ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over 60 Mills & Boon® Medical Romances™.

As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.

When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

From Venice
With Love
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader

Do you have a bucket list?

I do :-), and a year or so ago I was lucky enough to tick off one of the bigger items—travelling from Venice to London on the Orient Express.

It was the culmination of a fabulous trip. Along with writing friends Fiona McArthur and Trish Morey I had attended the Women’s Fiction Festival in Matera, Italy. Then Fiona and I headed off to tick off her bucket list item of a Mediterranean cruise, which just happened to finish in Venice and dovetailed perfectly with my dream train journey.

Being a writer has a unique advantage. I don’t have to rely solely on photo albums or journals to remember a special time. I can weave my memories into a story.

Come and share my trip of a lifetime. Let’s start in Venice and finish in London and see what happens on the way to the cast of characters I chose—Charlotte and Nico and Charlotte’s loveable gran Jendi who, like me, has always wanted to travel on the Orient Express.

And, just to make it even more special, let’s make it happen at Christmastime.

Enjoy—and Happy Christmas!

With love

Alison xxx

To Fi, with lots of love.

Here’s to friendship. And memories xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE SOUND OF more than one person shouting got steadily louder as Nico Moretti turned into the narrow Venetian alleyway that would get him to his destination a little faster.

He tried to ignore the sound. He was in a hurry and it wasn’t as if the sound of shouting was anything unusual for a large Italian city but he could feel his frown deepening. It was a disturbing echo of what was already occupying too much of his head.

The noise was loud enough to have people stopping in the street now. Turning their heads and asking each other what they thought it might be about. The slowing pace and knots of people forming made it harder to move forward and Nico heard a growl of frustration escape his own throat.

He could tell them what it was about if he had either the time or the inclination. It was about people who wanted different things. People who were passionate about what they believed in. People who weren’t prepared to even try and understand each other and left broken lives in their wakes. But he didn’t have the inclination. Not when he felt so out of place in this city of his birth and with the sound of his childhood language surrounding him and reinforcing that exclusion. And he certainly didn’t have the time. Not when the real reason for his return to Venice was due to start in less than thirty minutes.

At least he had the advantage of his height. And plenty of practice in cutting through obstructions to get to the heart of an emergency. All he needed to do was take on the mantle of an expert consultant en route to an urgent call in an emergency department or at an accident scene.

‘Scusi.’ The word was a command, not a request, and, as always, it had the desired effect. A path appeared through the gathering crowd. Those closest to him actually stopped talking to stare at him but that only made the sound of whatever was happening ahead clearer.

Whatever it was about, it wasn’t simply a misunderstanding or disagreement. There was a language barrier as well. He could hear English being spoken by a forceful, female voice.

‘Stand back. Don’t move him yet. Call an ambulance. Ambulanza.’

More shouting. In Italian. Had someone called an ambulance? Where was it? Why wasn’t it here yet? They were right beside the Grand Canal, for heaven’s sake. Practically a highway in Venice. Where were the police? Where was a doctor when you needed one?’

‘Sì.’ The English woman had understood something in the furore. ‘Dottoressa. I’m a doctor. Let me get close. I have to find out if he’s breathing.’

‘He’s not,’ someone close to Nico muttered. ‘He’s dead. He has to be, falling off the roof like that. He must have broken his sorry neck. Who does that English woman think she is? An angel who can work some kind of miracle?’

‘It’s almost Christmas,’ a black-clad Italian grandmother said sagely. ‘A good time for a miracle to happen.’

‘Scusi.’ Nico schooled himself not to show any personal frustration as he recognised the inevitability of what he had to do. He raised his voice and spoke in Italian. ‘I’m a doctor. Let me through. What’s going on?’

Charlotte Highton heard the commanding male voice that overrode the almost hysterical barrage of Italian around her. She could also hear the faint sound of a siren. Please, God, she breathed. Let that be an ambulance.

Getting caught up in an accident scene had been the last thing she’d needed after getting lost in the back alleys of Venice, trying to take a shortcut to her destination near St Mark’s Square, but what could she have done? She’d seen the man fall from the scaffolding. More than that. She’d been caught by the way he had been doubled over and clutching at his chest seconds before he’d fallen. There was no chance of him surviving any injuries the fall might have caused if he’d already been in cardiac arrest before it had happened.

But they wouldn’t let her near and precious seconds were being lost. One of the man’s workmates was probably the first-aid officer for the building company and he’d decided that the fall had caused a spinal injury. He was holding the victim’s head still and shouting at anybody who so much as bumped the unconscious body.

Now he was shouting in response to a query from the newcomer, who Charlotte couldn’t see because other people were also trying to tell him the story and some were gesticulating madly—pointing to the roof of the house and circling their arms in the air to represent the fall. For a crazy moment Charlotte almost smiled.

Here she was in this beautiful, ancient city with the water of a canal lapping almost at her feet. Surrounded by the sounds of a language she loved but had never had the time to learn. Caught by the passionate involvement of people who were, for the most part, probably complete strangers to the unfortunate man who had fallen. This would never happen in England. It was so Italian.

Then a single, curt word from the newcomer and everybody fell silent. And shifted enough to make an opening. The man who stepped in to fill the gap was as Italian as everything else. Tall and dark. Strong featured and exuding a masculinity that was supremely confident. Such a stereotype that, for another crazy moment, Charlotte was sure she’d met him before.

Or maybe she just recognised that kind of confidence. It didn’t come from any awareness of his effect on women. This kind of quiet power came from being in a situation where he knew exactly what needed to be done.

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you speak English?’

‘Yes. I’m a specialist in emergency neurology.’ He was bending over the unconscious man now. ‘Did you see the fall? Has he been moved at all?’

‘Yes, I saw the fall.’ Charlotte was right behind the man and she was reaching for the victim’s neck. The newcomer caught her wrist in a grip that was as powerful as everything else about this man. His confidence. His voice. The eyes that were locked on hers right now.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I saw him fall.’ Charlotte spoke the way she would to anyone who was preventing her doing her job. Or some unfortunate junior doctor who was getting the basics dangerously wrong. ‘I saw him before he fell. He clearly had severe chest pain. He didn’t trip. He collapsed. I need to see whether he’s got a pulse.’

For a stunned heartbeat the dark eyes continued to hold hers. Charlotte could see how swift his comprehension was. She actually felt the moment when he stepped back from confronting her action and they became a team. He let go of her wrist.

Rapid instructions in Italian followed. The Italian specialist took over holding the man’s head and guided a log roll that had the patient on his back with his airway opened in an admirably short space of time. The nearby siren was getting louder but it wasn’t yet close enough. Charlotte was crouched with her cheek against the patient’s mouth, one hand on his neck with her fingers searching for a pulse and the other resting gently on his diaphragm seeking the movement that would indicate breathing.

‘Nothing,’ she snapped. She wasn’t exactly dressed for performing CPR. She had to hoist up her slim-fitting skirt so that she could kneel on the rough cobblestones of the alleyway. Her equally neat-fitting blouse beneath the skirt’s matching blazer hadn’t been designed for vigorous movement either. Charlotte felt a seam ripping within the first seconds of pushing her body weight down hard enough to depress the chest of the large man.

Her unexpected medical colleague was still communicating in Italian to those around him. Explaining what was going on perhaps. And then he was showing the person who’d been guarding his patient so effectively from Charlotte how to support the man’s cervical spine but do a jaw thrust at the same time.

As she stayed in position, with her body weight directly over her straight arms, Charlotte could look sideways. She saw the way he demonstrated the required position, with his large hands splayed, the palms pushing against the angle of the man’s jaw and his thumbs resting on his cheeks. She knew the pressure required to keep that kind of hold and yet he made it look like he was being gentle with the critically ill patient.

And then he let the first-aider take over the hold and shifted so that he was kneeling right beside Charlotte. The shafts of pain from the movement of her knees on the cobblestones seemed to fade as his body lined up so close beside hers their arms were touching.

That eye contact was extraordinary. Reassuring and encouraging at the same time. The almost invisible movement of his head told Charlotte that he was in sync with what she was doing. That he was ready for her to pause so that he could deliver a breath. With an equally subtle nod, Charlotte began counting aloud. She had no idea how many compressions she’d done already but it was standard international protocol to deliver two breaths for every thirty compressions and a lead-in was given so that minimum pumping time was lost.

‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine…thirty.’ Charlotte raised her hands and sat back on her heels as her CPR partner bent down, pinching the man’s nose and covering his mouth with his own. She watched the man’s chest rise and fall. Twice. And then she was back in position and the compressions continued smoothly.

Wow. Not only could this guy get air into someone without disturbing the protected position of a C spine, he was prepared to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a stranger. A risk very few medical people would be prepared to take these days. And compressions were deemed the more important component of CPR now. If an ambulance was on its way and the compressions were effective, you had a window of ten minutes or so before the lack of extra oxygen would cause irreversible brain damage.

Charlotte was impressed. She was also sweating despite the deep chill of Venice in December, and her knees felt as if someone had attacked them with a baseball bat. She’d never been more grateful to hear the sound of a siren so close. Looking up, as she paused to let another two breaths be delivered, she was astonished to see that it was a jet boat, arriving on the canal, complete with flashing beacons and a uniformed paramedic, with a defibrillator in his hand, waiting to jump ashore.

She knew better than to stop what she was doing and wait for these emergency medics to take over the scene. Automatically, she rocked forward, her hands back in position on the centre of the man’s chest with one flat and the other locked around the wrist to give her extra strength as she pushed down and began the count that would remain silent until the warning of breaths needed.

One…two…three…

Nico could hear the shouts of the paramedics arriving and securing the ambulance. Thank goodness! The discomfort of kneeling on cold, hard cobbles to perform CPR was truly unbearable.

Not that the English woman was showing any signs of discomfort. Nico had been watching her, waiting for the signal to deliver another couple of breaths but also because she was so…so in control. So very British.

She had that English peaches and cream type of complexion and the kind of reserve that always felt so foreign to Nico, but he had spent so many years away from Italy it was very familiar. So familiar, in fact, that he could imagine he’d met this woman before. He’d certainly met the type.

Virtually the exact opposite of the type of women he preferred.

It was perhaps unfortunate that he’d inherited his father’s taste in women. He liked them small and dark, curvy and vivacious. With an appetite for life and fun that could negate any tendency to take life too seriously out of working hours. But as long as he didn’t make his father’s mistake of marrying a woman like this, he wouldn’t end up abandoned and broken-hearted when someone on another continent offered something more exciting. Like when his father’s beloved Irish wife had simply taken their only child and made off for greener pastures.

Nico shook off the thought. Normally, snippets of family history would never distract him from a situation like this but his mind had been full of it until the moment he’d intervened in this rescue scene. Even now, he was aware of the small object in his pocket that the solicitor had insisted he take with him. It should be small enough to dismiss out of hand but unfortunately it carried a significance that could never be dismissed.

He had to push it firmly to one side right now, however. After a second glance to reassure himself that the paramedics were coming in the right direction, Nico took another look at the woman who hadn’t missed a beat in performing the chest compressions.

Strands of her blonde hair had worked themselves loose thanks to her current physical exertion but the rest of it was still tightly bound into an intricate kind of knot that removed the feminine allure of long tresses. She had grey eyes that could have looked attractively smoky but she was so focused on the clinical aspects of this situation that they were devoid of an identifiable emotion.

Even now, as the paramedics set up the defibrillator and prepared to take over the management of this patient, he couldn’t detect any sign of relief or distress, perhaps, that she’d been caught up in this traumatic event. She was watching what the paramedics were doing with hawk-like intensity. She might not speak Italian but Nico had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t hesitate to correct these medics if she felt things were not being done to an expected standard.

He filled them in as they attached the patches to the man’s chest. He provided the cervical spine support as preparations were made to secure the airway and the first shock was delivered, but then a second crew arrived, along with the police, and Nico found himself stepping back and merely watching, along with the crowd of people the police couldn’t manage to disperse.

The English doctor was in the same position. Nico saw her tucking the hem of her blouse back into the tight waistband of her skirt. He noticed the holes in her tights and the red, grazed skin of her knees. He could feel the ache in his own joints and it gave him an oddly powerful feeling of connection with this stranger. He tried to catch her eye and smile but she was looking at her watch and frowning, as though she was running late for something.

And then she looked over her shoulder and her frown deepened. Whatever she was looking for was obscured by the crowd of people who were watching in fascination as the resuscitation scene reached fever pitch.

The man’s airway was secured and a paramedic was delivering oxygen via a bag mask unit. An IV line was in place and drugs had been administered. And then the shout was given to stand clear and another shock was delivered.

There was a collective gasp from the onlookers as the man’s body jerked in response to the shock and then silence fell as everybody held their breath. Only those closest could see the blip on the screen of the life pack and then another and another as the rhythm picked up. One of the paramedics felt the neck of the patient and grinned at his colleague.

‘We have a pulse.’

A cheer went up from the crowd and the atmosphere only became more excited as the emergency services prepared to transport the man to hospital as quickly as possible. People were moving away in response to the shouted instructions of the police officer and Nico saw the English woman disappearing behind others.

He couldn’t let her vanish. Somebody had to thank her for her contribution to saving the man’s life.

‘Scusi.’ Again, Nico pushed his way through the human obstruction. He was going against the flow towards the canal and where they were trying to manoeuvre the stretcher that now carried the still-unconscious man into the ambulance, but that was also the direction in which the woman was going. She was still looking for something, her head bent as she peered around people, and suddenly Nico spotted what she was after. A black laptop case, propped against the wooden piling the ambulance launch had been tied up to.

He could get to it first. She’d have to stop and talk to him then and he could thank her. Get her address, maybe, and then follow up on the patient and let her know the outcome. With a determined effort Nico stepped in front of a man and reached for The case. He had it in his hand when someone bumped into him from behind with such force that his hand simply opened. The case fell, bounced on the cobbles and fell again, in a graceful arc, to land in the canal. For a second or two it floated on the surface. And then it sank.

Charlotte watched the laptop case disappear under the murky water of the canal, its disappearance hastened by the wash of the ambulance as it took off with its beacons flashing and siren sounding.

If she took her shoes and jacket off…

Good grief…was she actually considering diving in to try and retrieve it before it sank too far?

The downward glance towards her shoes had hammered home the reality of what was happening. Straightening and dusting off her skirt after she’d got to her feet hadn’t cured the creases and streaks of grime. Her tights were shredded and one knee was grazed enough for a trickle of blood to be obvious.

Her armour had been dented.

But worse than that—far, far worse than that—her shield had been ripped away from her and destroyed.

‘Oh…my…God…’ Charlotte had about a heartbeat before she knew the fear would try and kick in.

The man was turning towards her, clearly appalled at what had just happened.

She couldn’t let him see her fear. Couldn’t let anybody see it because if they did it would become real. It would take over and she would be sucked back into that place where she was utterly powerless. Where she became nobody.

It wasn’t going to happen. Charlotte fought back, gathering fury as if it could repair the amour. Replace the shield.

‘You idiot,’ she snapped. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve just done?’

The dark eyes widened, startled by her ferocity.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. But the apology in his eyes was being replaced by something more like astonishment. Anger, even, at being attacked for something that had clearly been an accident.

Charlotte knew that. She’d seen the person behind being pushed and stumbling, only prevented from falling by the safety barrier this man’s back had provided. It didn’t help, though, knowing that the action had not been deliberate. How could it, when the effect was the same?

‘That laptop has my presentation on it,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘The presentation I’m supposed to be delivering to an international symposium in…’ She jerked her gaze to her wrist. ‘In exactly ten minutes.’

His face was changing again, along with the expression in his eyes. He was putting pieces of a puzzle together with the same kind of swiftness that had been obvious when they had become a team, working in sync to try and save the life of the unfortunate man who’d fallen from the scaffolding in the wake of his cardiac arrest.

They weren’t a team now. They were on different sides of a battle and Charlotte felt as if she was fighting for her life. He couldn’t possibly understand how important this was to her but he obviously knew more than she would have expected.

‘Not by any chance the symposium on critical interventions in the emergency department? Being held at the Bonvecchiata hotel?’

‘Yes. I’m Dr Charlotte Highton. Due to open the symposium in…’ Charlotte had to swallow hard ‘…eight minutes.’

‘You’re Charlotte Highton?’

‘Yes.’ Charlotte glared at the stranger, who was looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost. As if he couldn’t believe she was who she’d said she was.

He gave his head a sharp shake. And then he held out his hand. ‘Dr Nicholas Moretti,’ he told her. ‘Nico. We’ve met before. Twice, in fact. At St Margaret’s Hospital in London. And that night at The Cosmopolitan Club. It was a few years ago now…’ His voice trailed off. He was frowning and still staring as if he could barely recognise her. As if he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

Well…no surprises there. He was talking about a lifetime ago. She’d been a different person then.

A person she couldn’t afford to be reminded of because it would only make this situation even worse. How incredibly unfortunate was this? To not only lose the protection she depended on but to meet someone who had known her back then? Before…

Before her life had turned so sharply it had virtually doubled back on itself to take the path she was now on.

For just a moment Charlotte could remember what it had been like at that crossroad.

She could feel the fear.

She didn’t remember meeting him. Oh…she’d felt the beat of familiarity when she’d seen him. She probably would remember him if she allowed her mind to go back to that time. To when she’d been the rising star of a prestigious London hospital and her academic brilliance had been enough to erase the shadows of a painfully shy youth. To when she’d had the world at her feet and she had been courted by albeit distant royalty and wined and dined at places like The Cosmopolitan Club.

A time that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she might be reminded of today.

Not only reminded of but stripped of any protection she would normally have to ward it off. How long had it been since she’d felt this vulnerable?

To Charlotte’s absolute horror, she could actually feel the prickle of tears at the back of her eyes. Tears that could unleash weakness that might undo her completely. She blinked. Hard. She dragged her gaze away from yet another expression she could read in this man’s eyes. He had such an open face. He was probably a very nice person but she didn’t need anyone to be concerned about her.

She could look after herself. And succeed. She’d learned that long ago.

A police officer had come to stand beside them. This man who had an Italian name that matched his looks but who, curiously, spoke perfect English with an Irish accent, translated his query.

‘He wants to know if you need assistance of any kind.’

A snort of something akin to laughter escaped Charlotte. She alone was the only person who could provide the kind of assistance she needed right now. Unless by some miracle a police diving team could be available within seconds and an even more impressive miracle would reveal a laptop that could survive total submersion.

But a rapid conversation in Italian led to the police officer nodding and indicating, with a wave of his arm, that Charlotte should follow him.

Nick was also following. ‘He’s going to take us to the symposium venue,’ he said briskly. ‘In the police launch. It will only take a few minutes.’

Charlotte looked down at her ruined clothes. She couldn’t appear anywhere looking like this.

‘We will explain what’s happened.’ His hand was on her arm, guiding her through the crowd that was only now dispersing properly. ‘Please let me help if I can. I feel responsible for this unfortunate turn of events and I will do anything I can to put things right. Perhaps they can rearrange the order of the presentations. And do you have a back-up of your material?’

Having a man step in and try and solve this problem was the last thing Charlotte needed.

‘Of course I do. It’s on a flash drive.’

‘Which is where?’

Charlotte focused as the police officer offered her a hand to step into the speed boat. She ignored the hand, climbed aboard unaided and then turned back.

She had to speak through gritted teeth. ‘It’s in the side pocket of the laptop case that you threw into the canal.’

It was a totally unjustified accusation in the wake of an obvious accident. It was also an undeserved slap in the face given that he was trying so hard to help.

But Charlotte didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to.

‘Please don’t concern yourself any further.’ She turned away and nodded to the pilot of the boat, who revved the engine. Waved at him imperiously enough to indicate that speed was of the essence and it was time to leave. ‘This is my problem and I will deal with it.’

Nico watched the police launch speed away down the canal.

He could walk to the venue in only a few minutes longer than the boat trip would take. He hadn’t actually told her that he was booked to attend the symposium himself so he couldn’t really take offence that he hadn’t been invited to share the ride.

Besides…he needed a few minutes to try and get his head around this extraordinary development.

She might not remember him but he remembered Charlotte Highton very well indeed. He’d been looking forward to seeing what that dynamic young doctor was like further down the track of her brilliant career.

Not that she’d been his type when he’d met her all those years ago but he’d been able to appreciate her attributes. The soft femininity that had been such a delightful contrast to the skill and intelligence she’d radiated as a young clinician. The sparkle of a woman who’d had the world and most of its men at her feet.

Now she was a female clinician who exuded power and control. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of softness.

Or emotion, other than anger.

Except…just for a moment there, when he’d told her that he’d met her before, Nico could swear he had seen real fear in her eyes. A vulnerability that had been so out of place with the external appearance of this woman that he’d thought he’d been imagining things.

What he certainly wasn’t imagining was the stark contrast between the woman he remembered admiring in the past and the one he’d just encountered.

What the hell had happened to Charlotte Highton?

And what was she trying to hide?

CHAPTER TWO

‘CHARLOTTE…THERE YOU ARE! Thank goodness…I’ve been seriously worried about what might have happened to you.’ The tall, grey-haired man was hurrying towards her. As he got closer, however, his step faltered and his eyes widened. ‘Oh, my goodness. What has happened to you?’

The hotel Bonvecchiata had a water landing for gondolas and motorboats so Charlotte had entered the foyer moments after leaping out of the police launch. She knew she looked a fright but there’d been no chance to duck into a restroom and at least tidy her hair and sponge some of the mud from her clothing. Richard Campbell, the co-ordinator of this select symposium and the man who’d invited her to open it, must have been pacing the foyer as he’d waited anxiously for her to arrive.

‘Long story, Richard. I’m very sorry, but I got caught up in an emergency. A man went into cardiac arrest and fell off some scaffolding right in front of me. I had to keep up the CPR until the ambulance got there.’

Charlotte was speaking quickly but her mind was working even faster. There were about fifty people who’d been invited to attend this symposium. Where were they? Sitting in the conference room already, drumming their fingers on the tabletops and muttering about the substandard organisation of this gathering?

Richard was an old friend. Charlotte felt terrible about letting him down like this by being late and he didn’t even know the worst of it yet. How was she going to tell him that she’d lost her presentation material?

He’d noticed her gaze sweep the foyer.

‘They’re serving coffee and cake in the restaurant for everybody. As soon as I knew you were running late I put back the start time for half an hour. There’s a couple of attendees that aren’t here yet as well.’

‘Oh…’ Charlotte nodded. She had been given a small breathing space. Now she had to decide if there was any way in the world she could rescue the situation. ‘Richard…about my opening address…’

The older man smiled. ‘Catchy title. “Miracles or Mutilation?” It’s caught everybody’s attention already, I have to say. But, Charlotte…’ Richard was frowning now, looking down at her shredded tights and grazed knees. ‘Are you going to be able to deliver it?’

Richard Campbell’s reputation was on the line here. There were people from all over the world who’d chosen to come to this satellite symposium—a breakaway group from the much larger conference that had finished in Rome yesterday—plus others who had chosen to come to this forum without attending the main conference. They were all leaders in the field of emergency medicine. Exceptionally busy people who would not be happy to have their precious time wasted.

Charlotte’s presentation had been researched meticulously. the medical illustrations department of her university hospital had spent hours preparing the graphics that represented the facts and figures, the trends and the controversies about cost-effectiveness. It didn’t matter how phenomenal her memory was, there was no way she could do justice to her presentation.

If she could get hold of someone at St Margaret’s they could find the presentation on her desk computer and email it to her, but that would take too much time. They only had a matter of hours to fit in the other presentations and discussions before the symposium dinner this evening. And someone needed to open the day’s programme.

How would it look it she backed out? Even with the best excuse in the world it would still dent her reputation as a young leader in this field, and Charlotte needed that reputation. It was who she was. The professional Charlotte Highton was strong enough to hide the real Charlotte. The inadequate, shameful one who wasn’t a real woman at all.

She was caught between a rock and a hard place here. If she explained that there was no way she could do this, she would tarnish her reputation with the taint of failure and that chink in her armour might never be mended. It might grow, in fact, and eventually split open and the whole world would know what she was hiding.

They might look at her the way Nico Moretti had. As if they knew she was a fraud.

Charlotte could feel her heart thumping rapidly and there was a sinking sensation in her stomach that threatened to spiral into nausea.

‘I’ve got a small problem,’ she confessed to Richard. ‘I’ve lost my presentation. My laptop ended up in the canal.’

‘Oh…Lord…’ Richard shaded his eyes with his hand. ‘Can you manage without it?’

Charlotte opened her mouth to tell him how unlikely that was, but before she could force the words out she was distracted by the sound of her name being called from somewhere near the reception desk.

‘Charlotte Jane Highton…’

The voice was as familiar to her as her own but Charlotte didn’t want to believe that there was yet another problem she had to deal with. She kept her gaze on Richard, who gave her a rueful smile.

‘Sorry. I hadn’t got around to telling you. Your grandmother’s here.’

Charlotte shook her head sharply. ‘No. She’s not supposed to arrive until tonight. After the symposium. We’re travelling back to London together tomorrow.’

But the voice was much closer now. It couldn’t be ignored.

‘Charlotte Jane…What on earth have you done to yourself, child? You look like you’ve been run over by a gondola.’

Charlotte closed her eyes. She might be thirty-one years old but her grandmother could make her feel like a child again in a heartbeat. Flame-haired and larger than life, Lady Geraldine Highton was never one to stand on ceremony.

‘Gran…what are you doing here?’

‘I’m supposed to be here. I booked a room for us tonight.’

‘Yes, but you were flying in this evening.’

‘I changed my flight and arrived first thing this morning. I decided I wanted to hear you speak and this lovely man has told me I can sit in with all the translators and hear you on some headphones.’

Richard was nodding now and his smile was intended to reassure Charlotte that this problem, at least, had been dealt with. Clearly, he had been charmed by Lady Geraldine. Or intimidated. Either way, she had made arrangements that she now deemed satisfactory.

‘But, Gran, you hate hearing anything about medical procedures. You’ve never wanted to hear me talk about my work.’

‘Today’s different.’

Something was different. With the kind of skill Charlotte found invaluable in her dealings with people in traumatic situations, she could sense that there was something important her grandmother was keeping to herself.

‘I might not like hearing it,’ Lady Geraldine continued, ‘and I might not understand it, but it won’t stop me wanting the chance to be proud of my granddaughter. Who knows? It might be the only chance I ever get.’

Yes. There was a shadow there in her grandmother’s eyes. Eyes that usually sparkled with the determination to squeeze the best that life had to offer out of every opportunity. What was going on?

Charlotte knew she was staring. She also knew that her grandmother could read her like a book.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Lady Geraldine said crisply. ‘What we have to do now is get you tidied up. Thankfully, I have spare hosiery in my bag. And a hairbrush. Come on, Charlotte. Where’s the nearest bathroom? There’s no time to waste. You don’t want to keep all these important people waiting, do you?’

‘But…’

There was a plea on Richard’s face now. ‘You don’t have to give the presentation you prepared,’ he said quietly. ‘I have every confidence that you can think of something to say that would be an appropriate way to open this symposium. Could you do that, Charlotte? Please?’

The space between that rock and hard place suddenly got so small that it squeezed the breath out of Charlotte’s lungs. She couldn’t think. Maybe because she had no choice.

‘I’ll do my best.’

So it was that Charlotte found herself looking almost presentable again fifteen minutes later, standing in front of a room full of people who sat at a huge, U-shaped table. Some wore headphones to receive the translation service. Most had laptops or tablets on the table in front of them, along with pads of paper, pens, pitchers of iced water and even bowls of mints.

Charlotte had nothing other than a microphone clipped to the lapel of her jacket. From the way her heart was pounding and how exposed She felt, she could have been standing here stark naked.

She tried to smile at the group but failed. She did, however, manage to introduce herself and apologise for the delay in starting.

‘I’m sure you’ve all heard by now of the reason why I was delayed and you, more than most, will understand that emergencies happen.’

Oh, help. Charlotte could hear the sound of her own voice, magnified by the loudspeaker system. Where was the calm, professional tone she always used in public?

What would her grandmother think of this? The niggling worry that there was something wrong that her grandmother wasn’t telling her couldn’t be allowed to surface until this was all over but it was impossible not to have a flash of shame that the pride her only living relative had taken in her achievements was going to be dented.

‘Ah…’ Charlotte stared at the group, totally at a loss for what she could say next. Please, God, let the ground open and swallow me up, she thought.

The ground didn’t open but the door of the conference room did, to admit a latecomer. Everybody’s head turned at the interruption but Charlotte’s gaze had got there first and now it was stuck.

The worst moment of her life had just taken a dive to a new low.

How on earth could Nicholas Moretti have the nerve to show up here, knowing he’d ruined her preparation for this talk? He’d already revealed his disbelief that she was who she said she was. Did he now want to see if she was going to make a fool of herself and confirm that disbelief?

He was about to get what he came for, then, wasn’t he?

Nico gave a very European hand gesture, apologising for his interruption as he took the empty space at the table. His body language conveyed complete confidence that he had the right to be here, though. That he was, in fact, eager to take part in the proceedings. And then his gaze locked with Charlotte’s and that weird spinning sensation in her gut seemed to catch fire.

Anger?

Quite possibly.

Charlotte Highton wasn’t about to let the actions of a man even threaten to destroy her.

Not again.

She took a deep breath, jerking her gaze away from Nico and vowing not to let it return to that section of the table until she was finished. In a way, he’d done her a favour. His entrance had covered her stumble and now she was fired up. Whether it was from anger or desperation was immaterial.

‘Some of you might be asking whether I should have let myself become involved in that emergency situation, especially when the result has deprived you of the audiovisual accompaniment you were supposed to have this morning.’

A ripple of sympathy went through the gathering.

‘It’s a fair question,’ Charlotte continued. ‘How far should any of us go in getting involved? How far should we go as emergency medicine specialists? Out in the field or in our own departments?’

Her words were clear and her tone as professional as ever now. Everybody was listening. Looking at her. She could feel one gaze in particular so strongly that she knew exactly who it was coming from. Good. Let him watch and listen. Let him see who Charlotte Highton was now.

‘We can do so many things that can be done in an operating theatre in our emergency departments or out in the field. Burr-holes, tracheotomies, amputations, thoracotamies, Caesareans.’ Charlotte paused for effect. ‘Extreme measures in desperate circumstances. How many are justified? Does the weight of evidence suggest we’re performing miracles? Or guilty of performing mutilations?’

Another pause. This was the moment that would make or break this talk.

‘I had a presentation that was full of statistics about these kinds of extreme procedures and graphics to show you the controversial relationship between patient outcomes and cost-effectiveness. Obviously it’s not possible to do those facts and figures justice from memory, so instead…’ The solution to this problem came to her in a flash of inspiration. ‘I’m going to present a case history.’

Nico sat back in his chair.

He could feel the surprise of the people around him. What was this? They were all intelligent people who were hungry for new knowledge. They wanted to be presented with the results of cutting-edge research that they could use to improve what they did for a career. But they were going to be told a story?

‘The man I’ll call Bernie was forty-three years old,’ Charlotte was saying. ‘He went to the corner shop very late one night, because his pregnant wife had a craving for chocolate ripple ice cream. The timing was unfortunate. The shop was held up and Bernie got stabbed. A small knife with a short blade was buried to its hilt in his chest, deflected by the sixth rib, maybe five or six inches to the left from the midline.’

Nico could sense the interest picking up around him. The injury had been dangerously close to the man’s heart.

‘The ambulance crew knew not to remove an impaled object. Bernie’s still conscious when they arrive but his blood pressure’s dropping. Fortunately, this corner shop is only about two minutes’ drive from St Margaret’s hospital. They put a doughnut dressing around the knife to stabilise it, give Bernie some oxygen and load and go. They establish IV access en route.’

The way Charlotte had changed to the present tense drew them all into the urgency of this case. Clever. Or were they all drawn in, as he was, by the sound of her voice? Soft, but as clear as a bell. As under control as her hair was again, all scraped back into that complicated knot thing.

Nico had preferred it the way he’d seen it after that resuscitation scene, with enough loose wisps to suggest that the whole knot could be released if you buried your fingers in it, wiggled them and then dragged them gently through the length of the hair. How long was it when it was loose? he wondered. And then he sharply dismissed the errant speculation and concentrated again on what she was saying.

‘By the time Bernie comes through our doors, he’s lost consciousness. His BP’s unrecordable. His cardiac rhythm goes from SVT to VF to asystole within thirty seconds of my team getting him hooked up to the monitors.’

Nico was really listening now. So this was a case that Charlotte herself had managed? He could imagine her there, in the emergency department of St Margaret’s. Wearing scrubs, probably, with a white coat over them. No…she’d been expecting a major trauma. She’d have a plastic apron on. And gloves. And a head covering that probably had a plastic face shield to protect her from blood spatter. She would have been in charge. In control. Her voice might have been louder than it was right now but just as clear.

‘We know our protocols inside out but how do we start CPR? This man’s got a knife in his chest that’s probably punctured his left ventricle. He’s bleeding out. We can pull the knife out and push fluids but there’s a hole in his heart so that would be futile.’

Nico was holding his breath without realising it. Everybody here knew that the only option was to do one of the most invasive procedures that could ever be done out of an operating theatre. Cracking open this man’s chest and getting to the heart of the problem, so to speak.

‘He’s dead already unless we do something major and do it fast.’ Charlotte’s tone told them she agreed with the conclusion they’d all reached. ‘A thoracotomy is the only option but I know as well as everybody else in the team what the odds are for a successful result. Virtually nil. But, hey…we have to try, don’t we? This man is about to become a father. Right now, his pregnant wife is probably wondering why it’s taking him so long to get back with her ice cream.’

Charlotte seemed to straighten her back. ‘I’m the one who has to make the call and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a no-brainer. We take out the knife and I do a clam-shell thoracotomy. There’s a gaping hole in the left ventricle and I suture it shut while we deal with more blood in a thorax than I’ve ever seen before.’

Nico closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He could picture it. A nightmare scene. The tissue of the myocardium would have been slippery. The visual field would have been impossible to keep clear with all that blood so you’d have to work almost blind.

‘We start pushing fluids and begin CPR. I’m riding that stretcher to Theatre with my hand inside Bernie’s chest, doing internal compressions and praying that my rough suturing is going to hold.’

Oh, Nico could imagine that scene too. Charlotte would have had to have been astride the man’s legs, with one hand on the side rail to steady herself. Amongst the bank of monitoring and ventilation equipment that would have been in place. Speeding along with her team running to get them to Theatre as fast as possible.

It felt like he was standing in one of the wide corridors of St Margaret’s right now, watching the dramatic spectacle rush past him. Opening his eyes again, he knew that he was looking at Charlotte with growing admiration. This was some woman.

‘The cardiac surgical team is waiting for us. They do a much better job than me in repairing the damage. They replace the blood volume and get Bernie’s heart started again. By this time his wife is at the hospital. Bernie’s taken to the intensive care unit. He’s still alive but what none of us know is whether we’ve done the right thing in saving him. Will he wake up? And, if he does, how much brain damage has been caused by the lack of oxygen? His wife is distraught and, just to add to the tension, she goes into labour three weeks before her due date.’

A soft groan came from her audience. This might be nothing like what they’d expected as an opening talk but they were all invested in the story now. They had to know the outcome.

‘I’ve told you this story because it does, unlike so many, many others, have a happy ending. Bernie did have a degree of neurological compromise. His cognition and speech were affected and he had a unilateral weakness on his right side.’

It was the first time Nico had seen Charlotte smile. He felt his own lips curve in an unconscious response.

‘But his weak arm didn’t stop him being able to cradle his newborn daughter a couple of days later. His difficulty in finding words didn’t dim the way he could communicate his joy to his wife.’

Dammit. Was that a lump Nico could feel in his throat? He swallowed it away. His own career was full of success stories like this, wasn’t it?

‘The bottom line,’ Charlotte continued quietly, ‘is that our job is about the people who come under our care. Bernie was a miracle. But if he hadn’t made it, that resus scene in my ED could have been denounced as unnecessary mutilation. We couldn’t know how it would go before we started but is it just a coin toss?’

Charlotte was looking around the room. Nico was waiting for her gaze to cross his. He was oddly disappointed when it didn’t.

‘No.’ She answered her own question. ‘That’s what our chosen specialty is all about. Working towards being the best we can be in our field of expertise. Knowing when there’s a choice that pulling out the big guns is going to make the difference between life and death.’

Nico saw Charlotte take a deep breath. She was wrapping up now and the unusual introduction had clearly been a huge success. Everybody was leaning forward, totally engrossed and eager to participate in the programme that was about to start.

He felt the same way so how on earth could he be distracted by the way that deep breath pushed Charlotte’s breasts against the material of the plain blouse she wore under that tailored jacket? The way a hint of cleavage struggled to appear over the top button. Good grief. She was so buttoned up with that hairstyle and the fitted clothes she wore, it was almost as if she was trying not to look remotely feminine.

Maybe she was batting for the other team. Nico tucked the thought away with satisfaction. That would explain a lot. Maybe she had been trying to deny her true preference when he’d seen her out with that man in The Cosmopolitan Club all those years ago. And even if she was now comfortable with who she was, in her position Charlotte probably wouldn’t want to come out of the closet and travel in the company of her girlfriend. Or wife, perhaps. It was none of his business and it didn’t bother him.

So why did that curious feeling of disappointment in not making eye contact with her a second ago suddenly deepen several notches?

‘The papers you are going to be privileged to hear today are from invited speakers who are leading their particular fields. I’m looking forward to hearing the discussions that will follow the presentations. Again, I must apologise for my unorthodox keynote speech but, on behalf of Dr Richard Campbell, our chairman for today, and the others involved in organising this satellite session, let me welcome you to our symposium on critical interventions.’

Nico joined the round of applause. His neighbour leaned sideways to say something about how moving the story had been and how good it was to be reminded of the human aspects of their science. But Nico merely murmured agreement. He couldn’t take his eyes off Charlotte. As if she felt his intense gaze, she looked up from her position at the front of the room.

So there, her gaze seemed to say. I did it—even if you did do your best to stop me.

After the awkward start to the day things were running smoothly. Richard was delighted. He smiled at Charlotte as they were preparing to follow the others out of the conference room for the lunch break.

‘Do you know, I think your introduction has allowed for some very interesting questions to be raised that people might not have considered appropriate otherwise. You’ve given this whole forum an informality that has brought people closer together. It was a stroke of brilliance.’

‘Thanks.’ Charlotte rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension that still hadn’t gone away completely. ‘It could have taken things in the opposite direction. I was lucky.’

‘I think everyone was impressed.’

Had Nicholas Moretti been impressed? And why did it matter so much that he had been?

‘I’m sure they’ll want to tell you that themselves, over lunch.’

Charlotte wasn’t at all sure she wanted that to happen. She might be used to talking to colleagues while balancing a plate of food and eating but the idea of doing that in Nico’s company seemed disturbingly…intimate?

Whatever. She had the perfect excuse.

‘I’m going to skip lunch, if you don’t mind, Richard. I’ll grab a sandwich or something but I really need to check on my grandmother and make sure she’s being taken care of. And that she has something to do for the afternoon. Goodness knows what kind of mischief she could get up to otherwise.’

Richard was grinning now. ‘She’s quite something, your grandmother. How old is she?’

‘Eighty-two. Going on about sixteen, I think. I often feel as if I’m in the company of a wayward teenager.’ Charlotte’s smile was fond. ‘And then, at other times, she comes out with the kind of wisdom and advice that only someone who’s experienced life to the full could have. She’s amazing.’

Richard patted her arm. ‘Go and catch up. I’ll give your excuses to anyone who asks.’

‘Thanks.’ Charlotte hurried out to the reception area, away from the dining room, and asked whether her grandmother had left a message for her.

‘No. But she’s had lunch delivered to your room. Would you like your key now?’

The room was massive and decorated in Venetian style with sumptuous drapes, bed coverings and deep armchairs all in tones of silver and soft bronze. There was a Persian rug on the floor beneath the chandelier hanging from an astonishingly high ceiling. A small table with spindly legs supported a silver tray that had plates of delicate-looking sandwiches and cakes, a pot of tea and cups.

The first thing that struck Charlotte was that the tray hadn’t been touched.

Almost at the same time she noted how tidy the room was. Where were the clothes strewn about that always happened when Geraldine was choosing her next outfit? the open guidebooks as she chose her next adventure?

And why on earth was her grandmother lying on a bed in the middle of the day? Lady Geraldine Highton might be eighty-two but she didn’t do naps. ‘Life’s too short,’ she always said. ‘And it’s getting shorter for me by the day. Why waste it by sleeping? I can sleep when I’m dead.’

‘Gran…’ Charlotte moved towards the bed. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Oh…’ Geraldine clearly hadn’t been expecting a visitor. She sat up swiftly, looking…embarrassed. No, make that guilty. ‘Charlie…I didn’t think I’d see you until this evening.’ The odd expression vanished, to be replaced by a beaming smile. ‘That was a wonderful talk you gave, darling. I can’t tell you how proud I was. And I understood every word. Well, almost every word. The next speaker was terribly dull in comparison. I went for a walk and watched the gondolas for a while. I might go for a ride in one after lunch. It’s been years…’

Charlotte sank down onto the edge of the second bed, facing her grandmother. Something here was off-key. Terribly off-key.

‘Gran…’ She reached out and took hold of a soft hand decorated with several diamond rings. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Whatever do you mean? Nothing’s going on, Charlotte. Come and have lunch with me.’ Lady Geraldine got to her feet but then her face changed. She couldn’t hide a grimace of pain and her hand went to her stomach.

‘You’re not well,’ Charlotte gasped. ‘That’s why you haven’t touched your lunch. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘Lie down,’ Charlotte ordered. ‘I want to have a look at you.’

For a long, long moment Geraldine looked undecided. But then she quietly lay down and answered the barrage of questions. Yes, she had abdominal pain. No, it wasn’t the first time. Yes, she’d been to see a doctor about it. She’d had a scan. She was booked to have a biopsy between Christmas and New Year.

A biopsy?

With absolute dread giving her a chill that almost made her shiver visibly, Charlotte quietly asked if she could feel her grandmother’s tummy and when she did, the hard edges of the mass she could feel confirmed her worst fear.

‘Did…did your doctor tell you what he thought it was after the scan?’

‘Oh, yes…’ Lady Geraldine took hold of Charlotte’s hand with both of hers. ‘He’s sure it’s some form of bowel cancer.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I didn’t want you to find out, darling. Not yet.’

Charlotte’s voice was thick with tears. ‘Why not? You should have told me. I should have been there with you when you had your appointments.’

‘We’ve been planning this trip for so long. Going on the Orient Express has been on my bucket list for far too long.’ Unbelievably, Geraldine was smiling mischievously. ‘And what better time to fulfil a bucket list item than when you’ve been told the end probably isn’t that far off?’

‘Gran…We can’t spend thirty hours on a train. We have to fly back to London tonight. I’ll talk to people. We’ll find a way to bring that procedure forward so we can start treatment earlier.’

‘No way, Jose.’ The way Lady Geraldine’s eyes narrowed was a warning that she was not about to be contradicted. ‘I’ve taken some painkillers. I’ll be as right as rain after a little rest. You’re not going to spoil this for me, Charlotte. Are you?’

It wasn’t really a question. And the look coming from those faded blue eyes wasn’t disapproving. It was full of absolute love. The kind of love Charlotte had received from this remarkable woman ever since she’d been orphaned as a small, terrified child.

This was why her grandmother had wanted to hear her speak today. Why she’d wanted to tell her how proud she was of her. Well, that cut both ways, didn’t it?

‘Let’s enjoy this time together,’ Lady Geraldine added softly. ‘Before we know anything for sure. Let’s pretend you didn’t find me like this. The way I wanted it to be. Go back to your conference, darling. I need a little rest and then I’m going to choose my outfit for the dinner tonight.’

Those words stayed with Charlotte during the afternoon’s symposium proceedings and it was the hardest thing she’d ever done, to keep up her professional image. The papers being presented were fascinating and the discussions lively, and Charlotte had learned long ago to firmly shut the door between her professional and personal lives, but today it was impossible.

Today had started badly. She thought she’d made the best of a bad situation and survived but now it felt as if the world had tilted far too sharply on its axis. What did her brilliant career matter if she was about to lose the person she loved most? The only person she truly loved, come to that.

The conference attendees were invited to a cocktail session before a break to get ready for the dinner but Charlotte quietly slipped away from the group. She had to pull herself together. Had to find the strength to deal with what was undoubtedly coming. Did she really want to deprive her grandmother of the long-awaited pleasure of the train trip tomorrow and whisk her back to London and into hospital? Did she have that right?

The balcony leading off the now deserted dining room offered a private space with the bonus of an idyllic canal view where more than one ornate gondola could be seen floating past.

One of the gondolas held a pair of young lovers who were locked in a passionate embrace, oblivious to their surroundings for the moment. Maybe they were practising. Wasn’t there a bridge here in Venice and if you kissed while going beneath it, it meant that your love would last for ever?

If her grandmother was here on this balcony with her, she’d be poking Charlotte with a bony finger right about now. Clicking her tongue.

That should be you in that gondola, Charlotte Jane, she’d be saying. Kissing some gorgeous young man whose baby you can’t wait to have. You don’t know what you’re missing, child, and it’s the most important thing in life.

But Charlotte knew all too well what she’d be missing far too soon and hearing her grandmother’s voice so clearly in her mind was the final straw.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Hot, burning tears that felt like acid. No surprise there. They were pretty concentrated given that she hadn’t shed a tear for six years now. They were such a sign of weakness. Feminine weakness.

She knew there was no point in trying to stop them.

Thank God nobody could see her.

The room Nico had been given at the hotel Bonvecchiata was luxurious. He eyed the huge bed, pulled at his tie to loosen it, and looked forward to putting his feet up for a while before heading off to the symposium dinner.

What a day!

Shedding his jacket, Nico walked to the tall windows of his room and looked through the ornate iron grille to find he had the bonus of a canal view. A gondola floated past with a young couple locked in each other’s arms.

Nico smiled. Nice. His gaze drifted lazily and then it caught.

His smile faded.

There was a balcony on the floor beneath his. Charlotte Highton was standing there, her shoulders bowed as if she carried the weight of the entire world on them.

And she was crying?

Dio, but this woman was so full of contradictions. For a moment Nico stared in fascination. He would never have believed that she was capable of showing such a depth of emotion. But why was she so upset?

Did it have anything to do with being unable to present what she’d intended to present this morning?

Because of the trouble he’d unwittingly caused for her?

For another, long moment Nico kept staring, unsure of how to unravel the conflicting emotions being stirred in his own gut. Why did he feel such a strong urge to try and help this prickly, complicated woman? It was more than having contributed to a bad start to her day. More, even, than being curious about how someone’s personality could have changed so much in just a few short years.

Being aware that there was some indefinable extra motivation should be enough of a warning to stop him getting involved any further, but did he want to listen to that warning?

He turned away. Stared at the huge, inviting bed for a moment. And then, with a soft growl, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

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