses’ station seemed impossibly small all of a sudden. Sweat trickled between her breasts as she choked back bile, pleading with the powers that be to just let her get through the next few minutes of her life without major problems. If she could just get the blessed results down, she could hopefully escape the department for five minutes.

‘Harriet, we need those results!’ Ciro’s voice was booming at her, his impatient face swimming before her eyes as she looked up. Finally Harriet conceded to herself that she had to get to the bathroom at once. Hurling the receiver somewhere in Ciro’s direction, she stumbled off the stool.

‘The pathologist is on the line now.’

‘So, what are the results?’

‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled, backing out, her hand over her mouth. Thankfully Susan was around, and recognised potential disaster before it hit. Susan’s reflexes were like lightning, guiding Harriet to a vacant cubicle, sitting her on a chair and mercifully producing a bowl as she pulled the curtains on one of the many humiliating moments in Harriet’s life!

CHAPTER THREE

‘GIVE her the Maxalon, you meanie,’ Susan teased as Ciro stepped into the cubicle a few moments later.

Thankfully his telephone conversation with the pathologist had at least given Susan enough time to remove the offending bowl and for Harriet to rinse her mouth and at least manage a semblance of dignity.

‘I’ve already discussed this with Harriet,’ Ciro said, completely unmoved. ‘Now, will you let me examine you?’

‘There’s no need,’ Harriet insisted. ‘I went out to dinner last night, the food was really rich…’

‘Did you have a lot to drink?’

‘Apart from mineral water, no.’ Standing, attempting not to wince with the pain that small exertion caused, she attempted a brisk smile. ‘I’d better get back out there.’

‘You are in no fit state to be working.’

‘I’m much better now,’ Harriet muttered.

‘I disagree. I have already spoken with the nurse supervisor and she is arranging cover for you.’

‘You’ve what?’ Appalled, she glared at him. ‘How dare you?’

‘I dare because I am the doctor in charge tonight and I need my colleagues, especially my senior ones, to be completely on the ball. There is no room for error in Emergency.’

He was right, of course, Harriet knew that deep down, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

‘Now, are you going to let me examine you?’

‘No,’ Harriet answered tartly. ‘You should be in with Alyssa, instead of worrying about me.’

‘The paediatricians are in with Alyssa now. Everything is under control.’

‘Including me.’ Harriet bristled. ‘I’m going to wait for the nurse supervisor to arrange cover and then I’m going to take some paracetamol and lie down for an hour or so until I feel well enough to start working again.’

‘You shouldn’t take anything until you know what’s wrong with you. I’m not going to give you anything.’

‘You really are the limit, you know!’ Embarrassment was turning into anger now, furious at his control, his authoritative air—well, it might quiet his patients but it damn well wasn’t going to silence her into submission. ‘Well, Dr Delgato, as it happens, I have some painkillers in my handbag, painkillers that don’t require some over-inflated doctor’s signature to take, unless there’s a rule that’s suddenly been invented that I don’t know about, unless I’m not allowed to go into my locker without your consent, unless I’m not allowed to open my bag and take my own tablets without your permission!’

‘You are being childish,’ Ciro responded, not remotely fazed by her outburst. ‘But as you’re now off duty, that is entirely your prerogative.

‘Now, I suggest you put on a gown, lie down on the trolley and rest for a while. Then, with your consent, I will come in and examine you once I have spoken to Mrs Harrison to let her know what is going on.’

She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate, but the mention of the Harrisons made her protests about refusing to put on a gown and be examined rather feeble, childish even, and Ciro seemed to sense the change in her.

‘How do you feel now that you have vomited?’

Which wasn’t exactly the sweetest line to deliver a woman, but Harriet knew that his medical brain meant well.

‘A bit better.’

‘Good! Then rest and I’ll be back shortly.’

She gave a reluctant nod. ‘How are Alyssa’s results?’ She knew, just knew, he was about to shake his head and tell her that it was no longer her problem, so Harriet added quickly, ‘I really would like to know.’

‘Her potassium is dangerously low, as is her albumin, her renal function is decreased, she’s extremely malnourished, which is why she has the peripheral oedema. I’ve spoken with Pathology and it would seem those vitamins that Mrs Harrison’s been giving to her daughter are, in fact, diuretics, which of course are used to get rid of oedema, but that’s the trouble with self-prescribing…’ He gave her a tight smile as Harriet blushed. ‘As you know, some diuretics need to be taken with a potassium supplement. Instead, Alyssa’s potassium has dropped so low she is in danger of having a serious cardiac arrhythmia and possibly a cardiac arrest. I’ll let you know how it goes when you’re feeling a bit better.’

‘Thank you.’

It was horrible, horrible, horrible being on the other side of the curtain. Horrible lying in a flimsy gown with the ties missing, on a hard trolley. Horrible having a probe stuck in your ear and your blood pressure taken, but that didn’t even begin to compare to the humiliation of lying back and closing one’s eyes while someone as divine and toned and clearly fit as Ciro told you to stop trying to hold in your stomach so that he could examine you properly.

She didn’t even want to think about the sensible knickers she was wearing, supposedly safe in the knowledge she had been going to work.

‘Tender?’ Ciro asked as Harriet gave a stifled moan.

‘A bit.’

‘And here?’

‘No.’

‘Hmm.’

The dreaded ‘hmm’—the sound doctors worldwide made as they broached a tentative diagnosis.

‘You are tender in the right iliac fossa. I think it could be appendicitis or possibly an ectopic pregnancy.’

‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘Do you have your period?’

‘No,’ Harriet croaked.

‘So when is it due?’

‘Soon.’ Blushing to the roots of her hair, she tried to focus on dates to respond to this necessary but excruciatingly embarrassing question in as matter-of-fact a way as she could muster. ‘Actually, it was due a couple of days ago but—’

‘Hmm.’

‘I’m not pregnant.’ Meeting his doubtful eyes, Harriet shook her head firmly on the pillow. ‘I’m definitely not pregnant.’

‘You are on the Pill?’

Harriet gave a small nod, hoping that would be enough to mollify him but knowing that it was futile.

‘The Pill isn’t always a hundred per cent effective.’

‘I’m just not pregnant, OK?’ Wrenching the beastly gown down over her stomach, she prayed for her blush to fade, prayed for this interrogation to end. ‘So I haven’t got an ectopic pregnancy and neither do I have appendicitis. I just want to go home to my own bed—’

‘Harriet, I know that this is embarrassing for you.’ Perching himself on the trolley, he took her hand, the touch so unexpected, so surprisingly tender she felt tears prick her eyes, his glimpse of kindness providing no balm, more a sharp sting to her bruised emotions. ‘It is always awkward when staff are ill, but the fact is you have not looked well since you first came on duty and you are getting progressively worse. It clearly needs to be dealt with. Now, as uncomfortable as these questions are, they have to be asked. In a young woman, with abdominal tenderness, vomiting and a late period, it would be criminally negligent of me not to consider that it could be a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. So can you tell me why I should rule out that diagnosis? Are you unable to conceive, is there anything in your medical history…?’

And she didn’t want to voice it, didn’t want to admit it even to herself let alone anyone else, but knowing the truth was needed, drawing strength from the kind eyes that stared in concern, the warmth from the hand holding hers, Harriet let go of the horrible truth she had held in so tightly for so long now, admitted, perhaps for the first time, the hopelessness of her own situation.

‘I’m using the only completely reliable form of contraception.’ Swallowing hard, she forced herself to say it, to just get this the hell over with. ‘Abstinence! I can’t be pregnant because I’m not sleeping with my husband.’ She saw the flicker of confusion in his eyes, second-guessed what was coming next. ‘We haven’t slept together for months now, not since Drew got this job and we moved to Sydney. So, you see, I couldn’t possibly be…’ Tears that had been held back for so long were now finally trying to come forth and holding them in hurt her ribs almost as much as the pain in her stomach did.

‘You are allowed to cry, Harriet.’

‘No, Ciro, I’m not.’

‘You don’t have to hold it all in,’ Ciro insisted.

But she did.

Had for so long now it came as second nature.

‘When David decided his name should be changed to Drew I had to grin and bear it,’ Harriet snarled. ‘And when Drew needs a pair of designer jeans for an audition I just work an extra shift, when he misses out on a part that should have been his I’m the one who has to deliver a pep talk…’ The floodgates were opening now, years of suppressed anger bubbling to the fore, and she didn’t care. For the first time in her entire adult life, Harriet couldn’t give a damn about someone else’s feelings. She blurted out her anger and frustration because it helped and, she decided, choking through her vented fury, he didn’t have a clue what she was going on about. Her rapid spate of furious words was way too fast for him to understand.

All he had to do was hold her hand—which he was.

Nod at her very occasional pauses—which he did.

And give an occasional sympathetic murmur when her voice shrilled—rather regularly.

And through it all he didn’t say a word, didn’t attempt to say he understood as Harriet ranted on. ‘Since he got this bloody job, I’m not good enough,’ Harriet raged. ‘Not thin enough, or demure enough, not quite the happening young metrosexual’s partner.’ She registered his frown.

‘He is gay?’ Ciro finally spoke.

‘No.’ Somehow Harriet managed a strangled gurgle of laughter. ‘Metrosexual, it’s the buzz word for today’s kind of man. A man who doesn’t mind admitting he takes care of himself.’

His frown only deepened.

‘He has facials, dresses well, has his hair coloured, his eyebrows…’ Her voice petered out.

‘And he doesn’t sleep with you?’ There was just a hint of innuendo to his voice that really wasn’t helping matters.

‘He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment,’ Harriet offered in her husband’s defence. ‘He has to get up at the crack of dawn for early shoots, it’s the only time the beach is empty.’

Which mollified him not! Clearly the Spanish didn’t need a full eight hours in the cot for a performance! Clearly the Spanish didn’t give a hoot about eyebrows and waxing and face creams. And it would have been so much easier if Ciro was ugly. If his eyebrows joined or he smelt of garlic, if she could just somehow eke out a hint of justification as to why Drew needed to spend so much energy and money to be a man, when this very unpampered male sat opposite her.

‘I’m sorry!’ She gave a rather ungracious sniff. ‘If it was embarrassing before, it positively—’

‘It’s fine.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not the first patient I’ve had tell me her marriage is in trouble.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say that it’s in trouble…’ Harriet started, but her voice trailed off as she conceded the point. ‘OK, it’s in big trouble.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ciro responded politely. ‘But at least it means that we can rule out an ectopic! Now…’ Sensing her need to change the subject, he stood up and adopted a rather more professional distance. ‘Which means we have to consider that you could have appendicitis.’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to tell me that your appendix and you haven’t been getting on for a while, that it’s been treating itself to massages while you weren’t looking? That it’s been so neglected there isn’t any chance it could be inflamed?’

A tiny smile wobbled on her pale lips.

‘I’ll need to examine you properly, Harriet, there’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.’

There was everything to be embarrassed about. He could be as matter-of-fact as he liked, pull on a pair of gloves as casually as if he were about to do the dishes, but there was no way, no way, she was going to let Ciro Delgato examine her there. She’d never in a million years be able to work with him if she allowed him to. Quite simply, she’d have to resign.

‘I’ll go to my own GP tomorrow,’ Harriet begged, desperate suddenly for the lyrical sound of her lovely GP’s voice as she chatted about her children and grandchildren, a GP who somehow made even the most uncomfortable procedures as routine as a gossip at the supermarket checkout—not like this Spanish dynamo that she’d have to work with again.

‘What is it about me that all my patients wish to suddenly leave and see their own GPs in the morning?’

‘It isn’t you,’ Harriet lied. ‘It’s just…’ She struggled for an explanation. ‘I want to go home, Ciro, to my own bed. If this had happened at home I wouldn’t have even come into hospital.’

‘What if I call down one of the surgeons to examine you, see if there’s a female doctor on?’

‘I just want to go home. Drew will be there. If I get worse, he’ll bring me straight back.’

‘I thought you said—’

‘We’re having some problems, Ciro, but he’s not going to leave me rolling around in agony, it’s not that bad!’

He stared at her thoughtfully for a long moment and just when she thought he was about to read the Riot Act, amazingly he conceded—albeit reluctantly.

‘If it worsens, you are to come straight back to the hospital.’

‘I will.’

‘And even if you feel better, you are to see your GP first thing in the morning.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I at least take some blood and I’ll fax the results over to your GP? You can give me his name.’

‘Her name,’ Harriet needlessly corrected. ‘And yes.’ She’d have agreed to anything just to get the hell out of there.

‘Would you like me to call your husband to come and fetch you?’

‘No,’ Harriet answered immediately, imagining Drew’s mood if she dragged him out of bed at one a.m. because of a stomach pain when he had a photo shoot in the morning.

‘You’re not driving yourself home.’

‘Then I’ll take a taxi,’ Harriet responded, with absolutely no intention of doing so, given she felt so much better.

‘OK, I’ll draw some blood and leave you to get dressed.’

But any thoughts of dashing to the car park were soon laid to rest when Ciro insisted on walking her to the taxi rank outside Emergency and ensuring she was safely in a taxi, even reminding her, as if she were a child, to put her seat belt on.

‘Do you escort all your patients to their vehicles?’ Harriet bristled.

‘Only if I believe they’d be stupid enough to ignore my instructions. If you get any worse, you’re—’

‘To come straight back. I know, I know.’

As the taxi pulled off, despite her reddened eyes and nose, despite the pain in her stomach and the appalling mess of her marriage, Harriet felt a feeling so unfamiliar it took a second or two to register what it was.

Peace.

A tiny corner of peace in her soul.

Finally she’d told someone, finally she’d admitted the truth, and the world hadn’t stopped turning. In fact, the world had carried happily on. Ciro hadn’t stared at her, utterly appalled. Instead, he’d told her a simple truth.

She wasn’t alone.

The world might be happily turning but she wasn’t the only one facing this type of problem and somehow it comforted her, somehow it gave her strength.

Paying the taxi driver, Harriet rummaged in her bag for her keys, turning them slowly in the lock and trying to creep in the front door without waking Drew, only this time it wasn’t because she was afraid of confrontation but because, quite simply, she wasn’t up to dealing with it right now. But when this was over, when her stomach was better, she was going to sit down with Drew and talk, really talk for once, find out where their marriage was exactly, and where, if anywhere, it was going. It was time to face the truth.

Literally!

Seeing them lying together, Harriet witnessed at first hand the passion that had been missing in this bed for so long now, that long blonde hair tumbling over the pillowcase, her pillowcase, the one that she, Harriet, had washed, ironed and put on! Facing a fact more appalling than any she had considered, for the second time that night, Harriet choked back bile, only a grumbling appendix had nothing to do with it.

‘Harriet!’

Shocked eyes, which she’d thought she’d known, snapped open as she turned on the light, her own eyes widening in disgusted horror as the blonde, thin beauty beside him uncoiled her tanned long limbs and taking in the scene had the gall to smirk somewhat defiantly over at Harriet.

‘Please, don’t try and tell me that it’s not what I think.’ Furious, embarrassed, Harriet turned and ran, taking the steps two at a time, shaking Drew off when he caught up with her, a hastily wrapped towel around his waist.

‘Harriet, please, don’t just walk out. We need to talk.’

‘Talk to me through your solicitor, Drew.’ She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘That’s why you were nice to me tonight. All that crap about getting me a hot-water bottle, pretending that you care, when all the time you were just glad I was going to work so your tart—’

‘Harriet, don’t be like that.’

‘What is she, then? What lady would get into someone else’s marital bed while the wife was out working? My God, Drew, I’ve worked my backside off to put you through acting school, put up with all your moods and insecurities when all you could get was a couple of walk-on parts, even upped and moved yet again, so you could take this job. And this is how you treat me. Don’t expect nice here, Drew, don’t expect me to smile and say it’s OK, as I have done over the years when you treat me like dirt…’

‘You need to calm down,’ he said. ‘We need to work out what we’re going to do—’

‘You mean we need to work out what we’re going to tell people?’ Harriet retorted bitterly. ‘Why? Are you worried that if the press find out that your new agent mightn’t be pleased, worried that your popularity ratings might dip for a week or two? That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t give a damn what this is doing to me, all you’re worried about is how it’s going to affect you! All those nights I’ve been working for us!’

‘You’ve been working because you love your job,’ Drew sneered.

‘Not that much, Drew!’ Harriet retorted. ‘Not sixty-hour weeks just so that you can pursue your dreams. The difference between you and I is that I didn’t constantly moan about it, didn’t assume the world was against me because I had to earn a living the hard way.’

‘Hard!’ Drew blazed. ‘Have you any idea what my work involves? The constant demands, the pressure to always look the part. All you have to do is pull on a uniform…’

On and on, the same old song she had danced to over the years, only this time it was a different tune. This time Harriet didn’t automatically back down, because the reason she was home at two in the morning was making itself known, the misery that had brought her to this moment was repeating itself, only this time when nausea struck she didn’t make a blind dash for the bathroom—she knew that there was no one to guide her, and it should have been mortifying, should have been the indignity to top them all, but seeing the horror in Drew’s eyes as she threw up on the smart cream carpet made her, for some inexplicable reason, want to laugh.

‘So my job’s easy, is it?’ Her defiant eyes met his. ‘Well, see how much you enjoy cleaning up someone else’s mess.’

The cool night air on her flaming cheeks as she burst out the front door slapped some sense into her. Harriet knew she should go back, knew she should demand that the other woman leave her home—Drew, too, for that matter—but lousy at confrontation at the best of times, all she wanted now was to be alone. She made her way to the bus shelter at the end of her street and sat for how long she didn’t know, staring at the tiny sliver of a new moon, eyes curiously dry as she gazed up to the skies. And at that moment she knew without reservation that her marriage was over, that, no matter what, there would be no going back.

Now what?

She didn’t know if she said it out loud, acutely aware now of the precariousness of her situation. Obviously unwell, she should be in bed, but there was no way she was going back there.

A hotel perhaps? Making to stand, she gave in even before the thought had formed—a searing pain forcing her back to the cold wooden bench.

Clutching her stomach, Harriet consoled herself that it had been a stupid idea anyway. How the hell was she supposed to get to a hotel when her car was back at Emergency and her keys were back at the house, along with her mobile phone, when all she had on her was a couple of coins for the Emergency vending machine and an ID badge hanging around her neck.

‘What am I going to do?’

This time she did say it out loud, teeth chattering as she clutched at her stomach, hating with a passion her appendix, which had chosen this time in her life to introduce itself to its owner. The bright lights of the phone booth across the road beckoned her to come over.

And it was the longest, loneliest walk of her life, the most difficult call she had ever made, picking up a telephone and dialling the emergency number, listening to the calm voice at the other end as she tried to fashion her mounting hysteria into a voice, to say the three little words that no one ever really wanted to say.

‘I need help!’

CHAPTER FOUR

EVEN though it was the last thing she wanted to happen, the sound of the sirens in the distance were a welcome relief. The pain in Harriet’s stomach was so severe now she couldn’t even sit. All she could do was lie on the bench as the ambulance pulled up and the familiar faces of Max and Tara appeared, their green jumpsuits as familiar as her own nursing uniform, their tender professionalism everything she needed as they gently asked her what had happened.

‘I was unwell at work. The doctor thought I might have appendicitis…’

‘He let you go home?’ Tara asked, surprised, then gave a low laugh. ‘Or did Sister Farrell insist that she knew better?’

‘Something like that. I’m so sorry to drag you guys out. Maybe I should have called a taxi.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Max shook his head as he dragged the stretcher from the ambulance to the bus stop, having realised at a glance there was no way she could make the short walk to the ambulance. ‘We’ll get you in the warm vehicle and get a drip started. Here, have a few sucks on this before we move you.’

A plastic tube was handed to her and Harriet dragged on it, grateful for the short relief the painkiller offered as they slowly lifted her onto the stretcher and moved her into the ambulance.

‘Do we have to go local?’ Harriet asked, knowing the answer before it came.

‘It’s an emergency callout,’ Tara responded, concentrating on inserting the drip into Harriet’s hand. ‘We have to take you to the nearest hospital and, given that you’ve already been seen there by a doctor tonight, surely it makes sense…’ Seeing Harriet’s eyes fill with embarrassed tears, she changed track. ‘Your friends are there, Harriet, people who know and care about you. They’ll give you the five-star treatment. Surely that can only be good?’

But she didn’t want the five-star treatment. Instead, she wanted unknown faces treating an unknown patient, couldn’t bear the thought of having to answer the question that would surely be on everyone’s lips.

‘What were you doing at a bus stop?’

Over and over the question had been asked—by the paramedics, by Louise, who was still stuck on Triage, by the nursing supervisor as she’d directed the stretcher into cubicle one in an attempt to spare Harriet the indignity of the entire department seeing her brought in, by Susan, her concerned face looming over her as she pumped up the blood-pressure cuff. ‘You were supposed to be at home. Why on earth didn’t you just—?’

‘Enough!’

The single word, however sharply spoken, couldn’t disguise the thick accent, and as the staff finally melted away, Harriet closed her eyes in shame as Ciro stood over her. He’d already examined her on arrival and commenced treatment, but thankfully that was a distant vague blur, but now the fluids that were being delivered intravenously were starting to kick in and the oxygen being administered through nasal prongs was having the supposed desired effect, the world was starting to come back into focus. Harriet listened as he dismissed the gathered nurses and paramedics, waiting until the cubicle was vacant before finally she managed to peel her eyes open, bracing herself for the question she had heard incessantly since her arrival.

Instead, it was answered.

‘Your husband is staying in a hotel for work, and had you told me that you knew I wouldn’t have let you go home alone…’

Confused, Harriet blinked back at him.

‘You’ve had trouble with the phone since you moved in, haven’t you?’

‘Thank you.’ It was all she could manage, her voice strangling in her throat as Ciro dealt with the social absurdities that still mattered at times like this. ‘I just couldn’t bear everyone’s sympathy at the moment, the gossip that would start. I’m just so ashamed.’

‘Silly girl,’ Ciro said, but not unkindly, the backs of his fingers sweeping her forehead to check her temperature. ‘You should—’

‘Should have what, Ciro?’ Harriet interrupted. ‘I found my husband in bed with another woman. I was hardly going to ask them to move over so that I could lie down! What did you expect me to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I’m just glad that you had the presence of mind to call for help when you did. Had you not called, your appendix might have ruptured and you would have been very ill indeed.’

‘It was either call for help or sit at the bus stop all night.’

‘Life will start to look up very soon.’

‘It has to.’ Sunken, dry eyes stared back at him. ‘After all, just how low can one person go?’

‘You should be asking Drew that, Harriet, not yourself.’

‘How did you know?’ she gulped. ‘I mean, how did you guess what had happened when I went home?’

He gave a vague shrug. ‘You said yourself that nothing was happening in the…’ His English wasn’t that good, but painfully she caught the drift. ‘It was stupid of me to send you home unannounced in the early hours of the the morning, given what you’d told me. I’m sorry,’ he added, as if this whole stupid mess was his fault. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

‘I was sick on the carpet.’ Why she was filling him in, Harriet had no idea, but somehow sharing the most embarrassing details made them seem less so. ‘I left it for him to clean up—told him that if he thought my job was so easy then he should try it.’

‘Good for you.’ A smile broke out on his face and even though she’d seen him smile before it was like witnessing it for the first time because now it was aimed entirely at her—his eyes softer now, intimate almost. Not for the first time that night, Harriet felt bewildered and confused, but for entirely different reasons.

Impossibly shy all of a sudden, she lowered her eyes. ‘Can I have some Maxalon now?’

‘You already have.’ He attempted a smile. ‘And a massive dose of pethidine. That’s why you’re able to talk. The surgeon is ready for you in Theatre. You’ll go to EHU afterwards. Unfortunately there aren’t any beds on the surgical ward, but I’m sure they’ll find you a side room tomorrow.’

EHU stood for Emergency Holding Unit, a rapid-turnover ward that acted as a holding bay for emergency patients when the wards were full, but Harriet couldn’t have cared less where she was admitted. At least she’d have a bed for a couple of days! All she wanted right now was for the pain in her stomach to go so she could focus on the pain in her heart.

‘Is there anyone you want me to call for you?’ Ciro asked, ever practical.

Harriet shook her head.

‘What about your parents?’

‘There’s only Mum, she lives in Perth.’ It was all she could manage, her lips almost numb, her mind curiously clear. ‘I don’t want to worry her.’

‘What about your husband?’ Ciro pressed gently. ‘He is your next of kin. Someone ought to know what’s happening to you.’

‘Please, don’t call him.’ She shook her head against the pillow. ‘I just don’t want to see him yet.’

‘OK,’ Ciro soothed. ‘I’m not going to do anything without your permission. But perhaps this may be the wake-up call he needs—’

‘It’s over,’ Harriet broke in, her voice the firmest it had been since her arrival in the department, her mind completely made up. ‘I’m just not up to telling the world yet. Oh, hell, Ciro, what am I—?’

‘Shh…’ His hand was back on her forehead, only this time he wasn’t checking her temperature. This time he was brushing back a couple of strands of hair, soothing her, pushing her back down to the foggy oblivion the pethidine afforded, that gorgeous full mouth, softly speaking, telling her that it would all be OK, that all she had to do was concentrate on getting well, to close her eyes and just go to sleep.

But she didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to close her eyes on the sweetest painkiller of them all.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HARRIET?’

A million adolescents would have given their entire year’s pocket money to wake up to that face, but when Harriet opened her eyes all she wanted was to close them again. She’d been back from Theatre a few hours now, but had slept for the most part, vaguely acknowledging the absurdity that Alyssa, who she had cared for the previous night, now lay in the next bed to her. The world was way too confusing to face right now, but any chance of a longer reprieve from her problems faded as Drew’s face came into unwelcome view. Everything about him revolted her now—the blond hair he faithfully had streaked to capture the surfie look, the spray-on tan that was carefully shaded to accentuate his gym-toned muscles. Squinting to focus, Harriet stared at the man who had caused her so much pain, the previous night’s events pinging in with alarming clarity. She watched as he braced himself for her stinging words, but instead of accusations she said the first thing that sprang to her anaesthetic-riddled mind, with no offence meant, but not caring if it were taken.

‘You pluck your eyebrows.’

Irritated, he shook his head as he stood up and pulled the curtains around her, clearly not wanting the scene made public. ‘Don’t be daft.’

‘You do.’ Running a dry tongue over even drier lips, she stared at two perfectly formed arches. ‘They look nothing like they did when we were first married. Can you open the curtains, please?’

‘Let’s just keep them closed, can we? The kid in the next bed has been hounding me for my autograph.’

‘And did you give it to her?’

‘I came here to see you, Harriet, not make small talk with some kid.’

With one hand holding her tender stomach, she reached to the table over her bed, declining his outstretched hand and choosing to get the small cup of water herself.

‘The nurse said you should just have a small sip,’ Drew admonished, making to take the cup from her, but Harriet gripped it tightly.

‘And we all know the respect you have for nurses.’ Defiantly she took another long sip before placing the cup back on the table and gingerly lying back down.

‘How did you know I was here?’ she finally asked, disappointed that Ciro had broken her confidence, yet understanding why he might have thought he had to.

‘I got a call on my mobile, someone called Susan. She thought I was staying in some hotel or something…’ He tried to take her hand but she pulled it away. ‘From the way she was talking I gather that you didn’t tell them what had happened.’

‘Do you blame me?’

‘I’m sorry, Harriet.’

He even looked it, tears glistening in his eyes, running a worried hand through his tousled hair, but, she reminded herself firmly, Drew was an actor, able to cry on demand, able to play the part of guilt-ridden spouse to a T if last week’s episodes of his show were anything to go by.

‘Are you sorry that you got caught, Drew, or sorry that it’s over?’ When he didn’t speak, she did it for him, asked what she needed to know. ‘How long has it been going on, Drew? How long have you been seeing her?’

‘It meant nothing,’ he offered, clearly confused when she blinked at him in disbelief.

‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better? You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that the fact she meant nothing just cheapens our marriage even more.’

‘Please, Harriet, if you’ll just let me speak—’

‘I meant what I said last night, Drew. You can speak to me through my solicitor.’

‘You don’t have a solicitor,’ Drew pointed out. ‘Look, we have to work out what we’re going to say. You might not think it matters, but when this gets out it’s going to affect us both. Harriet!’ he pleaded when she shrugged her shoulders. ‘You couldn’t bring yourself to tell your colleagues, so do you really want them reading about it in the newspaper?’

‘I guess,’ Harriet sighed, ‘we’ll just say it was amicable, no hard feelings on either side. And if we’re going to lie, why not add that there was no one else involved?’

‘When will you get out?’

‘Tomorrow probably.’

‘So soon.’ He gave a small look of alarm. ‘I’ll move into the spare bedroom…’

‘There’s no point, Drew, I’m not coming home. I can’t go back there, not after what happened.’

‘Do you want me to move out?’

It was the first decent thing he’d done in the whole debacle but, staring up at the ceiling, Harriet shook her head.

‘But where will you go? Who’s going to take care of you?’

It was a good question, one she had been asking herself since she’d first come to, but even if her bravado was false, even if she was terrified of what lay ahead, she damn well wasn’t going to let him see that. Pale blue eyes were proud and defiant as she turned her head to face him.

‘That’s no longer your concern, Drew.’

‘Is there anything you want me to do?’

‘Pack me a case.’ Swallowing hard, determined not to cry in front of him, she struggled to keep her voice even. ‘Just drop it off at the nurses’ station.’

‘Anything else?’ And maybe he wasn’t acting now, because his nose was actually running and there were tears in his eyes as maybe, somewhere deep inside, the ramifications hit home, that the Harriet he had known for so long now could never, ever forgive this. ‘Is there anything else you want?’

‘Nothing.’ She turned her face away, feeling a tear slide down the side of her face and into the pillow as an unwitting nurse swished open the curtain and Drew walked away. Harriet couldn’t really believe how much her life had changed in a few short hours, that after all this time her marriage really was over.

And as superficial and selfish as he could be at times, Drew wasn’t a complete bastard. Underneath all his hype there was still a glimmer of the man she had married, the man she had once loved. As he walked out Harriet heard Alyssa’s breathless voice call his name, listened with a pensive tiny smile as, even though he must be hurting too, he did the decent thing in the end—he stopped for a short chat.

Made another girl’s day.

‘Please, don’t tell me that I’m better off without him.’ Putting her hand over her face, trying to hold it all in, she didn’t even have the emotional strength to be embarrassed when Ciro walked in to check on the patients he had admitted overnight before finally heading home. The last thing she needed was a few empty platitudes. ‘Because I know that I am. I know it’s been over for ages. It’s just…’

‘Hard?’ Ciro offered, and Harriet nodded from behind her hand.

‘It gets better, I promise.’

‘How would you know?’ It wasn’t a particularly gracious response but she was past caring.

‘Because I’ve been there, very recently actually.’

Fingers parting, she peered out at him.

‘Were you married?’

‘No.’

‘Did you have surgery the night you found your partner in bed with someone else?’

‘No.’

‘Were your family on the other side of the country?’

‘No.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re going through, have I? I’ll shut up now.’

She gave a thin smile.

‘How you are you feeling?’

‘It’s painful, of course, but not as much as I expected it to be.’

‘I wasn’t speaking as your doctor, I was asking how you were feeling.’

Pale eyes squinted up at him. ‘As I said, it’s painful, of course, but not as much as I expected it to be.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have to be.’

‘Is there anything that you need?’

Harriet shook her head. ‘Drew’s going to pack a case for me.’ She registered his frown. ‘He offered to move out, but I told him I don’t want to go back there. I’ll go and sort out my things when I’m more up to it.’

‘So what will you do now? Where will you go?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Harriet said with rather more confidence than she felt. She wanted him to just go, couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in his eyes. ‘Could you pull the curtains as you leave?’

And maybe some of it had been lost in translation, because Ciro did pull the curtains, but remained beside her bed, staring down at her for a while before finally talking.

‘Harriet, what will you do when you are discharged? I mean, who will look after you? Are you going to stay with a friend?’

Why wouldn’t he just leave it, why did he have to just keep pushing, making her feel like some sort of social misfit? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have friends, but, given the fact she’d only been in Sydney six months, they were hardly close enough to ask if she could borrow their spare room to recuperate. But instead of explaining, Harriet gave a tight shrug.

‘What about Judith?’

‘Judith?’ Harriet gave a slightly incredulous laugh.

‘She speaks very highly of you.’

‘Since when were you and Judith on speaking terms?’

‘I telephoned her last night about an hour after she went off duty.’ Ciro shrugged. ‘Our altercation left me with an aftertaste.’ Harriet didn’t even attempt to correct him, his poor English didn’t matter. That he had taken the time to call Judith and set the record straight, even though she had treated him so rudely, had her blinking in awe at his insight. ‘She said that you had already spoken to her and she was feeling much better.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘We both apologised.’

‘She’s as soft as butter really.’ Harriet smiled fondly.

‘And she was most concerned about you when she arrived on duty.’

‘I’m not asking Judith if I can stay with her,’ Harriet responded firmly. ‘I’ll check into a motel or something.’

‘Look,’ he said, as if it were open for discussion, as if she’d actually asked for his help, ‘I’m staying in serviced apartments. They’re very nice, right on the beach, there’s a gym, a pool.’

‘I’m recovering from an operation,’ Harriet snapped. ‘I’m hardly up for an aerobic workout.’

‘The rooms are serviced daily, the beds made, the dishes done—at least you could concentrate on yourself. Why don’t you think about it? It really is a good idea.’

‘I know why you’re doing this.’ Her blue eyes flashed, embarrassment making her angry. ‘Just because you’re the only one who knows what’s going on with my life, it doesn’t mean you have to step in. I’m not asking for help.’

‘And that is what is so annoying!’ Ciro retorted, his response equally sharp. ‘Why you have to make this an issue? And I know,’ he added before Harriet could, ‘that I said that terribly, but don’t correct me to avoid the issue.’

‘I’m not avoiding anything.’ Harriet sniffed.

‘Oh, yes, you are,’ Ciro responded. ‘You’re so damned independent, so damned used to coping with things by yourself, you can’t bear the thought of leaning on someone.’

Independent! Never in a million years would Harriet have used that word to describe herself. She was stunned that that was how Ciro perceived her. Up till then she’d assumed he was feeling sorry for her.

It came as a pleasant surprise to realise that she actually infuriated him.

‘Look, Ciro, we barely know each other. We’ve only worked together for half a night, it’s hardly enough to become flatmates!’

She’d never heard him laugh before, a deep, low laugh, and if she’d been embarrassed before, when he spoke next, Harriet was mortified.

‘Hardly. But I happen to know that the apartment on the floor below me has just become vacant.’

‘Oh.’

‘I could speak to the landlord for you.’

‘Oh.’

‘Would you like me to?’

When she didn’t answer, Ciro pushed a touch harder. ‘The rates are quite reasonable.’ Harriet’s eyes widened as he told her the weekly rental. Clearly, Ciro’s vision of reasonable differed from hers, but the thought of having the bed made and the vacuuming done, of bay views and gentle walks along the beach while she got her head together were starting to make themselves known. Fiercely expensive it may be, but over the years she’d been so boringly good with money, she’d somehow managed to support Drew and put a bit away for a rainy day.

Well, the rainy day had arrived and it was pouring.

Pouring.

Force-ten gales were howling, sandbags were out and it was time to strap on her buoyancy jacket—time to do as the emergency cards on planes said and look after herself first for once and stop worrying about everyone else.

‘There’s also a restaurant on the ground floor. They offer room service.’

‘Sold!’ Harriet said finally.

‘Sold?’ Ciro questioned.

‘That’s a yes, Ciro.’ She smiled. ‘Yes, please. It would be great if you could ask the landlord.’

‘I’ll come and see you tonight before the shift starts, hopefully with a set of keys!’

‘I haven’t got my bag,’ Harriet said. ‘Drew should be bringing it later today. I can write a cheque for the bond then.’

‘No worries.’ Ciro gave her a surprised look. ‘I’m starting to sound like an Aussie!’

‘No, Ciro, you’re not.’ Harriet grinned, and her smile stayed as he walked away from her bedside and stopped to talk with Alyssa, stayed as she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and stayed despite the fact that this should be the worst day of her life.

There was absolutely no chance of dying quietly on EHU, no chance to lie in bed and lick her wounds. Instead, after her obs had been checked yet again and her drip was taken down and a post-op wash given, Harriet was walked the length of the unit by an eager, chirpy physio. She gingerly put one foot in front of the other and held onto her wound as the blessed woman reminded her incessantly to take deep breaths and to remember to wiggle her toes while in bed. Harriet caught Alyssa’s eye as she walked past. Declining the cheery suggestion to ‘pop back into bed’, Harriet chose instead to perch on Alyssa’s just as lunch was being served.

‘What happened to you?’ Alyssa asked, putting down the magazine Drew had signed. ‘I thought it was you when they wheeled you back from Theatre, but I couldn’t be sure. I mean, you never really imagine the nurses getting sick.’

‘I had my appendix out.’ Harriet smiled, but it changed midway as she winced slightly as she sat on the bed. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple of days. How are you doing?’

‘They’re admitting me to a medical ward this afternoon.’ Alyssa screwed up her nose. ‘They’ve put this horrible tube down my nose into my stomach and if I don’t eat my meals they’re going to feed me some disgusting supplement. I want to pull it out.’

‘It’s just a short-term thing,’ Harriet said softly, pleasantly surprised that Alyssa had even agreed to it.

‘That’s what Dr Delgato said.’ Alyssa sniffed, leaning back on the mountain of pillows supporting her tiny frame. ‘I wish it was him looking after me, not the stupid old fuddy-duddy that came and saw me this morning. He told me off for not eating my breakfast, he said that if I wanted to get better then I had to start eating, but it’s just so hard.’

‘I know,’ Harriet sympathised, wincing at the doctor’s insensitivity, knowing that for Alyssa it just wasn’t that simple.

‘Dr Delgato said that once I’m a bit stronger they’re going to admit me to the adolescent unit.’ Harriet heard the tremor of fear in the young girl’s voice, but any chance of comforting her was snatched away when a nurse deposited a large meal tray on her table.

‘Lunch, Alyssa,’ the nurse said firmly, removing the lid from the tray and pouring out a large glass of milk. ‘I want to see that all gone by the time I get back.’

And she meant well, Harriet didn’t doubt it, but it was just way, way too soon to even be talking to Alyssa like that. Seeing the sparkle of tears in the young girl’s eyes, Harriet watched as Alyssa pushed the peas around her plate, dug her fork into the mashed potato, stabbed at the fish dripping in butter sauce, not once lifting the fork to her mouth. ‘He said he’d come and see me on the adolescent unit to see how I was doing.’

‘Who?’

‘Dr Delgato,’ Alyssa said, and Harriet was hard pushed to keep the frown from her face. It was very easy to make promises, to tell a teary, scared patient when you were trying to placate them that you would be there for them, but it was another thing to see them through. In this case the damage that could be done if Ciro didn’t follow through could be very detrimental—trust was a very important factor with this type of patient. ‘He said that he’d come and see how I was getting on, that I just had to grin and bear it while I was on the medical ward, and that once they transferred me to the adolescent unit it would be better, that I’d be among people who understood. I know that I’m going to be here for ages. The doctor on this morning told me to forget about the concert.’

‘You’re not well enough to dance at the moment.’

‘I know,’ Alyssa admitted. ‘It’s not just the concert, though. If I’d danced well there was a good chance I’d have been given a scholarship…’ Her tiny voice wobbled. Her eyes screwed closed, Alyssa went on bravely, ‘Mum’s going to be so disappointed.’

There was nothing Harriet could say without crossing the line. In a single sentence Alyssa had summed up the complexity of her problems, the pressures, real or imagined, that had brought her to this point, the complex dynamics that fed this insidious disease. And there was so much Harriet wanted to say, so much she wanted to do. She wanted to delve deeper, to help unravel the complex puzzle, to untangle the knots that clouded Alyssa’s fragile mind, but a half-hour gossip on the edge of her bed wouldn’t suffice. Alyssa didn’t need an emergency nurse with empathy, she needed skilled specialist care, and Harriet knew that she must not complicate matters, must not, no matter how much she might want to, say anything that might jeopardise Alyssa’s treatment.

Knew that she wasn’t qualified to help.

‘Oh, come on, Alyssa.’ The nurse was back, frowning down at the plate. ‘You haven’t even tried. You know what this means, don’t you?’

And Harriet had to bite her tongue, knew it wasn’t her place to argue, so instead she took the tiny frail hand in hers as the plate was finally removed, stroked the translucent skin as the nurse set up the kangaroo pump, attaching a large bag of supplement to Alyssa’s NG tube and setting the dose before walking away. Harriet watched as with every whir of the motor a tear slid down Alyssa’s fragile cheeks, knowing, if not understanding, the torture Alyssa felt was being inflicted on her.

‘Dr Delgato’s right,’ Harriet said finally, gently squeezing Alyssa’s hand. ‘Once you’re moved to the adolescent unit you’ll be in the right place, you’ll be getting the help you need. Things will sort themselves out.’

‘Will they?’

Terrified eyes held Harriet’s and even if she wasn’t entirely qualified to answer, surely common sense could prevail.

‘With a bit of give and take,’ she responded finally. ‘From both sides.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘HOPEFULLY this is adequate.’

Turning the key in the door, Ciro pushed it open and stood aside as Harriet gingerly stepped inside her new home.

Ciro had duly picked her up from the surgical ward as arranged when his shift had ended. Harriet had rolled her eyes at the raised eyebrows from more than a few of her colleagues as Ciro had waited patiently for her to be given her discharge letter and say goodbye to the nurses that had treated her.

Drew had barely tried and had spectacularly failed yet again. He had packed a pair of white linen shorts Harriet had been hoping to slim into and a lilac halter neck that was definitely meant for days when one was feeling good about themselves, as opposed to the day you were being discharged from hospital, not to mention the trendy espadrilles that needed slender legs—and those were the wearable bits! A fluorescent pink bikini and a pair of jeans more suited to Alyssa were a couple of other choice items Drew had thoughtlessly tossed in, but at least finally she had her handbag and purse back.

Declining Ciro’s suggestion of a wheelchair, she had instead limped along a corridor that she normally raced down, acutely aware of her pale legs that shouldn’t be seen in white shorts and her straight red hair that had suffered some sort of major collapse under the hospital’s version of shampoo. By the time she’d reached Ciro’s very impressive, very new black car Harriet had been more than ready to sink into the cream leather and close her eyes for the journey ahead.

Until he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Until the scent that had reached her nostrils on their one and only shift together had assailed her again. Until his hand had brushed her bare leg as he’d let out the handbrake.

Out of the relatively safe confines of the hospital, stripped bare of the safety of her uniform, suddenly she had felt exposed and vulnerable and she’d spent the entire journey in a state of nervousness, trying and failing to make small talk. But as they’d driven along the beach road, Ciro had gestured to the apartments set high and proud on a large rock that jutted into the ocean and Harriet’s breath had caught in her throat. She had scarcely been able to believe this was going to be her home for the foreseeable future.

Adequate didn’t come close to describing the massive, sun-drenched apartment that greeted her tired eyes, everything in the huge lounge geared towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that took in the endlessly divine sight of the Pacific Ocean. Waves eternally rolled in, the roar silenced by the closed doors. But, as everyone who stepped in surely must, Harriet walked straight across the polished jarrah floorboards to the balcony, hardly noticing the tasteful occasional furniture. She flicked open the catch, slid the windows open and stepped out onto the huge balcony. In a clever architectural feat, instead of facing out onto the ocean, the architect had angled the building, and as Harriet stepped out onto the balcony she could see exactly why—whichever way she turned the views were divine. Facing outwards, she could see the length of the beach, watch the joggers pounding along, yet if she turned around it was as if she were sitting adrift in the water, watching the pounding waves roll in towards her.

‘It’s divine,’ Harriet breathed. ‘It’s the most amazing view!’

‘I haven’t turned on my television since I moved in,’ Ciro admitted. ‘I’ll just go and get your case from the car.’

‘Thank you.’ Harriet smiled and as Ciro went to go she said it again. ‘I really mean that, Ciro. Thank you so much for doing all this for me.’

‘It really is no big deal,’ Ciro said modestly. ‘I knew that the apartment was vacant and that you needed somewhere to live. Of course, I may live to regret it.’ He smiled at her frown. ‘You might revel so much in your new-found freedom that you take to throwing wild parties every night.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘I’m in the apartment above you.’

‘I doubt that I’ll be throwing too many wild parties, at least not on week nights,’ Harriet said.

Suddenly the amazing view dimmed a notch. Turning to face him, Harriet had to squint to bring his features into focus, the harsh morning sun behind him rendering his features unreadable as she voiced an apology that had bubbled for a couple of days now.

‘I was very dismissive of you in the hospital.’

‘Dismissive?’

‘When you told me you’d just come out of a relationship,’ Harriet explained. ‘I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself and to imply that you couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through just because you weren’t married…’

‘And didn’t have surgery that day!’ Ciro teased. ‘Or find my lover in bed with someone else!’

‘You were trying to be nice and I was very rude, and for that I’m sorry.’

‘Forget it,’ Ciro said easily.

Only Harriet couldn’t.

Suddenly the details that she had waved away mattered now. Suddenly, for reasons she didn’t even want to fathom, Harriet wanted to know about Ciro’s past, wanted to know if there was someone in his present…

‘You said it hurt,’ Harriet pushed, hoping she could blame her rise in colour on the fierce sun. ‘What happened?’

‘That’s the sort of question that can only be answered over a very large glass of wine,’ Ciro responded, smiling, but something in his voice told her she’d crossed a line, that that subject was closed, and he confirmed it when, without pausing for breath, he headed back inside. ‘I’ll go and get your case.’

Oh, hell!

Groaning with mortification, Harriet waited for her front door to close safely before she headed back inside, her eyes barely registering her new surroundings. Instead, she sat down on a navy leather sofa and buried her burning cheeks in her hands.

’What happened?’ Harriet mimicked her own voice a couple of times, wincing as she did so. What did it matter to her what had happened in Ciro’s past? What business was it of hers to ask him about his relationships? It must have sounded as if she fancied him or something.

Which was ridiculous.

Ridiculous, Harriet affirmed. She had just been making conversation. As if she was even remotely interested in a relationship at the moment. Her marriage had only just ended, she’d just had surgery, she was here to recuperate, to get over the hellish past few days and gather her strength for the undoubted battles that lay ahead. So what if Ciro was good-looking, so what if he’d been kind, so what if he was the only person on earth who she’d trusted with her predicament…?

‘Are you OK?’ Depositing her suitcase on the lounge floor, he made his way straight over to her, clearly mistaking her hunched position on the sofa and groans as some kind of relapse. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ Harriet started, then decided that surely she could be excused a tiny white lie. ‘Actually, I just came over a bit dizzy. I’ll be fine in a moment.’

‘Bed!’ Ciro declared, guiding her up by the elbow and practically frogmarching her towards the bedroom. Under any other circumstances it would have been a dream come true! ‘No arguments!’

He didn’t get one.

Mute, she stood there as he pulled the wooden slats on the divine view then proceeded to pull back starched white sheets. Her lies caught up with her as she truly did start to feel dizzy, only it had nothing to do with standing up too quickly and everything to do with the man guiding her by the elbow to the bedside and gently lifting her legs onto the bed.

‘Bed for me, too,’ Ciro said. ‘I’ve done my penance on nights.’

‘I like nights,’ Harriet admitted.

‘Me, too. Especially when you start in a new job. It forces you to find out where things are and how the system works. Right…’ He’d tucked her in firmly, the sheet well past her neck. ‘If you need anything…’

‘I won’t.’ Harriet shook her head, determined to redeem herself, to show she wanted nothing more from him than a courteous professional relationship and a friendly nod of greeting if they met on the stairs.

But it was Ciro lingering now, Ciro prolonging the conversation.

‘How long till you go back to work?’

‘They gave me two weeks.’

‘Well, use it wisely.’

She nodded, holding her breath, wishing he would go, yet somehow wanting him to stay a bit longer. He was just so easy to talk to, his smile, his demeanour so very disarming, Ciro Delgato did without trying something no man had ever done before. His mere presence soothed her, yet simultaneously excited her. She had a need to get to know him deeper, to find out what had brought him here, how long he was staying. But it was none of her business, Harriet reminded herself firmly. He had done her a huge favour in finding her this divine apartment—the last thing he needed in return was a nosy neighbour with a king-sized crush.

The internal admission shocked her, and as she lay stock-still her mind whirred.

It was a crush—a stupid crush—and all because he had helped her at her very worst, made her laugh when she should have cried, taken the pressure off the practicalities of finding somewhere to live and dealing with inquisitive colleagues.

‘You have to take things easy.’ Ciro’s voice was insistent. ‘Not so long ago people stayed in hospital for a full week after having their appendix removed. I really don’t like the thought of you having no one to take care of you.’

‘Ciro, I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m fine by myself.’

‘That sounds like the title of a song.’

‘It’s just how I feel.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘I really would prefer to be on my own right now. Mum and my friends all mean well, but I’m just—’

‘Fair enough,’ he broke in softly. ‘Can I drop by and check on you? I won’t impose,’ he added quickly before she could shake her head. ‘I’d just feel better if I saw that you were OK.’

Which was OK to agree to, Harriet decided. After all, she’d do the same for a neighbour. Giving a small nod, she closed her eyes, fully expecting to hear the bedroom door close, to be left alone with her jumbled thoughts. But he stayed.

‘When you’re up to it…’

Her eyes opened to his voice. She turned her head on the pillow to face him, and even though the light was dim it accentuated somehow how tired he must be, the hollows of his cheekbones deepened, that five a.m. shadow that was positively charcoal now. ‘We’ll have that talk.’

‘Talk?’ Harriet croaked, grateful that he had closed the slats and couldn’t see her flaming cheeks, anticipation flaring in every heightened nerve, simultaneously berating herself at her own presumption.

‘Over that large glass of wine. I’d like to get to know you better, Harriet.’ She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her eyes wide, she blinked at him, though his expression was impossible to read in the semi-darkness. ‘Rest now,’ he said, his voice thick and heavily accented, the door closing softly behind him.

In the days that followed Harriet truly wasn’t sure if she’d dreamt the last part of the conversation, if her drugand anaesthetic-hazed mind had somehow played tricks on her, because surely there hadn’t been that hint of promise throbbing in the air, surely someone as utterly divine, as accomplished and confident as Ciro Delgato couldn’t possibly want to get to know someone as plain, unsure and downright mixed up as Harriet Farrell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘CIRO!’

Harriet’s smile was wide as she pulled open her front door to see him standing there, holding a large brown paper bag. Berating the fact that she didn’t have her robe ready to pull on in case there was a knock at the door and a certain doctor decided to check how she was doing, she’d had to settle for pulling on a pair of shorts and praying that the two triangles of her bikini top kept at least the essential bits covered.

For the last few days Ciro had been playing the part of the dutiful neighbour and doctor to perfection, dropping in each evening to check on her progress, telling her off when, bright red, she’d answered the door having clearly fallen asleep in the sun. As boring as it must have been for Ciro, his visits were fast becoming the highlight of Harriet’s day! Late springtime at Coogee Beach was arguably the best place in the world for some serious recuperation of the soul, but there was only so much introspection Harriet could stomach, and any diversion, especially one as stunning as Ciro, was rather gratefully received.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were home.’ Ciro gestured to the dark flat. ‘I thought you might need these.’

The open door was clearly enough of an invitation for Ciro and he walked in. Harriet flicked on the light, watching open-mouthed as he proceeded to empty the bag.

‘Red wine, chocolate, a very slushy DVD.’ He held it up for her inspection and then carried on depositing his wares over the bench. ‘More chocolate and a box of tissues.’ He gave a triumphant smile. ‘Now that you are physically on the mend, I figure it’s time to start on the emotional so I’ve bought all the ingredients necessary for a woman who has a heart that is broken.’

‘A broken heart, even!’ Harriet grinned. ‘What makes you such an expert on women?’

‘I have three sisters,’ Ciro groaned. ‘So you can lose the sarcasm. Back home in Spain I do not have much of a first-aid kit in my hacienda, but I have a bag like this packed and ready in my pantry for when one of my sisters drops by unexpectedly or calls for me to come over urgently.’

‘I’m sure you make a lovely agony aunt,’ Harriet said, picturing the scene and heading over to the bench to eye the goodies. ‘Yes, please, to the wine and chocolate and the DVD. Actually, this is one I’ve been meaning to get, but I won’t be needing the tissues.’

‘Harriet, you don’t need to be brave.’

‘I’m not being brave,’ Harriet insisted. ‘I’m doing fine.’

‘Sitting in the dark, feeling sorry for yourself, is not doing fine,’ Ciro pointed out.

‘I was actually sitting on the balcony, watching a glorious sunset,’ Harriet corrected him. ‘And, before you suggest it, my lack of emotion has nothing to do with the fact I don’t have your sisters’ passionate Latin blood running through my veins. The simple matter is, I did all my crying over the end of my relationship long ago.’

‘A week isn’t very long,’ Ciro pointed out.

‘A year is, though.’ She gave a small shrug, then wished she hadn’t. Her tiny bikini was not really geared for shoulder movement and for a moment, so small it was barely there, she felt Ciro’s gaze flick downwards, and about the same time her heart rate soared skywards. She was suddenly acutely aware of her lack of attire, and that she hadn’t had a pert bust since pre-adolescence. Her very exposed breasts were jiggling around to a tune of their own and it would make it even more embarrassing if she suddenly dashed off, dropped the chocolate she had picked up and ran to the bedroom to throw on a T-shirt. Instead, she had to ride out the suddenly uncomfortable conversation, horribly conscious of the fact that, though newly tanned, her stomach could hardly be described as toned. ‘I did all the emotional groundwork months ago. In fact, if I hadn’t found Drew in bed with that woman, I don’t doubt for a moment that I’d be exactly where I am now.’ She registered his frown. ‘I’d decided we were both going to face up to it once I was feeling better, even as I was riding home in the taxi…’ Her voice trailed off. Over it she may be, but that didn’t mean she wanted to relive it just yet.

‘Would you like some wine?’ Ciro offered after a suitably long pause, realising she wasn’t about to elaborate. Probably because his apartment was the same as hers, when she nodded her acceptance, he was able to locate the corkscrew and glasses with ease. ‘Why don’t we try and catch the end of that sunset?’

Grabbing a flimsy wrap from the sofa, Harriet led him onto her balcony, grateful for the spectacular pink sky that surpassed any need for small talk. Watching in amicable silence as the sun dipped lower, listening to the raucous laughter of some teenagers partying on the beach, sipping on her wine, feeling the warmth of the liquid spreading through her, the exquisite shyness of having him so near finally abated enough to allow her to steal a glimpse of his haughty profile.

‘It is very beautiful,’ Ciro said, staring out into the distance. And Harriet murmured her agreement, only she wasn’t talking about the sunset. ‘Sydney really is very beautiful.’

‘It is,’ Harriet agreed, because with the stars so low you could almost touch them, with the sound of laughter and scents of garlic and herbs winging their way up from the bars and cafés along the foreshore, it would, quite simply, be impossible not to. ‘I didn’t think so at first, though,’ Harriet admitted. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to moving here at all.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Six months.’ She took a sip of her wine before continuing. ‘Six months has been about par for the course for the last few years. Every time I started to feel at home, every time I made a few friends, another role would come up, the next big thing Drew simply had to chase.’ Realising she was running the risk of sounding as if she felt sorry for herself, Harriet adopted a more positive note to her voice. ‘It worked, though. I mean, he started off in Perth with mainly walk-on non-talking parts and the occasional advert, then he took a part in Queensland on one of the local children’s shows as co-presenter, which got him noticed.’

‘Where to then?’

‘Melbourne. He got a fairly big part in a soap, and from there he was invited to play the roles he’s doing now, but it meant another move.’

‘And how did you feel about all these moves?’ Ciro asked.

Harriet gave a tight shrug. ‘Nursing’s very portable.’

‘I know that,’ Ciro said patiently, ‘but how did you feel about constantly moving?’

‘Exhausted,’ Harriet admitted. ‘Perhaps the most stupid part of the whole fiasco is that finally we seemed settled, geographically of course. Drew’s career was really taking off. For the first time in our marriage suddenly we weren’t dependent on my wage. I was even thinking about…’ She didn’t finish, shaking her head in the darkness, determined not to get maudlin, determined not to dwell on the could-have-beens that simply weren’t.

But Ciro wasn’t about to be fobbed off.

‘What were you thinking about doing?’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Harriet started, but she realised there was nothing maudlin about what she was thinking—in fact, it didn’t even involve Drew. And there was something infinitely patient about Ciro, something so refreshingly open and direct about him that somehow, and not for the first time, she found herself opening up.

‘You know how I told you I spent some time on an adolescent psychiatric unit? Well, it really had a huge impact on me.’

‘Were you thinking of doing psychiatric nursing?’

Harriet shook her head, blushing at her own presumption as she voiced her dreams, wondering what a very senior doctor’s take would be on them. ‘I wanted to study psychology, maybe one day specialise in people like Alyssa.’

And he didn’t give a patronising smile, or stare at her as if she were having some sort of manic delusion. He just gave a thoughtful nod. ‘You did very well with her—with her mother, too.’

‘That’s the part that interests me,’ Harriet responded eagerly. ‘The whole family dynamics, the bigger picture, not just what happened to, say, Alyssa, but what happened to her mother. Why her mother is so compelled…’ Her voice trailed off. She was embarrassed by her own enthusiasm but Ciro didn’t seem to mind a bit.

‘Alyssa spoke with me about you. She said you were very kind to her when she was on EHU.’

‘You’ve been to see her?’

‘A couple of times.’ Ciro nodded. ‘Though I’ll probably leave it for a couple of weeks. I don’t want her getting too dependent. You have to be very careful…’ It was Ciro’s voice trailing off now, Ciro giving a tight shrug, clearly trying to end the conversation.

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ Harriet observed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched his reaction. ‘More than most emergency doctors, perhaps?’

Almost reluctantly he nodded.

‘My twin sister, Nikki—’

‘You’re a twin!’

‘Yes, and we are very close. But Nikki suffers from an eating disorder. I have been through many hospital admissions with Nikki, so I know how hard the first few days can be. That is why I warned Alyssa that it might be exceptionally difficult for her on EHU. Staff on a general ward, no matter how good their intentions, just don’t understand that the entire body image and emotional thought processes of people with eating disorders are chronically distorted—that it’s about so much more than food.’

‘It must be hard for you,’ Harriet observed, ‘seeing someone you love so much suffering.’ But Ciro shook his head.

‘If it’s been hard for me then it’s been unbearable for Nikki. She is doing so well now, has fought her way back, but it isn’t something that can be cured as such. Every day is a fresh challenge. She has to be constantly vigilant, to recognise when old habits start creeping in…’ He gave a small smile, but it was loaded with pain. ‘But you already know this, don’t you?’

‘I know a bit,’ Harriet admitted. ‘I’d like to know more.’

‘You’d be very good.’

‘Would have been very good,’ Harriet corrected. ‘I was accepted to study psychology at uni a few years ago, but at the time we couldn’t afford it.’ This time Ciro did raise his eyebrows. ‘OK, Drew wasn’t getting much work and we really needed a full-time wage. But when we moved here and his work was more secure…’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘So what has changed?’ Ciro asked. ‘You can’t deny this is a new chapter in your life. Why not go the whole way and do something that you really want to?’

‘I might,’ Harriet said tightly. ‘Just not yet.’

But from his frown, Harriet realised he didn’t understand, just didn’t get the emotional war zone her life had been for so long now, still would be for a while yet, at least until her divorce came through. He couldn’t comprehend the battering her confidence had taken over and over, that apart from nursing every facet of her life had changed.

‘I want some peace,’ Harriet said finally. ‘I’m tired of unpacking boxes only to pack them up again a few months later, tired of being interviewed for a job I’ve been doing for years and starting over in yet another hospital, tired of having my mail redirected, or when the car needs a service having to find yet another new garage…’ Now she was starting to sound sorry for herself so she lightened it with a very bright smile. ‘I like Sydney,’ Harriet said firmly. ‘I love the fact that the beaches are just a stone’s throw from the city, love the ferries leaving the harbour, and the cafés and the mass of people, love the fact that at five a.m. at the end of a night shift I can go up to the top floor and watch the sunrise on a new day.’

‘It sounds like you’re staying!’

‘I am,’ Harriet said firmly, but taken aback a touch by her sudden decision. ‘I like my job, like the people I’m working with, and for the first time in years I’m going to stay put. Who knows? When the dust has settled, maybe I will go to uni and do psychology.’

‘Just not yet?’ Ciro ventured, and Harriet nodded.

‘Just not yet. Thanks for this.’ Holding up her wineglass, she chinked it with his. ‘It’s nice to have a sympathetic ear.’

‘Harriet, I am not here just to offer sympathy.’ Those gorgeous mocha-coloured eyes were staring directly at her. ‘I am here to spend some time with you, to get to know you. I am not very good at hiding my feelings and until I knew that you were sure your marriage was over it would not have been appropriate for me to come around for anything more than a very brief visit.’

‘Appropriate?’

‘I have watched you on the beach.’ Ciro gestured to the vast expanse below. ‘Seen the indecision in you…’

‘Ciro, there was no indecision, just pain.’

‘You needed space,’ Ciro said firmly, and Harriet had to leave it at that, but knew that the second she was alone she would go over the words he had said and see, if on replay, they were as wonderful as they sounded now, if Ciro was really saying that he wanted to spend time with her, not as a colleague, not as a neighbour, but as a woman.

And it should surely have been the most nerve-racking evening of her life, but it wasn’t, and it had nothing to do with two glasses of wine and everything to do with this amazing, insightful man. A man who actually knew not just how to listen but what to say, too, making her laugh, regaling stories of his own. And by the time the mozzies had started making themselves known and the noise from the party on the beach became more raucous than high-spirited it seemed the most natural thing in the world to drift into the lounge to relax back on the sofa and break open the chocolate while watching what would surely now top the list as Harriet’s all-time favourite movie.

‘You know it’s really over when you sleep in the middle of the bed,’ Ciro said authoritatively, handing her a tissue at a particularly tragic part, because when it was someone else’s life that was in tatters it was easier to cry somehow, easier to let go of the tears and pass them off for someone else.

‘I already am,’ Harriet gulped, startled that he had voiced something she had already thought about. It had actually come as a pleasant surprise to find that the bed wasn’t too big without Drew—in fact, it was divine, lying in the middle, stretching like a cat as she awakened with the sun. ‘The very first day I moved in here—that night I moved to the middle.’

‘There’s no going back, then,’ Ciro said assuredly. ‘Only forward—at least, that is what my sisters tell me.’

‘You have three sisters?’ Finding her voice she resumed the earlier conversation.

‘Three very different sisters,’ Ciro elaborated. ‘Cara is the eldest, impossibly dreamy and with the most appalling taste in men—married, drinkers, gamblers. I tell her one day she’ll hit the jackpot and manage to incorporate all three in the same guy. Estelle is studious, swore she’d never settle down until she’d finished her PHD, but she fell in love with a fellow student and now has two daughters, and we found out last week she is expecting twins—girls,’ he added. ‘All my life I am surrounded by women. Do you know that ginger cats are always male?’

‘I think so,’ Harriet said, raking her memory and trying to revive this rather useless piece of information.

‘My mother bought one for me, supposedly to even things up—it had kittens a few months later!’

‘Gosh!’ Harriet blinked. No wonder he was so good with women, the poor guy was surrounded by them. ‘What about Nikki? How is she?’

‘She is doing great now, busy working and getting on with her life.’

‘What work does she do?’

‘She models, which is not the ideal environment for someone who is so delicate, but she seems to be coping well at the moment.’

So good looks clearly ran in the family.

‘And these sisters of yours.’ Harriet took a gulp of wine, nervously broaching a subject she desperately wanted answers to while hoping to sound somehow casual. ‘When your relationships end, do they do the mercy dash with chocolate and wine and slushy movies?’

‘Oh, no!’ Ciro shook his head firmly.

‘Too proud to cry?’

‘No.’ Ciro shook his head again. ‘I am not one for regrets, for thinking what might have been.’ He dusted his hands together in a gesture of finality. ‘If it’s over, it’s over.’

‘Ouch!’

He laughed as she flinched. ‘It is much better that way. Most of my ex-girlfriends are still friends of mine. What?’ he asked as Harriet shot him a disbelieving look. ‘You don’t believe me—but they really are!’ Ciro insisted. ‘Just because we are no longer in a relationship it doesn’t mean we cannot still be friends.’

‘Ciro.’ She couldn’t help but smile, a tiny sigh of sympathy escaping her lips for all his ex-girlfriends, because, as sure as eggs were eggs, one night in Ciro Delgato’s arms would render any friendship null and void. ‘I guarantee these so-called friends of yours don’t see it that way. In fact, I’d bet that these friends of yours would tumble into bed with you at a moment’s notice.’

‘Of course!’ He wasn’t remotely embarrassed and Harriet’s mouth dropped open at his shameless honesty. ‘So long as neither of us are in a relationship, where is the harm?’

‘I don’t know,’ Harriet said feebly, suddenly feeling horribly unsophisticated. ‘It just seems so…pointless, I guess. I mean you know it isn’t going to work out…’

‘Harriet, do you read books again?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You have a favourite book that your read over and over?’

‘Yes,’ Harriet agreed faintly.

‘Even though you know the ending, those books you once adored can still give you pleasure.’

‘Book,’ Harriet corrected briskly. ‘I have one favourite book that occasionally I take down and read again, and then I wonder why I bothered because as it turns out, the ending is absolutely horrible! Personally I’d rather explore pastures new than visit old haunts…’

‘I’m teasing you, Harriet.’ He smiled a delicious, lazy smile. ‘And you are very easy to tease. But I am friends with some of my exes, though not Lana.’ He gave a slight wince. ‘That one did hurt a bit.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Ciro shrugged. ‘Now I realise we’re better apart. Lana didn’t want a relationship, more someone on her arm looking good.’ Somehow Ciro could say it without it sounding boastful, and most amazingly of all Harriet actually understood.

‘Drew was the same. Not at first, of course, but as he got more successful more and more he wanted the trophy wife.’

Ciro gave a knowing nod. ‘Someone to look the part!’

‘Or, in my case, not looking the part,’ Harriet sighed. ‘I never quite managed to look like the gorgeous wife Drew so badly wanted.’

‘But you are gorgeous,’ Ciro said as if it were fact, as if it were absolutely unequivocal. She waved him away, stood up, collected the wineglasses and empty bottle and headed for the kitchenette, sure that gorgeous wasn’t the word he was looking for, that his mental Spanish to English thesaurus had somehow misinterpreted the word. Nice? Perhaps. Friendly? Maybe. On a good day she could even muster passably attractive, but she was definitely not gorgeous.

‘You are,’ Ciro insisted, walking in behind her, and suddenly the simple became terribly complicated. Rinsing two glasses under the tap and putting the wine bottle in the recycle bin took a mammoth effort of concentration. ‘And, no, I have not got my words mixed up,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘It was the first thing I thought when I saw you.’

‘What was the second?’ Harriet asked, embarrassed but pleased, and scarcely able to comprehend that she was prolonging this dangerous conversation, scarcely able to believe she was pushing further.

‘Married.’ Picking up her hand, he held it, brushing her newly naked ring finger. ‘And I’m sure you can guess the third thing I thought.’

‘No.’ Harriet swallowed, because she could hope she knew the third thing Ciro had thought, could hope that this stunning, sensual man had truly been disappointed by the sight of a ring on her finger. But until he said it, until she heard those words coming from his full, very close mouth, she didn’t dare to believe it.

‘Damn,’ Ciro said slowly. ‘And that’s the polite version.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Ciro murmured, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her, his eyes narrowing in thought as he stared down at her. ‘Should I go?’ She could hear the question in his voice as he smiled down at her, could feel the lust thrumming in the air as he continued to stare, his mouth a mere breath away. She knew he was offering her an out, only Harriet didn’t want it.

His hand still warm and dry around hers, his face was moving closer but Harriet stood still. In that tiny slice of time her mind processed a multitude of thoughts, a flurry of internal conflict, as his other hand coiled around her waist, slipping under the flimsy fabric of her wrap and meeting the warm sun-kissed flesh, his fingers softly stroking her spinal column, running shivers the entire length of her body, every slow, measured move accelerating her heart rate.

Her eyes wide in a strange sensual terror.

This could only end in tears—hers.

It was too soon, way too soon.

Surely it could never, ever work.

But she needed this. With blinding clarity Harriet realised she needed this more than the air she was breathing—needed to experience the weight of his mouth on hers, to feel as divine and gorgeous as Ciro made her feel, to be kissed, tasted, wanted. And if it couldn’t work, she’d just live for the moment. If she was heading for a fall, for now she’d enjoy the ride.

A hastily drawn-up contract with her inner soul was penned in a nanosecond!

His breath was dusting her cheeks, the heat from his palm radiating through the small of her back, his mere touch, his very presence in her personal space so exquisitely sensual Harriet could feel the heavy stir of her own arousal, and his lips hadn’t even met hers. Could feel her breasts swell, filling the Lycra triangles, her nipples straining against the flimsy fabric, her stomach liquid churning to the pulsing beat between her legs. And now it wasn’t just Ciro moving closer but Harriet, too, her eyes closing in dizzy anticipation, but nothing could have prepared her for the impact of his searching lips on hers.

It had been for ever since she’d been kissed.

Really kissed.

With Drew, more and more it had been a perfunctory thing, had made her feel as sensual as an old maiden aunt with a hairy chin that one was forced to kiss at Christmas—the only thing he hadn’t done had been to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand afterwards. Yet with Ciro it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her, tongues mingling, lips swelling against each other. And not just lips. The drag of his rough unshaven skin against her cheek, pulling the soft skin, the utter size of him engulfing her, holding her fiercely, making her feel more of a woman than she had ever felt.

And if this was a rebound, Harriet gasped as his hand pulled her closer, as she felt the muscular firmness of his thighs pressing against hers, the swollen heat of his arousal nudging into her stomach, if this was a rebound then bring it on. If this was the cure for a broken heart, balm for raw wounds, then she wanted it, needed it.

Faint with longing, she mumbled with protest as he pulled away, her lips stinging, her body alive.

‘I have to go,’ Ciro said in that low, husky drawl that had her insides turning.

‘Do you?’ It was bold and it was brave and it was completely out of character, but it was exactly how he made her feel, caution thrown to the wind. But Ciro deftly caught it and handed it softly back.

‘I do,’ he said slowly, as he stared down at her, his eyes infinitely kind, taking away the sting of embarrassment at her earlier boldness. ‘And you have to be very sure that this is what you want.’

She did want.

But in a flash of self-preservation Harriet didn’t voice it, just nodded back at him, chewing on her bottom lip as he went on.

‘This has been a wonderful evening, Harriet, and it would be very easy to…’ He gave a small shrug. Maybe he didn’t know the right word, or maybe he knew that if he voiced it, made it real, then it would be even harder just to walk away. ‘I don’t just want to console you, Harriet. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Dumbly she nodded, watching as he picked up his keys and left.

Heading back onto the balcony, Harriet sat in the darkness hugging her knees to her chest, listening to lapping waves. Slowly her breathing evened, slowly sensibility crept in, bravado fading with every passing second.

Ciro might be worried that she’d regret it in the morning, that this was a mere rebound, but Harriet already knew from just one kiss that it was way more than that.

Pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders, she shivered for a moment, the absolute magnitude of what was taking place only just starting to hit home.

Ciro had been right to halt things, he had been right to insist that they take things slowly.

It would be so very easy to fall.

But almost impossible to get up again.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘HARRIET!’

The same voice that filled her dreams was summoning her from sleep, a loud banging on the door snapping her into consciousness. Harriet stumbled out of bed, desperately trying to orientate herself, recognising the urgency in Ciro’s voice, that frantic call for assistance she had heard from more doctors than she could remember.

But she wasn’t at work.

It took a moment to find the light switch, a moment to comprehend that this wasn’t a dream and that she wasn’t at work, that she wasn’t even at home, but it was definitely Ciro knocking loudly at her door and from the urgency in his voice this was no time to try and locate her gown.

‘Harriet!’ His shout didn’t fade as she flung open the door draped only in a bathroom towel, blinking at the bright hall lights of the apartment block, squinting at Ciro who was crouched in her doorway equally suitably undressed in a pair of dark boxers. He was pulling on a pair of runners. ‘Those kids that were partying on the beach…’ Footwear on, he was heading for the stairwell, giving her just enough information to act before he bolted down the stairs. ‘I’ve called for an ambulance, they’re in trouble.’

And that was all the information she needed. Berating the fact she wasn’t tidier, Harriet located her shorts from her bedroom floor and pulled them on before yanking open her chest of drawers and grabbing the first T-shirt that came to hand. For the sake of speed and safety she followed Ciro’s cue and spent thirty seconds pulling on her own runners so she could race down the stairs and out into the night. The air was cool now, the foreshore eerily dark without the familiar glow of the cafés. There were just a few streetlights to guide the way. The moon was hidden behind low clouds, bobbing out occasionally to give Harriet a view of what lay in store as she ran along the beach. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

Ciro, waist-deep in the water, was diving in, swimming towards a surfboard that an exhausted swimmer was trying to drag to shore, an inert body lying, floppy and prone, on it. Harriet knew, even from this distance, that the victim was in serious trouble. However, causing her even more concern right now was the group of hysterical teenagers that were shouting and swaying on the beach, screaming frantically for Ciro to hurry, one even trying to run into the inky water. Harriet was genuinely concerned that this already bad situation could turn into a complete disaster.

‘Stop him,’ Harriet shouted, pointing to the drunk teenager who was already knee-deep. But her voice was carried away in the wind. Her only option was to run faster, to stop him before he drowned himself.

Accelerating harder, her breath caught in her lungs, the salty air stung her nostrils, her heart pounded in her chest, and she tried to ignore the pull of her recent stitches as she stretched the boundaries of gentle postoperative exercise.

She could feel the waves whipping around her ankles and already her trainers were making running even heavier. But if she wanted to stop him there wasn’t time to take them off. The ground suddenly shifted beneath her, the water waist-high now, and Harriet took a final lunge at the young man, deciding in her own mind that if she couldn’t reach him there was no way she was going in any further, the water was just too deep, the surge too strong for her in her already exhausted state.

‘Get back to shore.’ His arm was wet under her grip, shrugging her off.

‘I want to help.’

‘Not this way,’ she shouted. ‘They’re bringing him in. That man’s a doctor. You’re going to end up needing to be rescued yourself.’

Mercifully he didn’t take another step out, but neither was he heading back to the safety of the shore, and Harriet knew she only had a small window of time to persuade him before foolish bravado took over and he headed back out.

‘You can help him,’ Harriet shouted, ‘by going to the street and directing the ambulance.’

‘But Vince needs his mates.’

‘He needs medical help,’ Harriet said urgently. She was freezing now, struggling to keep her footing. ‘You need to wave them down and show them exactly where we are. Come on,’ she insisted, heading back to the shore and praying he would follow her lead.

After a small hesitation he saw sense, wading through the waves to his waiting friends, urging them to the street. But Harriet’s real work had barely started. Ciro was swimming back now with the other rescuer, both men attempting to guide the surfboard, but Harriet could see it was growing increasingly difficult as they neared the shore, the breaking waves making the task more difficult. She watched with her heart in her mouth, knowing from her brief foray in the water just how exhausted Ciro and the rescuer must be, but knowing that unless they hurried they weren’t going to make it back in time, that already it might be too late to save this victim.

‘Stay there, love.’

Sheer relief flooded her as she heard the welcome sound of reinforcements. Three burly men, alerted by the distressed teenagers, were rushing past her, heading out just as Ciro had done, with no thought for their own safety, willing to help a stranger in trouble. And many hands did make light work. They dragged the victim those last exhausting metres and as they lifted him out of the water, not for the first time Harriet thanked her lucky stars that these men had arrived. The victim was a thick-set, burly guy and it would have been an almost impossible feat in Ciro’s and the rescuer’s depleted state to drag him the last few metres to where Harriet was waiting. Wasting no time, Harriet set to work, sweeping his airway clear, palpating his neck for a pulse and then pinching his nostrils and extending his neck. She delivered two swift breaths into the patient before commencing cardiac massage.

‘I’m coming.’ Ciro was nearby, his hands on his knees, coughing, choking on the salty water that must surely be filling his lungs, trying to somehow summon the energy to complete the task.

‘I’m OK,’ Harriet said, pushing on the large chest, but though her words were brave she needed help. This guy was big. It took a huge physical effort to effectively massage his chest and all her breath was taken up giving him the kiss of life. She could feel the pull of her incision, knew she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

‘Where the hell’s the ambulance?’ Harriet called, between expirations.

‘It’s coming,’ someone shouted. ‘I can hear the sirens.’

But Harriet couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her own pulse pounding in her temples, the scorching sting of every breath as she worked on. Even though he was nowhere near ready, Ciro must have recognised her desperation because he knelt down beside her and pushed her hand away, not wasting a single precious breath to tell her he was taking over, just extending his arms and pushing down hard on the man’s chest. Harriet moved up to the head, her eyes trained on Ciro’s hands, watching for the tiny pause so she could push in her exhaled air.

‘Stop.’ Feeling a shudder of resistance, Harriet pulled her face back, placed her hand on Ciro’s arm and they both leant back on their heels. Ciro’s fingers palpated Vince’s neck, concentration etched on every feature as he strained to find a pulse, but it seemed useless. Just as Harriet was sure she must somehow have imagined the tiny shift in tone she’d felt in the young man, suddenly his chest moved and he spluttered, his whole body convulsing in spasms as Harriet and Ciro swiftly rolled him onto his side, Ciro pushing on his back to force out the salty water that was choking him.

‘OK, guys, help’s here.’

Harriet didn’t know the paramedics who had arrived, but relief flooded her at the sight of the bright green uniforms, the shiny boxes they dropped silently onto the sand. She noted with a wry smile that Ciro didn’t waste time stating the obvious. He just gave a very brief handover and introduction as the paramedics set to work assessing the patient and attaching him to monitors and blood pressure equipment. Harriet silently assisted.

‘He was in full arrest by the time we got him to shore.’ Ciro gestured over to the other rescuer, still lying on the beach, his mates now surrounding him. ‘He needs to be seen at the hospital—that guy must have swallowed half the ocean.’

‘How long were you giving CPR before he responded?’

‘Unfortunately I’m not wearing my watch, but five, maybe seven minutes.’ Ciro looked at Harriet for confirmation and she nodded. Happy to hand over, but still willing to participate, she unravelled the oxygen tubing and slipped the mask over the man’s face as Ciro took the paramedics’ stethoscope while one inserted an IV bung, shaking his head as he listened to the patient’s chest.

‘Poor air entry, he’s making only minimal respiratory effort.’

And there was a decision to be made—to scoop and run and take him to the hospital, which was a few minutes’ drive away at breakneck speed where skilled help and equipment was waiting, or to intubate the patient here, knowing that at any time Vince could arrest again or suffer another seizure.

‘His oxygen saturation is only eighty-five per cent,’ one of the paramedics called. ‘What do you want to do, Doc?’

‘Intubate,’ Ciro said after only the briefest of hesitations. Clearly the paramedics agreed with his decision and wasted no time in handing Ciro the necessary equipment as Harriet applied crico-thyroid pressure—pressing on the patient’s neck to allow for easier insertion of the tube.

‘His air entry is better now,’ Ciro said, listening to the chest again. ‘I think we should get him to Emergency now. Do you want me to let them know?’

‘We can do that. Are you coming for the ride, Doc?’ the paramedic asked. But another ambulance was pulling up now, more assistance arriving with each passing minute. The emergency was under control now and Ciro finally relaxed, a rueful smile appearing on his exhausted face.

‘Preferably no!’ He gestured to his drenched boxer shorts and now bare feet. ‘I’m sure you guys can take it from here.’ Standing up, he took a moment to shake the paramedics’ hands firmly. ‘You’ve done a great job. Thank you for your prompt assistance.’

‘No worries,’ one of the paramedics answered, lifting the stretcher, the wheels not exactly designed for the soft sand. ‘It’s going to be nice working with you, Doctor.’

The other team was tending to the rescuer, wrapping him in blankets, reassuring Vince’s friend as the police arrived and started to make their enquiries, taking statements from the witnesses.

‘Here you go!’ A thick blanket was being placed around Harriet’s shoulders. Still kneeling on the sand, she was too tired even to offer her thanks and shivered violently, vaguely aware of Ciro talking to police officers as a paramedic knelt down beside her. ‘Are you OK?’

Harriet nodded, her teeth chattering too violently to attempt an answer, shock and fatigue starting to set in.

‘You’ve cut yourself,’ the paramedic observed, shining his torch down her legs. Harriet vaguely recalled the sharp pain that had shot through her as she’d knelt down. She stared down at her leg as if it belonged to someone else as he carefully examined it. ‘Looks like it was glass, there’s a few broken bottles lying around. Let’s get you into the ambulance and get you to the hospital…’

‘I don’t need to go to hospital,’ Harriet managed, but something in her voice must have alerted Ciro. He swung around, forgetting the conversation he was having with the police officer and coming straight over.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Harriet coughed, wishing they would all leave her alone. ‘I’m cold, that’s all.’

‘She’s got a laceration on her leg…’

‘I’ve got a small cut on my leg,’ Harriet corrected him, but Ciro was dropping down on his own knees now, running a concerned, trained eye over her.

‘She had an appendicectomy last week,’ Ciro said to the hovering paramedic.

‘She can speak for herself,’ Harriet retorted.

‘She’s also a terribly uncooperative patient.’ Again he spoke over her, but there was a hint of humour that softened it, his eyes narrowing in concern as he eyed her more closely. ‘What is wrong, Harriet?’

And he said it so softly, so gently she felt a sting of tears in her eyes. The night’s events, the week’s events, the entire wretched last few months finally catching up with her. ‘I’m cold and I’m tired and I just want to go…’ The tears came then, tears she had held back for so long now, tears she had sworn no one would ever see. But sitting on a beach, wrapped in an ambulance blanket, at two a.m. only compounded her sudden chaotic existence, only served to enforce her desolation.

Ciro thankfully understood, realised that her tears and overwhelming lethargy were more emotional than physical, that the very last thing she needed right now was to be hauled back to hospital, to fan the flames she was so desperately trying to put out.

‘Let’s get you home.’ He said the last word very deliberately. His strong hand gently guided her up and he pulled her into his chest, he held her closely as he addressed the police officer.

‘I have told you all I can. If you need anything more from me you can contact me at the hospital.’

‘If you can just tell us when you first became aware—?’ the young officer started, but Ciro wasn’t listening.

One strong arm around Harriet, he guided her slowly along the beach towards the apartments and called over his shoulder, ‘This can all wait until tomorrow.’

They took the lift in silence, Ciro’s arm still wrapped around her, still holding her tightly against him. Somewhere between the second and third floors he wasn’t just someone to lean on, somewhere around the fourth the heart pounding in her ears was Ciro’s, not hers. As he held her to his chest, she could feel the quiet masculine strength of him, the smooth velvet of his chest against her cheek, the slight scratch of hair as he pulled her even closer, and she knew without looking that they were bypassing her floor, that they were going back to Ciro’s apartment.

‘I’m going to run you a warm bath and then take a look at you.’ Leading her over to the sofa, he unwrapped her from the blanket.

Harriet gingerly sat down, casting a shy eye around the room.

His apartment was the image of hers, exactly the same floor plan, the furniture almost identical, yet it was an entirely different dwelling. Somehow he had masculinised it, the tangy citrus of aftershave hanging in the air, a mountain of newspapers on the coffee-table, his tie and jacket tossed messily over the chair and endless coffee-cups filling the sink.

‘Your bath is ready.’ He was back, smiling that familiar professional smile, and Harriet almost physically ached for earlier, not the earlier downstairs in her own apartment but back in the lift, when he had held her in his arms, when he had dragged her into his personal space, his touch the only comfort that would suffice. But it would be dangerous to let him see that, dangerous to head down that path in a weak and vulnerable moment. It was far easier to paint on a smile, far easier to reassure him that she was fine.

‘I really am OK.’ She was feeling more like her old self now. The exquisite loneliness that had assailed her on the beach had abated and Harriet felt almost foolish for lowering her guard, guilty even that she had worried him. ‘I was just in such a deep sleep when you knocked, I didn’t have time to process it…’

‘You’ve had a shock,’ Ciro explained, the voice of reason, but Harriet shook her head.

‘I work in Emergency, Ciro. It’s hardly the first time I’ve given CPR.’

‘There’s a big difference between a well-stocked emergency room with doctors and nurses on tap and a beach in the middle of the night.’

Almost reluctantly she nodded.

‘You’ve just recovered from surgery,’ Ciro continued. ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’

‘Hey, you were the one who knocked!’

‘And I’d do it again tomorrow,’ Ciro answered, ‘but that doesn’t mean—’ The ringing of the telephone halted his little lecture, but from the expletive that escaped his lips Harriet guessed he wasn’t particularly impressed at the intrusion.

‘Aren’t you going to get it?’ Harriet asked, frowning as Ciro shook his head. ‘It might be the hospital.’

‘The hospital rings me on my mobile…’ Finally he answered the call and Harriet feigned disinterest, looked anywhere but at Ciro as he spoke curtly into the telephone, letting the poor unfortunate on the other end know exactly what he thought of their early morning greeting.

‘My sister!’ Replacing the phone in its cradle, Ciro turned his palms skywards. ‘She still hasn’t worked out the time difference between Spain and Australia. Now, where were we?’

‘I was about to have a bath,’ Harriet answered, more brightly than she felt. Something about the telephone call had unsettled her, yet she couldn’t quite place what. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it as Ciro halted her progress as she attempted to stand.

‘Not so fast. I need to have a look at you first. Is your stomach still hurting?’

‘A bit,’ Harriet admitted. ‘But I don’t think it’s anything serious. I could feel my incision pulling when I was running and while I was doing the massage. I’m sure I just did too much.’

‘What about your knee?’ he asked, gently probing the bruised, cut flesh as Harriet frowned down at him.

‘Why do you talk to your sister in English?’ She watched as his fingers stilled momentarily, an almost imperceptible pause before he carried on examining her, his answer when it came vague and dismissive.

‘I forget where I am sometimes.’

His touch on her skin was almost more than she could bear and it had nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with his utter tenderness. In an attempt at self-preservation, she jerked her knee away.

‘It’s a tiny cut, Ciro, nothing to make a fuss about!’

‘OK.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘You really are a terrible patient, you know.’

‘Because I hate being one,’ Harriet mumbled. ‘Can I just have my bath, please?’

‘When I’ve seen your stomach.’ Ciro was insistent. ‘If you’ve torn anything, the last thing you need is to step into a hot bath.’

It made sense, enough sense for Harriet to lie back on the sofa, enough sense to let him lift her legs up. She wriggled her body straight, tried to keep her breathing even as for the second time Ciro’s hands probed her stomach. Only this time she wasn’t concentrating on holding her stomach in, she’d have settled for keeping her breathing even. His hands probed her tender flesh as she stared fixedly at the ceiling.

‘Your shorts.’ Ciro’s voice was even, his fingers fiddling with the tiny silver catch, but Harriet pushed them away, dealing with the fastening herself and wiggling her hips as best she could, moving the damp, unyielding garment down an inch so he could see her wound.

‘Harriet, I need to examine your stomach properly.’

She had known it wasn’t enough, had known that he needed her shorts to be properly loosened to adequately examine her scar, and she held her breath as his fingers moved the zipper down an inch, that tiny distance enough to allow for a proper examination of her abdomen. If Ciro had thought about it, he’d probably have realised that she wouldn’t be wearing knickers. If he’d actually stopped to think, Ciro would have realised that when he’d knocked on her door an hour or so earlier and told her a kid was drowning, rummaging through her drawers for a pair of undies would have been the last thing on her mind. But clearly, from his reaction, from the loaded, charged atmosphere, he hadn’t thought. Harriet felt it as if it was physical—the tiny beat of hesitation as the zipper opened, as his eyes took in that first glimpse of her golden curls, and the mood that was highly charged suddenly shifted to electric. If he’d been a doctor before, he wasn’t now.

Her eyes dragged the length of his naked torso, taking in the same body she’d worked alongside for the last hour, but it was as if she was seeing it for the first time. The smattering of dark hair fanning his chest, so exquisitely masculine, snaking down his flat, toned stomach, down, ever down to the dark silky boxers, the hemline straining against his muscular thighs, tiny coils of hairs on his legs that she ached to reach out and feel, dizzy now, not with exhaustion or expended emotion but with sheer unadulterated lust.

And Ciro felt the shift, too, she knew that, knew that from the slight tremor in his hand, the tension in his throat as he swallowed.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Here?’ His voice was thick with lust but at least he could speak.

The answer strangled in her throat. Instead, she shook her head against the cushion, not staring up at the ceiling as she had the last time he’d examined her but staring brazenly into his eyes, not willing this moment over but shamefully wishing it would never end. She could see the lust blazing in his eyes, feel the heat of his palm on her stomach, the coolness as he took it away.

‘Harriet?’

She heard the question in his voice, knew that even at this late stage he was somehow trying to protect her from herself. He took her hand and led her to the bathroom and she knew that he wouldn’t be leaving her alone. It had always been excruciating, undressing in front of a man, but Ciro dealt with that, undressing her himself with such utter reverence, his eyes adoring her as he slipped her shorts over her bottom, sliding them down her legs. She lifted her arms as docile as a sleepy child as he tugged off her T-shirt, the approval in his eyes as the temporary darkness lifted making her feel truly beautiful.

‘It will feel hot.’ Guiding her into the bath, he spoke softly to her. ‘But that is just because you are cold. The water is just warm…’

‘You’re cold, too,’ Harriet whispered, wincing when the biting water flamed her frozen flesh as she lowered her body into the stinging yet inviting heat. ‘Why don’t you—?’

‘Let me look after you, Harriet.’

Dipping a sponge into the water, he squeezed it around her neck, rivers of warmth running down her spine. He moved the sponge along her frozen arms in slow, ever-decreasing circles of warmth, even massaging her hands, taking each finger in turn, instilling warmth where there had been none.

‘Your knee.’ He squeezed the sponge again and she gave a tiny wince at the sting of the soapy water, but the pain was short-lived. Ciro guided the sponge length-ways now, his hand disappearing beneath the surface of the water and massaging her aching calves. And there was no rush, none at all, each feather-light stroke relaxing her more, yet moving her further into giddy submission. Sponge forgotten, he soaped his hands, his eyes adoring her. Strong fingers massaged the knots of tension from her shoulders, but as his hands moved lower everything changed. To that point it had been tender, blissfully sensual perhaps but loosely within the bounds of decency, but as he took the weight of her heavy, soapy breasts, she felt her throat constrict with desire, closed her eyes to the ecstasy of skilful fingers as they finally crossed that delicious line, his lips moving downwards in deep, throaty kisses along her neck, stealthily moving downwards with such slow, teasing precision Harriet could feed a needy moan welling in her throat, wanting, needing, desperate to feel his mouth around her nipples.

He obliged, taking the ripe, swollen delicacy in his mouth, his teeth gently nibbling her areola, the fizz of arousal coursing through her breasts. She wanted so badly to focus on the bliss but his hand was working up her legs. Tiny gasps of approval escaped her lips but her body was saying otherwise. Her thighs closed around the hand that was slowly inching upwards, stalling his decadent progress. Her hand captured his strong forearm in a vague attempt to push him away, scared almost to give in, unable to comprehend that this could be enough for him, that surely she must reciprocate, but a low throaty murmur dictated his pleasure, his mouth still working her breast but his hand hovering, stroking, softly stroking her thigh, patiently awaiting her total consent. Harriet gave in to him then, gave herself in a way she never had before, stopped trying to fight for control and willingly let him have it.

Completely.

Her legs wilfully parted, giving in to the delicious sensations he so skilfully inflicted, her neck arching, this slow delicious torture almost more than she could bear. Yet she didn’t want it to ever end, could feel his finger probing, parting the tender, engorged flesh of her hood, locating her precious jewel, applying little beats of pressure that made her want to weep, while his tongue still circled her nipple, drawing it to its delicious, tender length then pausing, holding her quivering mound in his loving hand, adoring her with his eyes.

‘I want to take you to bed…’ His low drawl was as erotic as his touch. ‘Since the moment I saw you, Harriet, it is all I have wanted to do.’

She understood, because she’d felt it, too, more than she’d even wanted to admit at the time, more than she’d dared acknowledge, but that stinging, brutal awareness she had felt had been undeniable. That it was culminating in this was inevitable almost.

He effortlessly scooped her up and carried her the short distance to the bedroom and she buried her face in his chest, tasting the salt of the ocean, revelling in the delicious scent of arousal. And Harriet knew she should have felt shy, should have felt naked and exposed as he laid her on the bed, but he imbued wanton confidence in her, the desire blazing in his eyes telling her she was doing OK. The pleasure was as much his as hers. Her needy hands tugged at his boxers, and she saw Ciro in full arousal. The sheer glorious naked strength of him gave her a shudder of nervous apprehension, and he sensed it.

‘I won’t hurt you, Harriet.’ Kneeling on the bed, he cupped the peach of her buttocks in his hand and, leaning over, kissed his way down the length of her writhing body. Achingly slowly he explored her with his tongue and at the scratch of his face on her stomach, the feel of his thighs parting hers, Harriet’s hands coiled in his jet hair. Her head thrashed on the pillow as he took her so close to the edge it was almost indecent, the fuse he had lit in the bathroom so damn close to detonation now that the knot of anxiety about accommodating him was replaced with sheer naked need, a need to have him inside her, to have him fill her. His name was a sob on her parted lips as she begged him to enter her, but even his skilful foreplay, her greedy anticipation of the moment didn’t come close to the power of him inside her, that first delicious stab the trigger, her whole body toppling, a physical chain reaction so severe there was nothing she could do except go with it—moving with him, her calves around his waist, the sheen of his skin against her, her fingers pushing into his taut buttocks, greedy, desperate lips tasting his flesh as he bucked inside her. A frenzied convulsion engulfed her, a hot searing flush rushing along her spinal column, his buttocks tightening in the same rigid tune she moved to as he swelled further within her, spilled inside her. She’d never cried before while making love, but it was the only thing she could do now. The amassing of emotion, the sheer and utter release, followed by the tranquil post-coital bliss, culminating in quiet, cleansing tears. And through it all Ciro held her.

Held Harriet as if he’d never let her go.

CHAPTER NINE

COOGEE BEACH was arguably the best place in the world to get over a broken relationship or even to forge a new one!

Restaurants designed for lovers were on every corner, subdued lighting and informal couches where you could feed each other on today’s early morning catches. Or you could just wander along the busy streets and stop at any one of the trendy cafés and watch the world go by. But as Harriet’s strength, along with her confidence, returned more and more, they strayed from their haven, taking endless beachside walks right up to Bondi, following the tracks, stopping along the way to marvel at the sandstone, the colours so rich, from saffron-yellow to burnt orange, that they looked as if they’d been painted for effect, poking sticks into tiny rock pools or just stopping a while, Ciro lying on his side, watching with a lazy smile as Harriet popped seaweed.

‘Your skin is like the sandstone!’ Harriet gave him a queer look and Ciro laughed. ‘I meant the many colours, not the texture. First it was pale, then pink, then angry red…’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Harriet winced, her lobster impression not quite a distant enough memory to joke about yet.

‘But now it is…’ His hand brushed the sand from her thigh, staring thoughtfully at the million freckles dusting her legs.

‘Freckly,’ Harriet said for him, just a touch uncomfortable under his scrutiny, wishing she could be as olive-skinned and as long-limbed as the Mediterranean beauties he was undoubtedly used to, still scarcely able to fathom that a man as stunning as Ciro, a man so used to delectable women, could really find her as beautiful as he regularly insisted that she was.

‘Are you nervous about going back to work tomorrow?’ His hand was still there, stroking the tiny blonde hairs upwards, causing tiny shivers of electricity at his mere touch. Harriet finally nodded.

‘I feel like I’ve been away for months, not just two weeks.’

‘A lot has happened in that time,’ Ciro said, and Harriet forgot the seaweed she was idly popping and stared out at the crystal-clear water, one part of her wishing it was this time tomorrow, that her first awkward day back was over and done with, while the other wished that they could just stay like this for ever.

‘What’s everyone going to think? I know you tried to hide it from me…’

‘Hide what?’ Ciro asked, but from the way his foot was scuffing the sand Harriet knew he’d guessed what she was about to say! ‘I read that newspaper, Ciro. The one you said hadn’t arrived. Well, Judith rang to discuss it with me and I found it in the recycle bin—read for myself how I was so devastated that I took an overdose after I found them in bed together.’

‘Judith rang you?’ Ciro’s annoyance was obvious.

‘I’m glad she did. Someone at the hospital must have leaked it and we were trying to work out who.’

‘Why do you think someone from the hospital spoke to the press? Surely it would be from Drew’s PR.’

‘I doubt it,’ Harriet scoffed. ‘Drew’s hell-bent on keeping his image clean.’

‘It was only two lines in the paper.’ Ciro shrugged. ‘And they only insinuated that you might have done that. Anyway, no one will have seen it.’

‘Oh, please!’ Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘As much as it galls me to admit it, Drew is finally famous! OK, he’s not an international celebrity, but here in Sydney he’s pretty hot property, which means that me ending up in hospital the night we broke up…’

‘The hospital you work in,’ Ciro pointed out. ‘And everyone there knows that you had appendicitis that night—you had an operation, for heaven’s sake. No one thinks for a moment that you took an overdose. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

‘I guess,’ Harriet sighed. ‘That’s exactly what Judith said. Anyway, she didn’t just ring for that…’ A tiny proud smile wobbled on the edge of her lips. ‘There’s an ANUM position coming up.’

‘A what?’ Ciro frowned.

‘Associate Nurse Unit Manager,’ Harriet explained. ‘It’s probably where I should be by now, but I’ve never really been in one place long enough to apply for a promotion before.’

‘And are you going to?’

Swivelling her eyes to him, she gave an incredulous smile. ‘Of course I’m going to!’ Harriet announced. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I may not get it, but I’m thrilled Judith’s even considering me.’

‘Well, good luck!’ It didn’t sound particularly heartfelt, but he gave her a wide smile. ‘You’re going to be fine tomorrow.’

The frantic chewing on her bottom lip told Ciro she wasn’t entirely convinced.

‘What else is worrying you?’

‘Nothing,’ she answered quickly. Too quickly perhaps because Ciro’s hand was still now, the idle stroking halting.

‘Harriet?’

She heard the question mark, the summons for the truth, and taking a deep breath she finally faced him.

‘Can we keep it quiet? About us, I mean?’

‘If that is what you want.’ Ciro nodded. ‘We can keep it to ourselves for now.’

‘It’s just, I mean I know we only met that night, that we couldn’t possibly have been seeing each other before—’

‘That’s fine, Harriet,’ Ciro broke in, but Harriet was on a roll now, hoping that by somehow putting her jumbled thoughts into words they might even start to make sense.

‘Drew and I had been washed up for ages, but people didn’t know that. They’re going to think it’s just a fling or wonder how on earth…’ Her voice trailed off and after the longest silence it was Ciro who finally spoke.

‘Are you beginning to wonder?’ he asked perceptively.

‘No,’ she said, but her voice was saying otherwise. ‘No,’ Harriet said again more firmly, hoping that if she could convince him she could convince herself. ‘Of course not.’

‘Harriet, we need to talk.’ Ciro’s voice was serious, using that low, slightly urgent tone he had occasionally used these last few days when he had tried to bring up the difficult subject of their future.

If there could even be a future.

And she knew without him voicing it the sheer impossibility of the situation they were in—that Ciro was from the other side of the world, they spoke different languages, that if, if this relationship proceeded then horrible choices would have to be made. She felt cold fingers of fear creeping around her heart, just as they always did when the conversation turned this way. She felt a horrible sense of foreboding that she truly wanted to ignore, but Ciro wasn’t letting up, his deep, lyrical voice stabbing at her fragile mind. ‘There are things we have to discuss. Both of us are in other places…’ His fingers snapped in frustration as he struggled to find the right words, but Harriet didn’t want to hear them.

‘Different places,’ Harriet snapped back, jumping up quickly, determined to end this conversation before it even started. ‘Both of us are in different places right now. I know that, Ciro!’

‘Harriet, please, I just want to talk.’

His was entirely the voice of reason, but Harriet shook her head.

‘Can’t it wait, Ciro? I’m starting to burn, sitting here…’ She raked a hand through her hair, brushed some sand from her legs, pulled down at her T-shirt—anything other than looking at him, anything other than seeing again the exasperation in his eyes at her utter refusal to listen. ‘I just want to get the next few days over with. I’ve got work to deal with, solicitor’s appointments and real estate agents to deal with. Surely we can do this some other time? Surely?’ she said again, finally forcing herself to look at him.

Relief whooshed over her when finally he reluctantly nodded. He took her hand and they wandered in silence back to the apartments, watching a crazed cocker spaniel chasing the surf, the sun prickling shoulders Ciro would surely massage later. And she wished she could capture that moment, hold that slice of time in her hands and never move forward, keep it all as simple as it was when it was only the two of them.

‘Are you hungry?’

Ciro was flicking through his mail-box, pulling out letters and idly wading through his mail, as Harriet pressed the button for the lift.

‘Starving,’ Ciro moaned. ‘But I am thinking we should just call for room…’ He paused, standing stock-still for a moment, his eyes fixed on an envelope before he finished his sentence. But to Harriet every word was forced now, his smile impossibly false. ‘Room service,’ he said brightly. ‘Just a nice quiet evening on the balcony.’

‘Anything interesting in your mail?’ Her casual enquiry was equally forced as the lift made its way upwards, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as Ciro shook his head and, just as he had when the phone had rung in the middle of the night, he effectively dismissed her.

‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’

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