Midwives on Call

January 2020

Midwives on Call: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

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put writer. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth – writing. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed she crossed the fingers on her hand and answered swimming but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights – I’m sure you can guess the real answer.

With a background of working in medical laboratories and a love of the romance genre it’s no surprise that SUE MACKAY writes medical romance stories. She wrote her first story at age eight and hasn’t stopped since. She lives in New Zealand’s Marlborough Sounds where she indulges her passions for cycling, walking and kayaking. When she isn’t writing she also loves cooking and entertaining guests with sumptuous meals that include locally caught fish.

FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who lives in the country and loves to dream. Writing Medical Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of romance, adventure, medicine and the midwifery she feels so passionate about. When not writing, Fiona’s ether at home on the farm with her husband or off to meet new people, see new places and have wonderful adventures. Drop in and say hi at Fiona’s website www.fionamcarthurauthor.com

Midwives on Call: A Forever Family

Hers For One Night Only?

Carol Marinelli

The Midwife’s Son

Sue MacKay

Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90696-2

MIDWIVES ON CALL: A FOREVER FAMILY

Hers For One Night Only? © 2012 Carol Marinelli The Midwifes Son © 2014 Sue MacKay Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats © 2013 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Hers For One Night Only?

Dedication

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 Midwife’s Son

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gold Coast Angels: Two Tiny Heartbeats

Dedication

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

About the Publisher

Hers For One Night Only?

Carol Marinelli

For all my readers who are doing it tough – I hope you can find a little time to spoil yourself.

Loads of love

Carol x

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU’RE far too available.’ Bridgette didn’t really know how to respond when her friend Jasmine’s sympathy finally ran out. After all, she knew that Jasmine was right. ‘It’s me and Vince’s leaving do and you won’t come out in case your sister needs a babysitter.’

‘You know it’s not as simple as that,’ Bridgette said.

‘But it is as simple as that.’ Jasmine was determined to stand firm this time. Her boyfriend, Vince, was a paediatric intern at the large Melbourne hospital where Bridgette had, until recently, worked, and he was heading off for a year to do relief work overseas. At what felt like the last minute the rather dizzy Jasmine had decided to join him for three months, and after a lot of paperwork and frantic applications, finally tonight there was a gathering to see them both off. ‘You’ve put everything on hold for Courtney, you’ve given up a job you love so you can do agency and be more flexible—you’ve done everything you can to support her and look at where it’s got you.’

Jasmine knew that she was being harsh, but she wanted Bridgette to cry, damn it, wanted her friend to admit the truth—that living like this was agony, that something had to give. But Bridgette refused to cry, insisting instead that she was coping—that she didn’t mind doing agency work, that she loved looking after Courtney’s son, Harry. ‘Come out, then,’ Jasmine challenged. ‘If everything’s as fine as you say, you deserve a night out—you haven’t had one in ages. I want you there—we all want to see you. Everyone will be there…’

‘What if…?’ Bridgette stopped herself from saying it. She was exhausted from going over the what-ifs.

‘Stop hiding behind Harry,’ Jasmine said.

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. I know you’ve been hurt, but you need to put it behind you.’

And it stung, but, then, the truth often did and, yes, Bridgette conceded, maybe she was using Harry as a bit of an excuse so as not to get out there. ‘Okay!’ Bridgette took a deep breath and nodded. ‘You’re on.’

‘You’re coming?’ Jasmine grinned.

‘Looks like it.’

So instead of sitting at home, Bridgette sat in the hairdresser’s and had some dark foils added to her mousey-brown hair. They made her skin look paler and her sludgy-grey eyes just a bit darker, it seemed, and with Jasmine’s endless encouragement she had a wax and her nails done too and, for good measure, crammed in a little shopping.

Bridgette’s bedroom was in chaos, not that Jasmine cared a bit, as they fought over mirror space and added another layer of mascara. It was a hot, humid night and already Bridgette was sweating. Her face would be shining by the time she got there at this rate, so she climbed over two laundry baskets to open her bedroom window and then attempted to find her shoes. ‘I must tidy up in here.’ Bridgette searched for her high-heeled sandals. Her bedroom had once been tidy—but when Harry had been born Courtney had moved in and Bridgette’s two-bedroom flat had never quite recovered from housing three—actually, four at times if you counted Paul. Her love life hadn’t recovered either!

Bridgette found her sandals and leant against the wall as she put them on. She surveyed the large boxes of shelves she had bought online that would hopefully help her organise things. ‘I want to get these shelves put up. Dad said he’d come around and find the studs in the wall, whatever they are…’

Jasmine bit her tongue—Maurice had been saying that for months. The last thing Bridgette needed tonight was to have her parents criticised but, honestly, two more unhelpful, inflexible people you could not meet. Maurice and Betty Joyce just closed their eyes to the chaos their youngest daughter created and left it all for Bridgette to sort out.

‘How do you feel?’ Jasmine asked as, dressed in a guilty purchase, make-up done and high heels on, Bridgette surveyed herself in the mirror.

‘Twenty-six.’ Bridgette grinned at her own reflection, liking, for once, what she saw. Gone was the exhausted woman from earlier—instead she literally glowed and not with sweat either. No, it was the sheer silver dress she had bought that did the most amazing things to her rather curvy figure, and the heavenly new blusher that had wiped away the last remnants of fatigue in just a few glittery, peachy strokes.

‘And single,’ Jasmine nudged.

‘Staying single,’ Bridgette said. ‘The last thing I want is a relationship.’

‘Doesn’t have to be a relationship,’ Jasmine replied, but gave in with a small laugh. ‘It does with you, though.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Paul was a complete bastard, you know.’

‘I know.’ She did not want to talk about it.

‘Better to find out now than later.’

‘I know that,’ Bridgette snapped. She so did not want to talk about it—she didn’t even want to think about it tonight—but thankfully Jasmine had other things on her mind.

‘Ooh, I wonder if Dominic will be there. He’s sex on legs, that guy…’ Even though she was blissfully happy with Vince, Jasmine still raved about the paediatric locum registrar, Dominic Mansfield.

‘You’re just about to fly off to Africa with your boyfriend.’ Bridgette grinned. ‘Should you be noticing such things?’

‘I can still look.’ Jasmine sighed. ‘Honestly, you can’t help looking when Dominic’s around—he’s gorgeous. He just doesn’t belong in our hospital. He should be on some glamorous soap or something…Anyway, I was thinking of him more for you.’

‘Liar. From what you’ve told me about Dominic, he’s not the relationship kind.’

‘Well, he must have been at some point—he was engaged before he came to Melbourne. Mind you, he wouldn’t do for you at all. He hardly speaks. He’s quite arrogant really,’ Jasmine mused. ‘Anyway, enough about all that. Look at you.’ She smiled at her friend in the mirror. ‘Gorgeous, single, no commitments…You’re allowed to have fun, you know.’

Except Bridgette did have commitments, even if no one could really understand them. It was those commitments that had her double-check that she had her phone in her bag. She didn’t feel completely single—more she felt like a single mum with her child away on an access visit. Courtney and Harry had lived with her for a year and it had ended badly, and though she spoke little to Courtney now, she was an extremely regular babysitter.

She missed him tonight.

But, she reminded herself, he wasn’t hers to miss.

Still, it was nice to be out and to catch up with everyone. They all put in some money for drinks, but unfortunately it was Jasmine who chose the wine and it was certainly a case of quantity over quality. Bridgette took a sip—she was far from a wine snob, but it really was awful and she sat on one drink all night.

‘When are you coming back to us?’ was the cry from her ex-colleagues.

‘I’m not sure,’ Bridgette responded. ‘Soon, I hope.’

Yes, it was a good night; it just wasn’t the same as it once had been.

She wasn’t one of them any more.

She had no idea who they were talking about when they moaned about someone called Rita—how she took over in a birth, how much her voice grated. There had been a big drama last week apparently, which they were now discussing, of which Bridgette knew nothing. Slipping her phone out of her bag, she checked it, relieved to see that there were no calls, but even though she wasn’t needed, even though she had nowhere else to be right now, the night was over for her.

She wasn’t a midwife any more, or at best she was an occasional one—she went wherever the agency sent her. Bridgette was about to say goodbye to Jasmine, to make a discreet exit, when she was thwarted by some late arrivals, whom Jasmine marched her over to, insisting that she say hello.

‘This is Rita, the new unit manager.’ Jasmine introduced the two women. ‘And, Rita, this is Bridgette Joyce. She used to work with us. We’re trying to persuade her to come back. And this is…’ He really needed no introduction, because Bridgette looked over and fell into very black eyes. The man stood apart from the rest and looked a bit out of place in the rather tacky bar, and, yes, he was as completely stunning as Jasmine had described. His black hair was worn just a little bit long and swept backwards to reveal a face that was exquisite. He was tall, slim and wearing black trousers and a fitted white shirt. He was, quite simply, divine. ‘This is Dominic,’ Jasmine introduced, ‘our locum paediatrician.’

He didn’t look like a paediatrician—oh, she knew she shouldn’t label people so, but as he nodded and said hello he didn’t look in the least like a man who was used to dealing with children. Jasmine was right—he should be on a soap, playing the part of a pretend doctor, or…She imagined him more a surgeon, a cosmetic surgeon perhaps, at some exclusive private practice.

‘Can I get anyone a drink?’ He was very smooth and polite, and there was no hint of an accent, but with such dark looks she wondered if his forebears were Italian perhaps, maybe Greek. He must have caught her staring, and when he saw that she didn’t have a glass, he spoke directly to her. ‘Bridgette, can I get you anything?’

‘Not for me, thanks, I’m—’ She was just about to say that she was leaving when Jasmine interrupted her.

‘You don’t need to buy a drink, Dominic. We’ve got loads.’ Jasmine toddled over to their loud table and poured him a glass of vinegary wine and one for Bridgette too, and then handed them over. ‘Come on.’ Jasmine pushed, determined her friend would unwind. ‘Drink up, Bridgette.’

He was terribly polite because he accepted it graciously and took a sip of the drink and managed not to wince. But as Bridgette took a tiny sip, she did catch his eye, and there was a hint of a shared smile, if it could even be called that.

‘It’s good that you could make it, Dominic.’ Vince came over. He had just today finished his paediatric rotation, and Bridgette had worked with him on Maternity for a while before she’d left. ‘I know that it hasn’t been a great day.’

She watched as Dominic gave a brief nod, gave practically nothing back to that line of conversation—instead, he changed the subject. ‘So,’ he asked, ‘when do you fly?’

‘Monday night,’ Vince said, and spoke a little about the project he was joining.

‘Well,’ said Dominic, ‘all the best with it.’

He really didn’t waste words, did he? Bridgette thought as Jasmine polished her cupid’s bow and happily took Vince’s hand and wandered off, leaving Bridgette alone with him and trying not to show just how awkward she felt.

‘Careful,’ she said as his glass moved to his lips. ‘Remember how bad it tastes.’

She was rewarded with the glimpse of a smile.

‘Do you want me to get you something else?’

Yikes, she hadn’t been fishing for drinks. ‘No, no…’ Bridgette shook her head. ‘Jasmine would be offended. I’m fine. I was just…’ Joking, she didn’t add, trying to make conversation. Gorgeous he might be to look at but he really didn’t say very much. ‘You’re at the hospital, then?’ Bridgette asked.

‘Just as a fill-in,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ve got a consultant’s position starting in a couple of weeks in Sydney.’ He named a rather impressive hospital and that just about summed him up, Bridgette decided—rather impressive and very, very temporary.

‘Your family is there?’

‘That’s right,’ he said, but didn’t elaborate. ‘You work on Maternity?’ Dominic frowned, because he couldn’t place her.

‘I used to,’ Bridgette explained. ‘I left six months ago. I’ve been doing agency…’

‘Why?’

It was a very direct question, one she wasn’t quite expecting, one she wasn’t really sure how to answer.

‘The hours are more flexible,’ she said, ‘the money’s better…’ And it was the truth, but only a shred of it, because she missed her old job very badly. She’d just been accepted as a clinical nurse specialist when she’d left. She adored everything about midwifery, and now she went wherever the agency sent her. As she was qualified as a general nurse, she could find herself in nursing homes, on spinal units, sometimes in psych. She just worked and got on with it, but she missed doing what she loved the most.

He really didn’t need to hear it, so back on went the smile she’d been wearing all night. ‘And it means that I get to go out on a Saturday night.’ The moment she said them, she wanted those words back, wished she could retrieve them. She knew that she sounded like some sort of party girl, especially with what came next.

‘I can see it has benefits,’ Dominic said, and she swore he glanced down at the hand that was holding the glass, and for a dizzy moment she realised she was being appraised. ‘If you have a young family.’

‘Er, no.’ Oh, help, she was being appraised. He was looking at her, the same way she might look at shoes in a window and tick off her mental list of preferences—too flat, too high, nice colour, shame about the bow. Wrong girl, she wanted to say to him, I’m lace-up-shoe boring.

‘You don’t have children?’

‘No,’ she said, and something twisted inside, because if she told him about Harry she would surely burst into tears. She could just imagine Dominic’s gorgeous face sort of sliding into horrified boredom if the newly foiled, for once groomed woman beside him told him she felt as if her guts were being torn, that right now, right this very minute, she was having great difficulty not pulling out her phone to check if there had been a text or a call from Courtney. Right now she wanted to drive past where her sister was living with her friend Louise and make sure that there wasn’t a wild party raging. She scrambled for something to say, anything to say, and of course she again said the wrong thing.

‘Sorry that you had a bad day.’ She watched his jaw tighten a fraction, knew, given his job, that it was a stupid thing to say, especially when her words tumbled out in a bright and breezy voice. But the false smile she had plastered on all night seemed to be infusing her brain somehow, she was so incredibly out of practice with anything remotely social.

He gave her the same brief nod that he had given Vince, then a very brief smile and very smoothly excused himself.

‘Told you!’ Jasmine was over in a flash the minute he was gone. ‘Oh, my God, you were talking for ages.’

‘For two minutes.’

‘That’s ages for him!’ Jasmine breathed. ‘He hardly says a word to anyone.’

‘Jasmine!’ She rolled her eyes at her friend. ‘You can stop this very moment.’ Bridgette let out a small gurgle of laughter. ‘I think I’ve just been assessed as to my suitability for a one-nighter. Honestly, he’s shameless…He asked if I had children and everything. Maybe he’s worried I’ve got stretch marks and a baggy vagina.’

It was midwife-speak, and as she made Jasmine laugh, she laughed herself. The two women really laughed for the first time in a long, long time, and it was so good for Bridgette to be with her friend before she jetted off, because Jasmine had helped her through this difficult time. She didn’t want to be a misery at her friends’ leaving do, so she kept up the conversation a little. They giggled about lithe, toned bodies and the temptresses who would surely writhe on his white rug in his undoubtedly immaculate city apartment. It was a white rug, they decided, laughing, for a man like Dominic was surely far too tasteful for animal prints. And he’d make you a cocktail on arrival, for this was the first-class lounge of one-night stands, and on and on they went…Yes, it was so good to laugh.

Dominic could hear her laughter as he spoke with a colleague, as again he was offered yet more supposed consolation for a ‘bad day’. He wished that people would just say nothing, wished he could simply forget.

It had been a…He searched for the expletive to best describe his day, chose it, but knew if he voiced it he might just be asked to leave, which wouldn’t be so bad, but, no, he took a mouthful of vinegar and grimaced as it met the acid in his stomach.

He hated his job.

Was great at it.

Hated it.

Loved it.

Did it.

He played ping-pong in his mind with a ball that broke with every hit.

He wanted that hard ball tonight, one that bounced back on every smash, one that didn’t crumple if you hammered it.

He wanted to be the doctor who offered better answers.

Today he had seen the dominos falling, had scrambled to stop them, had done everything to reset them, but still they’d fallen—click, click, click—racing faster than he could halt them till he’d known absolutely what was coming and had loathed that he’d been the only one who could see it.

‘Where there’s life there’s hope’ had been offered several times.

Actually, no, he wanted to say as he’d stared at another batch of blood results and read off the poisons that had filled this tiny body.

‘There is hope, though…’ the parents had begged, and he had refused to flinch at the frantic eyes that had scanned his face as he’d delivered news.

He loved hope, he craved hope and had searched so hard for it today, but he also knew when hope was gone, said it before others would. Unlike others, he faced the inevitable—because it was either cardiac massage and all lights blazing, or a cuddle without the tubes at the end.

Yes, it came down to that.

Yes, it had been a XXXX of a day.

He had sat with the parents till ten p.m. and then entered a bar that was too bright, stood with company that was too loud and tasted wine that could dissolve an olive, and hated that he missed her. How could you miss a woman you didn’t even like? He hated that she’d ring tonight and that he might be tempted to go back. That in two weeks’ time he’d see her. Shouldn’t he be over Arabella by now? Maybe it was just because he had had a ‘bad day’. Not that he and Arabella had ever really spoken about work—oh, they’d discussed their career paths of course, but never the day-to-day details. They’d never talked about days such as this, Dominic mused.

Then he had seen her—Bridgette. In a silver dress and with a very wide smile, with gorgeous nails and polished hair, she had drawn his eye. Yet on inspection there was more behind that polished façade than he cared to explore, more than he needed tonight.

He had been checking for a wedding ring.

What no one understood was that he preferred to find one.

Married women were less complicated, knew the rules from the start, for they had so much more to lose than he did.

Bridgette was complicated.

He’d read her, because he read women well. He could see the hurt behind those grey eyes, could see the effort that went into her bright smile. She was complicated and he didn’t need it. But, on the way down to her ring finger, he’d noticed very pale skin and a tapestry of freckles, and he’d wondered where the freckles stopped, had wondered far too many things.

He didn’t need an ounce of emotion tonight, not one more piece, which was why he had excused himself and walked away. But perhaps he’d left gut instinct in his car tonight, the radar warning that had told him to keep his distance dimmed a fraction as he looked over to where she stood, laughing with her friend.

‘Hey, Dominic…’ He heard a low, seductive voice and turned to the pretty blonde who stood before him, a nurse who worked in Theatre and one whose husband seemed to be perpetually away. ‘So brilliant to see you tonight.’ He looked into eyes that were blue and glittered with open invitation, saw the ring on her finger and the spray tan on her arm on the way down. ‘I just finished a late shift. Wasn’t sure I’d make it.’

‘Are you on tomorrow?’ someone asked.

‘No,’ she answered. ‘And I’ve got the weekend to myself. Geoff’s away.’ Her eyes flicked to his and Dominic met her gaze, went to take another sip of his drink and then, remembering how it tasted, changed his mind, and he changed his mind about something else too—he couldn’t stomach the taste of fake tan tonight.

Then he heard Bridgette laughing, looked over and ignored his inner radar, managed to convince himself that he had read her wrong.

He knew now what Bridgette’s middle name was.

Escape.

‘People are talking about going for something to eat…’ Vince came over and snaked his arm around Jasmine, and they shared a kiss as Bridgette stood, pretending not to feel awkward—actually, not so awkward now that she and Jasmine had had such a laugh. She wasn’t going out to dinner, or to a club, but at least she and Jasmine had had some fun—but then the waitress came over and handed her a glass.

‘For me?’ Bridgette frowned.

‘He said to be discreet.’ The waitress nodded her head in Dominic’s direction. ‘I’ll get rid of your other glass.’

Double yikes!

She glanced over to black eyes that were waiting to meet hers.

Wrong girl, she wanted to semaphore back—so very, very wrong for you, Dominic, she wanted to signal. It took me weeks to have sex with Paul, I mean weeks, and you’re only here for two. And I don’t think I’m very good at it anyway. At least he hinted at that when we broke up. But Bridgette didn’t have any flags handy and wouldn’t know what to do if she had them anyway, so she couldn’t spell it out; she only had her eyes and they held his.

She lifted the glass of temptation he offered and the wine slipped onto her tongue and down her throat. It tasted delicious—cold and expensive and not at all what she was used to.

She felt her cheeks burn as she dragged her eyes from him and back to her friend and tried to focus on what Jasmine was saying—something about Mexican, and a night that would never end. She sipped her champagne that was far too nice, far too moreish, and Bridgette knew she had to get out of there. ‘Not for me,’ she said to Jasmine, feeling the scald of his eyes on her shoulder as she spoke. ‘Honestly, Jasmine…’ She didn’t need to make excuses with her friend.

‘I know.’ Jasmine smiled. ‘It really is great that you came out.’

It had been. Bridgette was relieved that she’d made it this far for her friend and also rather relieved to escape from the very suave Dominic—he was so out of her league and she also knew they were flirting. Dominic had the completely wrong impression of her—he thought she worked agency for the money and flexibility, so that she could choose her shifts at whim and party hard on a Saturday night.

If only he knew the truth.

Still, he was terribly nice.

Not nice, she corrected. Not nice nice, more toe-curlingly sexy and a dangerous nice. Still, no one was leaving. Instead he had made his way over, the music seemed to thud low in her stomach and for a bizarre moment as he joined them she thought he was about to lean over and kiss her.

Just like that, in front of everyone.

And just like that, in front of everyone, she had the ridiculous feeling that she’d comply.

It was safer to leave, to thank him for the drink, to say she wasn’t hungry, to hitch up her bag and get the hell out of there, to ignore the dangerous dance in her mind.

‘I’ll see you on Monday,’ she said to Jasmine.

‘You can help me pack!’

The group sort of moved out of the bar as she did and walked towards the Mexican restaurant. There had been a burst of summer rain but it hadn’t cleared the air. Instead it was muggy, the damp night air clinging to her cheeks, to her legs and arms as her eyes scanned the street for a taxi.

‘Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ Dominic asked.

And she should say no—she really should walk away now, Bridgette told herself. She didn’t even like Mexican food, but he was gorgeous and it had been ages since there had been even a hint of a flirt. And she was twenty-six and maybe just a bit flattered that someone as sophisticated as he was was paying her attention. Her wounded ego could certainly use the massage and she’d just checked her phone and things seemed fine, so Bridgette took a deep breath and forced back that smile.

‘Sounds great.’

‘Good,’ he replied, except she was confused, because he then said goodbye to Vince and Jasmine as Bridgette stood on the pavement, blinking as the group all bundled into a restaurant and just the two of them remained. Then he turned and smiled. ‘Let’s get something to eat, then.’

‘I thought…’ She didn’t finish her sentence, because he aimed his keys at a car, a very nice car, which lit up in response, and she glanced at her phone again and there wasn’t a single message.

Her chariot awaited.

She climbed in the car and sank into the leather and held her breath as Dominic walked around to the driver’s side.

She didn’t do things like this.

Ever.

But there was a part of her that didn’t want to say goodnight.

A part of her that didn’t want to go back to an empty flat and worry about Harry.

They drove though the city; he blasted on the air-conditioner and it was bliss to feel the cool air on her cheeks. They drove in silence until his phone rang and she glanced to the dashboard where it sat in its little charger and the name ‘Arabella’ flashed up on his screen. Instead of making an excuse, he turned for a brief second and rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The maudlin Saturday night phone call,’ Dominic said, grinding the gears. ‘How much she misses me, how she didn’t mean it like that…’

The phone went black.

‘Your ex?’

‘Yep.’ He glanced over to her. ‘You can answer it if she rings again.’ He flashed her a smile, a devilish smile that had her stomach flip. ‘Tell her we’re in bed—that might just silence her.’

‘Er, no!’ She grinned. ‘I don’t do things like that.’

On both counts.

‘Were you serious?’ she asked, because she couldn’t really imagine him serious about anyone. Mind you, Jasmine had said they’d been engaged.

‘Engaged,’ he said. ‘For a whole four weeks.’

And he pulled his foot back from the accelerator because he realised he was driving too fast, but he hated the phone calls, hated that sometimes he was tempted to answer, to slip back into life as he once had known it.

And end up like his parents, Dominic reminded himself.

He’d lived through their hellish divorce as a teenager, had seen their perfect life crumble, and had no intention of emulating it. With Arabella he had taken his time. They had been together for two years and he thought he had chosen well—gorgeous, career-minded and she didn’t want children. In fact, it had turned out, she didn’t want anything that was less than perfect.

‘You’re driving too fast.’ Her voice broke into his thoughts. ‘I don’t make a very good passenger.’ She smiled. ‘I think I’m a bit of a control freak.’

He slowed down, the car swishing through the damp city streets, and then they turned into the Arts Centre car park. Walking through it, she could hear her heels ringing on the cement, and even though it was her town, it was Dominic who knew where he was going—it had been ages since she had been in the heart of the city. She didn’t feel out of place in her silver dress. The theatres were spilling out and there were people everywhere dressed to the nines and heading for a late dinner.

She found herself by a river—looking out on it from behind glass. She was at a table, with candles and silver and huge purple menus and a man she was quite sure she couldn’t handle. He’d been joking in the car about telling his ex they were in bed, she knew it, but not really—she knew that too.

‘What do you want to eat?’

Bridgette wasn’t that hungry—she felt a little bit sick, in fact—but she looked through the menu and tried to make up her mind.

‘I…’ She didn’t have the energy to sit through a meal. Really, she ought to tell him now, that the night would not be ending as he was undoubtedly expecting. ‘I’m not very hungry…’

‘We can get dessert and coffee if you want.’

‘I wouldn’t mind the cheese platter.’

‘Start at the end.’ He gave her a smile and placed the order—water for him and cognac for her, he suggested, and, heaven help her, the waiter asked if she wanted it warmed.

‘Dominic…’ She took a deep breath as their platter arrived, a gorgeous platter of rich cheeses and fruits. ‘I think—’

‘I think we just ought to enjoy,’ he interrupted.

‘No.’ Bridgette gulped. ‘I mean…’ She watched as he smeared cheese on a cracker and offered it to her.

‘I don’t like blue cheese.’

‘Then you haven’t had a good one.’

He wasn’t wrong there!

He took a bite instead and her hand shook as she reached for the knife, tasted something she was quite sure she didn’t like and found out it was, in fact, amazing.

‘Told you.’

‘You did.’ She looked at the platter, at the grapes and dates, like some lush oil painting, and she knew the dance that was being played and the flirting and the seduction that was to come, and it terrified her. ‘I don’t think I should be here…’ She scrabbled in her bag, would pay the bill, knew that she must end this.

‘Bridgette.’ He wasn’t a bastard—he really wasn’t. Yes, he’d been playing the field since his engagement had ended, and, yes, he had every intention of continuing to do so, but he only played with those who were happy with the rules, and he knew now for sure that she wasn’t. ‘It’s cheese.’

She lifted troubled eyes to his.

‘No, it isn’t—it’s the ride home after.’

He liked her. He hadn’t wanted emotion tonight, and yet she made him smile as a tear washed away the last of her foundation and he could see freckles on her nose. ‘Bridgette, it’s cheese and conversation.’ He took her hand, and she started to tell him he didn’t want just cheese and conversation, oh, no, she knew it very well. She told him she wasn’t the girl in the silver dress who partied and he held her hand as she babbled about zebra-print rugs, no white ones, and cocktails. ‘Bridgette.’ He was incredibly close to adoring her, to leaning over and kissing her right now. ‘It’s cheese and conversation and then I’ll take you home.’ He looked at her mouth and he was honest. ‘Maybe just one kiss goodnight.’

Oh, but she wanted her kiss.

Just one.

‘That leads nowhere,’ she said.

‘That leads nowhere,’ he assured her.

‘We’re not suited,’ she said, and was incredibly grateful that he nodded.

‘We’re completely incompatible,’ Dominic agreed.

‘And I’m sorry if I’ve misled you…’

‘You didn’t.’ He was very magnanimous, smearing more cheese and this time handing it to her, no, wait, feeding her, and it wasn’t so much seductive as nice. ‘I let myself be misled,’ he said, and he handed her her cognac. ‘I knew from the start you were nice.’ He gave her a smile. ‘And you are, Bridgette.’

‘So are you.’

‘Oh, no,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not.’

CHAPTER TWO

IT FELT so good to feel so good and it was as if they both knew that they didn’t have long. It was terribly hard to explain it, but now that there wasn’t sex on the menu, now they’d cleared that out of the way, they could relax and just be.

For a little while.

She took a sip of cognac and it burnt all the way down, a delicious burn.

‘Nice?’ Dominic asked.

‘Too nice,’ she admitted.

And he hadn’t wanted conversation, or emotion, but he was laughing, talking, sharing, and that XXXX of a day melted away with her smile.

So they worked the menu backwards and ordered dessert, chocolate soufflé for Bridgette and watermelon and mint sorbet for him. As he sampled his dish, Bridgette wanted a taste—not a spoonful, more a taste of his cool, watermelon-and-mint-flavoured tongue—and she flushed a little as he offered her the spoon. ‘Want some?’ Dominic said.

She shook her head, asked instead about his work, and he told her a bit about his plans for his career, and she told him about the lack of plans for hers.

‘You love midwifery, though?’ Dominic checked.

‘I am hoping to go back to it.’ Bridgette nodded. ‘It’s just been a bit of a complicated year…’ She didn’t elaborate and she was glad that he didn’t push. Yes, she loved midwifery, she answered, loved babies.

‘You want your own?’ He asked the same question that everyone did when they heard her job.

‘One day maybe…’ Bridgette gave a vague shrug. Had he asked a couple of years ago she’d have told him that she wanted millions, couldn’t wait to have babies of her own. Only now she simply couldn’t see it. She couldn’t imagine a place or a time where it might happen, couldn’t imagine really trusting a man again. She didn’t tell him that of course—that wasn’t what tonight was about. Instead she gave a vague nod. ‘I think so. You?’ she asked, and he admitted that he shuddered at the very thought.

‘You’re a paediatrician.’ Bridgette laughed.

‘Doesn’t mean I have to want my own. Anyway,’ he added, ‘I know what can go wrong.’ He shook his head and was very definite. ‘Nope, not for me.’ He told her that he had a brother, Chris, when Bridgette said she had a sister, Courtney. Neither mentioned Arabella or Paul, and Bridgette certainly didn’t mention Harry.

Tonight it was just about them.

And then they ordered coffee and talked some more.

And then another coffee.

And the waiters yawned, and Dominic and Bridgette looked around the restaurant and realised it was just the two of them left.

And it was over too soon, Bridgette thought as he paid the bill and they left. It was as if they were trying to cram so much into one night; almost as if it was understood that this really should deserve longer. It was like a plane trip alongside a wonderful companion: you knew you would be friends, more than friends perhaps, if you had more time, but you were both heading off to different lives. He to further his career and then back to his life in Sydney,

She to, no doubt, more of the same.

Except they had these few hours together and neither wanted them to end.

They walked along the river and to the bridge, leant over it and looked into the water, and still they spoke, about silly things, about music and videos and movies they had watched or that they thought the other really should see. He was nothing like the man she had assumed he was when they had been introduced in the bar—he was insightful and funny and amazing company. In fact, nothing at all like the remote, aloof man that Jasmine had described.

And she was nothing like he’d expected either when they had been introduced. Dominic was very careful about the women he dated in Melbourne; he had no interest in settling down, not even for a few weeks. Occasionally he got it wrong, and it would end in tears a few days later. Not his of course—it was always the women who wanted more than he was prepared to give, and Dominic had decided he was never giving that part of himself again. But there was a strange regret in the air as he drove her home—a rare regret for Dominic—because here was a woman he actually wouldn’t mind getting to know a little more, one who might get him over those last stubborn, lingering remnants of Arabella.

He’d been joking about Bridgette answering the phone.

Sort of.

Actually, it wasn’t such a bad idea. He couldn’t face going back to Sydney while there was still weakness, didn’t want to slip back into the picture-perfect life that had been prescribed to him since birth.

And it was strange because had they met at the start of his stay here, he was sure, quite sure, time would have moved more slowly. Now, though, it seemed that the beach road that led to her home, a road he was quite positive usually took a good fifteen minutes, seemed to be almost over in eight minutes and still they were talking, still they were laughing, as the car gobbled up their time.

‘You should watch it.’ She was talking about something on the internet, something she had found incredibly funny. ‘Tonight when you get in.’ She glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was almost two. ‘I mean, this morning.’

‘You watch it too.’ He grinned. ‘We can watch simultaneously…’ His fingers tightened on the wheel and he ordered his mind not to voice the sudden direction it had taken—thankfully those thoughts went unsaid and unheard.

‘I can’t get on the internet,’ Bridgette grumbled, trying desperately not to think similar thoughts. ‘I’ve got a virus.’ She swung her face to him. ‘My computer, I mean, not…’ What was wrong with her mouth? Bridgette thought as she turned her burning face to look out of the window. Why did everything lead to sex with him? ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘you should watch it.’

There was a roundabout coming up, the last roundabout, Bridgette knew, before her home, and it felt like her last chance at crazy, their last chance. And, yes, it was two a.m., but it could have been two p.m.; it was just a day that was running out and they wanted to chase it. She stole a look over at his delectable profile and to the olive hands that gripped the steering-wheel—it would be like leaving the cinema in the middle of the best movie ever without a hope of finding out the end. And she wanted more detail, wanted to know how it felt to be made love to by a man like him. She’d been truthful when she’d spoken to Jasmine—a relationship was the very last thing that she wanted now. Maybe this way had merit…‘We should watch it.’

‘Your computer’s not working,’ he pointed out.

‘Yours is.’ The flick of the indicator signalling right was about half the speed of her heart.

‘Bridgette…’ He wasn’t a bastard—he was incredibly, incredibly nice, because they went three times round the roundabout as he made very sure.

‘I don’t want you to regret…’ He was completely honest. ‘I leave in two weeks.’

‘I won’t regret it.’ She’d firmly decided that she wouldn’t. ‘After much consideration I have decided I would very much regret it if I didn’t.’ She gave him a smile. ‘I want my night.’

She did. And he was lovely, because he did not gun the car home. It was so much nicer than she would ever be able to properly remember, but she knew for many nights she would try.

She wanted to be able to hold on to the moment when he turned and told her that he couldn’t wait till they got all the way back to the city for the one kiss they had previously agreed to. She wanted to remember how they stopped at a lookout, gazed out at the bay, leant against his bonnet and watched the glittering view, and it felt as if time was suspended. She wanted to bottle it somehow, because she wasn’t angry with Courtney at that moment, or worried for Harry. For the first time in ages she had a tiny glimpse of calm, of peace, a moment where she felt all was well.

Well, not calm, but it was a different sort of stress from the one she was used to as he moved his face to hers. Very nicely he kissed her, even if she was terribly nervous. He let her be nervous as he kissed her—till the pleats in her mind unfurled. It was a kiss that had been building all night, a kiss she had wanted since their introduction, and his mouth told her he had wanted the same.

‘I was going to stay for one drink…’ His mouth was at her ear, his body pressed into hers.

‘I was just leaving,’ she admitted as his face came back to view.

‘And now look at us.’

So nice was that kiss that he did it again.

‘You smell fantastic.’ She was glad, to be honest, to have only him on her mind. He smelt as expensive as he looked and he tasted divine. She would never take this dress to the dry cleaner’s, she thought as his scent wrapped around them, and his mouth was at her neck and under her hair. He was dragging in the last breaths of the perfume she had squirted on before going out and soaking in the scent of the salon’s rich shampoo and the warm fragrance of woman.

‘So do you,’ he said.

‘You taste fantastic,’ Bridgette said. She was the one going back for more now.

‘You too.’

And he liked the weight of responsibility that cloaked him as he pressed her against the bonnet and his hands inched down to a silver hem. He could feel her soft thighs and wanted to lift her dress, but he wanted to know if her legs too were freckled, so he ended the kiss. He wanted more for her than that, more for himself than that.

Just tonight, Dominic assured himself as she did the same.

‘What?’ He caught her looking at him as they headed for his home, and grinned.

‘Nothing.’ She smiled back.

‘Go on, say what you’re thinking.’

‘Okay.’ So she did. ‘You don’t look like a paediatrician.’

‘What is a paediatrician supposed to look like?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bridgette admitted. ‘Okay, you don’t seem like a paediatrician.’ She couldn’t really explain it, but he laughed.

They laughed.

And when she told him that she imagined him more a cosmetic surgeon, with some exclusive private practice, his laugh turned wry. ‘You’re mistaking me for my father.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Bridgette said.

And he pulled her towards him, because it was easier than thinking, easier than admitting he wasn’t so sure of her verdict, that lately he seemed to be turning more and more into his father, the man he respected least.

It was three o’clock and she felt as if they were both trying to escape morning.

There wasn’t a frantic kiss through the front door—instead the energy that swirled was more patient.

It was a gorgeous energy that waited as he made her coffee and she went to the bathroom and he had the computer on when she returned. They did actually watch it together.

‘I showed this to Jasmine—’ there were tears rolling down her face, but from laughter ‘—and she didn’t think it was funny.’

And he was laughing too, more than he ever had. He hadn’t had a night like this in ages—in fact, he couldn’t recall one ever.

Okay, she would try to remember the details, how he didn’t cringe when she pretended his desk was a piano; instead he sang.

It was the most complicated thing to explain—that she could sing to him, that, worse, he could take the mug that was the microphone and do the same to her!

‘We should be ashamed of ourselves.’ She admired their reflection in the computer as they took a photo.

‘Very ashamed,’ he agreed.

She thought he was like this, Dominic realised, that this was how his usual one-night stands went. Didn’t she understand that this was as rare for him as it was for her? He hadn’t been like this even with Arabella.

He didn’t just want anyone tonight; he wanted her.

It was an acute want that tired now of being patient and so too did hers. As their mouths met on time and together, he kissed her to the back of the sofa. It felt so seamless, so right, because not for a second did Bridgette think, Now he’s going to kiss me. One moment they were laughing and the next they were kissing. It was a transition that was as simple as that.

It was his mouth and his taste and the slide of his tongue.

It was her mouth and a kiss that didn’t taste of plastic, that tasted of her tongue, and he kissed her and she curled into it. She loved the feel of his mouth and the roam of his hands and the way her body was craving his—it was a kiss that was potent, everything a kiss could be, distilled into one delicious dose.

He took off her dress, because he wanted to see her, not the woman in silver, and his eyes roamed. They roamed as he took off her bra and he answered his earlier question because her freckles stopped only where her bikini would be. There were two unfreckled triangles that wanted his mouth, but he talked to her as well and what she didn’t know was how rare that was.

He left control behind and was out of his mind.

He wanted her in France, he told her as he licked her nipple.

Topless and naked on the beach beside him, and new freckles on her breasts. She closed her eyes and she could smell the sun oil, could feel the heat from the sun that shone in France and the coolness of his tongue on sunburnt nipples. He pressed her into the couch and she pressed back to him.

She was lying down and could feel him hard against her and she didn’t think twice, just slid his zipper down.

She could hear her own moan as she held him and he lifted his head.

‘We’re not going to make it to the bedroom, are we?’

‘Not a hope,’ she admitted.

Was this what it was like?

To be free.

To be irresponsible.

More, please, she wanted to sob, because she wanted to live on the edge for ever, never wanted this night to end.

She wanted this man who took off his trousers and kept condoms in his wallet, and it didn’t offend her—she already knew what he was like, after all.

‘Bastard.’ She grinned.

And he knew her too.

‘Sorry,’ he said. In their own language he apologised for the cad that he was and told her that he wasn’t being one tonight.

This was different.

So different that he sat her up.

Sank to his knees on the edge of the sofa.

And pulled her bottom towards him.

‘Let’s get rid of these.’ He was shameless. He dispensed with anything awkward, just slid her panties down, and she did remember staring up at the ceiling as his tongue slid up a pale, freckled thigh that didn’t taste of fake tan and then he dived right in. As he licked and teased and tasted she would remember for ever thinking, Is this me?

And she was grateful for his experience, for his skill, for the mastery of his tongue, because it was a whole new world and tonight she got to step into it.

‘Relax,’ he said, when she forgot to for a moment.

So she did, just closed her eyes and gave in to it.

‘Where’s the rug?’ she asked as he slid her to the floor.

‘No rug,’ he said.

He maybe should get one, was her last semi-coherent thought, because the carpet burnt in her back as he moved inside her, a lovely burn, and then it was his turn to sample the carpet for he toppled her over, still deep inside her, and she was on top.

Don’t look down.

It wasn’t even a semi-coherent thought; it was more a familiar warning that echoed in her head.

Don’t look down—but she did, she looked down from the tightrope that recently she’d been walking.

She glimpsed black eyes that were open as she closed hers and came, and he watched her expression, felt her abandon, and then his eyes closed as he came too. Yes, feeling those last bucks deep inside her she looked down and it didn’t daunt her, didn’t terrify. It exhilarated her as greedily he pulled her head down and kissed her.

‘It’s morning,’ he said as they moved to the bedroom, the first sunlight starting.

Better still as she closed her eyes to the new day, there was no regret.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS like waking up to an adult Christmas.

The perfect morning, Bridgette thought as she stretched out in the wrinkled bed.

She must have slept through the alarm on her phone and he must have got up, for there was the smell of coffee in the air. If she thought there might be a little bit of embarrassment, that they both might be feeling a touch awkward this morning, she was wrong.

‘Morning.’ Dominic was delighted by her company, which was rare for him. He had the best job in the world to deal with situations such as this—in fact, since in Melbourne, he had a permanent alarm call set for eight a.m. at weekends. He would answer the phone to the recorded message, talk for a brief moment, and then hang up and apologise to the woman in his bed. He would explain that something had come up at work and that he had no choice but to go in.

It was a back-up plan that he often used, but he didn’t want to use it today. Today he’d woken up before his alarm call and had headed out to the kitchen, made two coffees and remembered from last night that she took sugar. He thought about breakfast in bed and perhaps another walk to the river, to share it in daylight this time. Sunday stretched out before him like a long, luxurious yawn, a gorgeous pause in his busy schedule.

‘What time is it?’ Bridgette yawned too.

‘Almost eight.’ He climbed back into bed and he was delicious. ‘I was thinking…’ He looked down at where she lay. ‘Do you want to go out somewhere nice for breakfast?’

‘In a silver dress?’ Bridgette grinned. ‘And high heels?’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Then I guess we’ve no option but to spend the day in bed.’ She reached for her coffee and, as she always did when Harry wasn’t with her, she reached for her phone to check for messages. Then she saw that it wasn’t turned on and a knot of dread tightened in her stomach as she pressed the button.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Sure.’ Only it wasn’t. She hadn’t charged her phone yesterday; with Jasmine arriving and going out she hadn’t thought to plug it in. Her phone could have been off for hours—anything could have happened and she wouldn’t even know. She took a sip of her coffee and tried to calm herself down. Told herself she was being ridiculous, that she had to stop worrying herself sick, but it wasn’t quite so easy and after a moment she turned and forced a smile. ‘As much as I’d love to spend the day in bed, I really am going to have to get home.’

‘Everything okay?’ He checked again, because he could sense the change in her. One moment ago she’d been yawning and stretching; now she was as jumpy as a cat.

‘Of course,’ Bridgette said. ‘I’ve just got a lot on…’

She saw the flash of confusion in his eyes and it could have irritated her—in fact, she wanted it to irritate her. After all, why shouldn’t she have a busy day planned? Why should he just assume that she’d want a day with him? But that didn’t work, because somehow last night had not been as casual as she was now making it out to be. It needed to be, Bridgette reminded herself as she turned away from his black eyes—she felt far safer with their one-night rule, far safer not trusting him. ‘I’ll get a taxi,’ she said as she climbed out of bed and found her crumpled dress and then realised she’d have to go through the apartment to locate her underwear.

‘Don’t be ridiculous—I’ll drive you home,’ Dominic said, and he lay there as she padded out. He could hear her as she pulled on her panties and bra, and he tried not to think about last night and the wonderful time they’d had. Not just the sex, but before that, lying on the sofa watching clips on the computer, or the car ride home.

It wasn’t usually him getting sentimental. Normally it was entirely the other way round.

‘You really don’t have to give me a lift.’ She stood at the door, dressed now and holding her shoes in her hand, last night’s mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her hair wild and curly, and he wanted her back in his bed. ‘It’s no problem to get a taxi.’

‘I’ll get my keys.’

And she averted her eyes as he climbed out of the bed, as he did the same walk as her and located his clothes all crumpled on the floor. She wished the balloon would pop and he’d look awful all messed and unshaven. She could smell them in the room and the computer was still on and their photo was there on the screen and how they’d been smiling.

‘Bridgette…’ He so wasn’t used to this. ‘You haven’t even had your coffee.’

‘I really do need to get back.’

‘Sure.’

And talking was incredibly awkward, especially at the roundabout.

She wanted the indicator on, wanted him to turn the car around and take them back to bed, and, yes, she could maybe tell him about Harry.

About Courtney.

About the whole sorry mess.

End the dream badly.

After all, he was only here for two weeks, and even if he hadn’t been, she could hardly expect someone as glamorous and gorgeous as him to understand.

She didn’t want him to understand, she didn’t want him to know, so instead she blew out a breath and let the sat nav lead him to her door.

‘Good luck in Sydney.’ She really was terrible at this one-night thing.

‘Bridgette.’ He had broken so many rules for her and he did it again. ‘I know that you’re busy today, but maybe…’

‘Hey!’ She forced a smile, dragged it up from her guts and slathered it on her face and turned to him. ‘We’re not suited, remember?’

‘Completely incompatible.’ He forced a smile too.

He gave her a kiss but could sense her distraction.

She climbed out of the car and she didn’t say goodbye because she couldn’t bear to, didn’t turn around because she knew she’d head back to his arms, to his car, to escape.

But she couldn’t escape the niggle in her stomach that told her things were less than fine and it niggled louder as she made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning her room. By midday her answer came.

‘Can you have Harry tonight?’

‘I can’t,’ Bridgette said. ‘I’m on an early shift in the morning…’ Then she closed her eyes. She had reported her sister a couple of months ago to social services and finally voiced her concerns. Oh, there was nothing specific, but she could not simply stand by and do nothing. Since she’d asked Courtney to leave her flat, things had become increasingly chaotic and in the end she’d felt she had no choice but to speak out. Not to Jasmine or her friends—she didn’t want to burden them. Instead she had spoken to people who might help. Her concerns had been taken seriously, and anger had ripped through her family that she could do such a thing. Sour grapes, Courtney had called it, because of what had happened between her and Paul. And then Courtney had admitted that, yes, she did like to party, she was only eighteen, after all, but never when Harry was around. She always made sure that Harry was taken care of.

By Bridgette.

And as she stood holding the phone, Bridgette didn’t want to find out what might happen if she didn’t say yes.

‘I’ll ring the agency,’ Bridgette said. ‘See if I can change to a late shift.’

Even if it was awkward talking to her sister when she dropped him off, Bridgette really was delighted to see Harry. At eighteen months he grew more gorgeous each day. His long blond curls fell in ringlets now and he had huge grey eyes like his aunt’s.

Courtney had been a late baby for Maurice and Betty. Bridgette delivered babies to many so-called older women, but it was as if her parents had been old for ever—and they had struggled with the wilful Courtney from day one. It had been Bridgette who had practically brought her up, dealing with the angst and the crises that always seemed to surround Courtney, as her parents happily tuned out and carried on with their routines.

It had been Bridgette who had told them that their sixteen-year-old daughter was pregnant, Bridgette who had held Courtney’s hand in the delivery room, Bridgette who had breathed with hope when Courtney, besotted with her new baby, had told Harry that she’d always be there for him.

‘And I’ll always be there for you,’ Bridgette had said to her sister.

And Courtney was taking full advantage of that.

By seven, when Harry had had supper and been bathed, dressed in mint-green pyjamas, one of the many pairs Bridgette kept for him, and she had patted him off to sleep, she heard a car pulling up outside. She heard an expensive engine turning off, and then the sound of shoes on the steps outside her ground-floor flat, and she knew that it was him, even before she peeked through the blinds.

There was a loud ring of the bell and the noise made Harry cry.

And as Dominic stood on the step, there was his answer as to why she’d had to dash off that morning.

He waited a suitable moment, and Bridgette waited a moment too, rubbing Harry’s back, telling him to go back to sleep, ignoring the bell. They were both quietly relieved when she didn’t answer the door.

Still, last night had meant many things to Bridgette—and it wasn’t all about the suave locum. Seeing her old colleagues, hearing about the midwifery unit, she’d realised just how much she was missing her old life. She knew somehow she had to get it back.

It was a curious thing that helped.

When Harry woke up at eleven and refused to go back to sleep, she held him as she checked her work sheet for the week. She was hoping that Courtney would be back tomorrow in time for her to get to her late shift when an e-mail pinged into her inbox.

No subject. No message. Just an attachment.

She had no idea how Dominic had got her e-mail address, no idea at all, but she didn’t dwell on it, just opened the attachment.

It didn’t upset her to see it. In fact, it made her smile. She had no regrets for that night and the photo of them together proved it. The photo, not just of him but of herself smiling and happy, did more than sustain her—it inspired her.

‘Harry Joyce,’ she said to the serious face of her nephew. ‘Your aunty Bridgette needs to get a life.’

And she would get one, Bridgette decided, carefully deleting Dominic’s e-mail address so she didn’t succumb, like Arabella, in the middle of the night. The photo, though, became her new screensaver.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘HE’LL be fine.’

It was six-thirty a.m. on Monday morning and Bridgette’s guilt didn’t lift as she handed a very sleepy Harry over to Mary, whom she had been introduced to last week. ‘It seems mean, waking him so early,’ Bridgette said.

‘Well, you start work early.’ Mary had the same lovely Irish brogue as Bridgette’s granny had had and was very motherly and practical. ‘Is his mum picking him up?’

‘No, it’s just me for the next few days,’ Bridgette explained. ‘She’s got laryngitis, so I’m looking after Harry for a while.’

‘Now, I know you’ll want to see him during your breaks and things, but I really would suggest that for the first week or two, you don’t pop down. He will think you’re there to take him home and will just get upset.’ She gave Bridgette a nice smile. ‘Which will upset you and you’ll not get your work done for worrying. Maybe ring down if you want to know how he is, and of course if there are any problems and we need you, I’ll be the first to let you know.’ Holding Harry, Mary walked Bridgette to the door and gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder. ‘You’re doing grand.’

Oh, she wanted Mary to take her back to some mystical kitchen to sit at the table and drink tea for hours, for Mary to feed her advice about toddlers and tell her that everything was okay, was going to be okay, that Harry was fine.

Would be fine.

It felt strange to be back in her regular uniform, walking towards Maternity. Strange, but nice. It had been a busy month. She was so glad for that photo—their one night together had caused something of an awakening for Bridgette, had shown her just how much she was missing and had been the motivation to really sort her life out as best she could. She had been to the social-work department at the hospital she had once worked in and taken some much-needed advice. They suggested daycare and allocated Harry a place. At first Courtney had resisted. After all, she had said, she didn’t work, but Bridgette stood firm—relieved that there would be more people looking out for Harry. She was especially glad that she had held her ground when the day before she started her new job, Courtney had come down with a severe throat infection and asked if Bridgette could step in for a few days.

Bridgette’s interview with Rita had been long and rather difficult. Rita wasn’t at all keen to make exceptions. She would do her best to give Bridgette early shifts but, no, she couldn’t guarantee that was all she would get, and certainly, Rita said, she wanted all her staff to do regular stints on nights.

It all seemed a little impossible, but somehow Bridgette knew she had to make it work and get through things one day at a time—and today would be a good day, Bridgette decided as she entered the familiar unit, the smell and sound of babies in the air. This was where she belonged. She made herself a coffee to take into the long handover. Bridgette was hoping to be put into Labour and Delivery—she really wanted to immerse herself in a birth on her first day back.

‘You’re nice and early.’ Rita was sitting at the computer, all busy and efficient and preparing for the day. ‘Actually, that helps. It’s been a very busy night, a busy weekend apparently. I’ve got a nurse who has to leave at seven. She’s looking after a rather difficult case—would you mind taking handover from her and getting started?’

‘Of course.’ Bridgette was delighted. It often happened this way, and it would be lovely to get stuck into a labour on her first day back. She took a gulp of her coffee and tipped the rest down the sink, rinsed her cup and then headed off towards Labour and Delivery.

‘No, it’s room three where I want you to take over—twenty-four weeks with pre-eclampsia. They’re having trouble getting her blood pressure back down.’

Okay, so she wasn’t going to witness a birth this morning, but still, it was nice to be back using her midwifery brain. ‘Hi, there, Heather.’ She smiled at the familiar face. The room was quite crowded. Dr Hudson, the obstetrician, was there with the anaesthetist, and the anxious father was holding his wife’s hand. The woman’s face was flushed and she looked very drowsy. Thankfully, she was probably oblivious to all the activity going on.

‘It’s so good to see you.’ Heather motioned to head to the door and they stepped just a little outside. ‘I’ve got to get away at seven.’

‘Is that why it’s good to see me?’ Bridgette smiled.

‘No, it’s just good to see you back, good to have someone on the ball taking over as well. I’m worried about this one. Her name is Carla. She came up from Emergency yesterday evening.’ Heather gave Bridgette a detailed rundown, showing her all the drugs that had been used overnight in an attempt to bring Carla’s blood pressure down. ‘We thought we had it under control at four a.m., but at six it spiked again.’ Bridgette grimaced when she saw the figures. ‘Obviously, they were hoping for a few more days at the very least. She’s supposed to be having a more detailed scan this morning. They were estimating twenty-four weeks and three days.’ That was very early. Every day spent in the womb at this stage was precious and vital and would increase the baby’s chance of survival.

The parents wanted active treatment and the mother had been given steroids yesterday to mature the baby’s lungs in case of premature delivery, but even so, to deliver at this stage would be dire indeed. ‘She’s just been given an epidural,’ Heather explained, ‘and they’re fiddling with her medications through that as well. They’re doing everything they can to get her blood pressure down.’ It just didn’t seem to be working, though. The only true cure for pre-eclampsia was delivery. Carla’s vital signs meant that her life was in danger. She was at risk of a stroke or seizures and a whole host of complications if she didn’t stabilise soon—even death. ‘They were just talking about transferring her over to Intensive Care, but I think Dr Hudson now wants to go ahead and deliver. The paediatrician was just in…he’s warned them what to expect, but at that stage we were still hoping for a couple more days, even to get her to twenty-five weeks.’

It wasn’t going to happen.

‘I hate leaving her…’

‘I know,’ Bridgette said.

‘Dillan starts at a new school today.’ Bridgette knew Heather’s son had had trouble with bullying and it sounded as if today was a whole new start for him too. ‘Or I wouldn’t dash off.’

‘You need to get home.’

The monitors were beeping and Heather and Bridgette walked back in.

‘Carla…’ Heather roused the dozing woman. ‘This is Bridgette. She’s going to be taking care of you today, and I’ll be back to take care of you tonight.’

The alarms were really going off now. The appalling numbers that the monitors were showing meant the difficult decision would have to be made. Bridgette knew that Heather was torn. She’d been with Carla all night and at any moment now Carla was going to be rushed over to Theatre for an emergency Caesarean. ‘Go,’ Bridgette mouthed, because if Heather didn’t leave soon, she would surely end up staying, and Dillan needed his mum today.

‘Let Theatre know we’re coming over,’ Dr Hudson said to Bridgette, ‘and we need the crash team from NICU. I’ll tell the parents.’

Bridgette dashed out and informed Rita, the smooth wheels of the emergency routine snapping into place. Five minutes to seven on a Monday was not the best time. Staff were leaving, staff were starting, the weekend team was exhausted, the corridors busy as they moved the bed over to the maternity theatres.

‘Okay.’ Bridgette smiled at the terrified father, whom Dr Hudson had agreed could be present for the birth. ‘Here’s where you get changed.’ She gave him some scrubs, a hat and some covers for his shoes. ‘I’m going to go and get changed too and then I’ll come back for you and take you in.’

Really, her presence at this birth was somewhat supernumerary. For a normal Caesarean section she would be receiving the baby; however, the NICU team was arriving and setting up, preparing their equipment for this very tiny baby, so Bridgette concentrated on the parents. Frank, the husband, wanted to film the birth, and Bridgette helped him to work out where to stand so that he wouldn’t get in the way. She understood his need to document every minute of this little baby’s life.

‘It’s all happening so fast…’ Carla, though groggy, was clearly terrified, because now that the decision had been made, things were moving along with haste.

‘We’re just making sure we’ve got everything ready for your baby,’ Bridgette explained as Dr Hudson came in. The anaesthetist had topped up the epidural and the operation would soon be starting.

‘We’re just waiting on…’ Kelly, one of NICU team called out, when asked if they were ready, and then her voice trailed off. ‘No problem. Dr Mansfield is here.’

Bridgette looked up and straight into those familiar black eyes, eyes that she stared at each day on her computer, except they didn’t smile back at her now. She tore her gaze away from him and back to her patient. She completely halted her thoughts, gave all her attention to her patient, because the operation had started, the incision made at seven-eighteen, and just a few moments later a tiny baby was delivered.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Bridgette told Carla. ‘She’s moving.’ She was, her red, spindly limbs flailing with indignation at her premature entry to the world.

‘She’s not crying,’ Jenny said.

‘She is.’ There was a very feeble cry and her face was grimacing. Frank was standing back, filming their tiny daughter. Bridgette watched the activity and for the first time she took a proper look at Dominic.

He needed to shave, his face was grim with concentration and he looked exhausted. Bridgette remembered Rita saying that it had been a very busy weekend, and this emergency had come right at the tail end of his on-call shift.

‘Can I see her?’ Carla asked, but already the team was moving the baby and she was whisked past. Carla got only a very brief glimpse.

‘They’re taking her into another area,’ Bridgette explained, as the team moved away, ‘and then she’ll be taken up to the NICU.’

‘Can I go with her?’ Frank asked. ‘Can I watch? I won’t get in the way. I just want to see what they’re doing.’

‘I’ll go and find out.’

Bridgette walked into the resuscitation area, where the baby would be stabilised as much as possible before being moved to NICU. Even though she had seen premature babies, now and for evermore the sight of something so small and so fragile and so completely tiny took her breath away. Bridgette loved big, fat babies, little scrawny ones too, but a scrap like this made her heart flutter in silent panic.

‘She’s a little fighter.’ Kelly came over. ‘We’re going to move her up in a couple of minutes.’

‘Dad wants to know if he can come and watch. He’s promised not to get in the way. He just wants to see what’s happening.’

‘Not yet,’ Dominic called over. ‘I’ll talk to him as soon as I can.’

‘Tell him to stay with his wife for now,’ Kelly suggested. ‘I’ll come and fetch him when Dominic is ready to talk to him.’

Kelly was as good as her word, and by the time Carla had been moved to Recovery, Kelly appeared, holding some new photos of their tiny daughter, which she handed to Mum and explained a little of what was going on. ‘The doctors are still with her, but Dominic said if I bring Frank up he’ll try to come out to speak with him. He’ll come down and talk to you a bit later.’

It was a busy morning. Carla spent a long time in Recovery before being transferred back to the maternity unit, but even there she still required very close observation as her vital signs would take a while to stabilise after the birth. Carla was still very sick and of course wanted more information about her baby, whom they’d named Francesca. Frank had seen her very briefly and was now back with his wife and clearly a little impatient about the lack of news.

‘Mary from daycare is on the phone for you.’ Nandita, the ward clerk, popped a head around the door and handed Bridgette the phone.

‘Nothing to worry about at all’ came Mary’s reassuring voice as Bridgette stepped out into the corridor. ‘I’m just about to head off for lunch and I thought I’d let you know how well he’s gone today. He’s found a stack of bricks, which amused him for most of the morning.’

‘Thanks so much for letting me know.’

‘He’s heading for an afternoon nap now. Anyway, you can get on with your day without fretting about him.’ Bridgette felt a wave of guilt when she realised she hadn’t even had time to worry about Harry and how he was doing on his first day at crèche and a wave of sadness too when she found out that, no, neither had Courtney rung to find out.

‘Hi, Carla.’ She gave the phone to Nandita, and as she walked back into her patient’s room she heard Dominic’s voice. If he had looked tired that morning then he looked exhausted now. ‘Hi, Frank.’ He shook the other man’s hand. ‘Sorry that it’s taken so long to come and speak with you. I’ve been very busy with your daughter and another child who was delivered yesterday. I wanted to take the time to have a proper talk with you both.’ He sat down next to the bed. ‘Carla, you’ll remember I spoke with you yesterday.’ He didn’t bog them down with too much detail. Apparently yesterday he had explained the risks of such a premature delivery and he didn’t terrify them all over again. He told them their daughter’s condition was extremely serious, but there was some good news. ‘She seems a little further on than first estimated. I’d put her well into twenty-five weeks, which, though it’s just a few days’ difference, actually increases the survival rates quite dramatically. She’s got size on her side too,’ Dominic explained. ‘Even though she’s tiny, she is a little bit bigger than we would expect at twenty-five weeks, and she’s had the benefit of the steroids we gave yesterday. She’s a vigorous little thing, and she’s doing absolutely as well as can be expected.’

‘When can I see her?’ Carla asked.

‘I spoke to Dr Hudson before I came down, and as much as we know you want to see your daughter, you’re not well enough at the moment.’

‘What if…?’ Poor Carla didn’t even want to voice it, so Dominic did.

‘If her condition deteriorates, we’ll sort something out and do our best to get you up there.’ He glanced over at Bridgette and so too did Carla.

‘Of course we will,’ she said.

‘But right now the best you can do for your baby is to rest and get well yourself.’ He answered a few more questions and then turned to Frank. ‘You should be able to see her for a little while now. I’ve told them to expect you.’

‘I’ll get Nandita to walk you up,’ Bridgette offered.

‘Lunch?’ Rita suggested as Bridgette walked over to speak with Nandita. ‘Emma will take over from you.’

It was a late lunch, and as Bridgette hadn’t had a coffee break, it was a sheer relief to slip off her shoes and just relax for a few moments. Well, at least it was until Dominic came in and sat on the couch opposite and unwrapped a roll. He gave her a brief nod but did not make any attempt at conversation, instead choosing to read a newspaper. It was Bridgette who tried to tackle the uncomfortable silence.

‘I thought you were in Sydney.’

‘It didn’t work out.’ He carried on reading the paper for a moment and then finally elaborated a touch. ‘The professor I would be working under was taken ill and has gone on long-term sick leave—I didn’t really care for his replacement, so I’m just waiting till something I want comes up, or the professor returns. I’m here for a few more weeks.’

He sounded very austere, such a contrast to the easy conversations they had once shared. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t even read his paper, just sat and ate his roll.

Couldn’t he have done that on NICU or on the paed ward? Bridgette thought, stirring her yoghurt. If he was going to sit there all silent and brooding, couldn’t he do it somewhere else? Surely it was already awkward enough?

For Dominic, in that moment, it wasn’t awkward, not in the least. He was too busy concentrating on not closing his eyes. Fatigue seeped through him. He’d had maybe six hours’ sleep the entire weekend and he just wanted to go home and crash. Thank goodness for Rita, who had noticed his pallor and given him a spare cold patient lunch and suggested that he take five minutes before he saw the baby he had come down to examine, as well as speaking with Frank and Carla. Rebecca, his intern, came in. Bridgette recognised her from that morning, and then a couple of other colleagues too, which should have broken the tension, but instead Dominic ignored everyone and made no attempt to join in with the chitchat.

And later, he didn’t look up when she had no choice but to sit and join him at the nurses’ station to write up her notes before going home.

He told, rather than asked, Rebecca to take some further bloods on a baby born over the weekend, and then when one of the midwives asked if he’d mind taking a look at some drug orders, holding out the prescription chart to him, he didn’t take it. Rather rudely, Bridgette thought, he didn’t even look up.

‘Is it a patient of mine?’

‘No, it’s a new delivery.’

He just carried on writing his own notes. ‘Then you need to ring the doctor on call.’

The midwife rolled her eyes and left them to it, and the silence simmered uncomfortably between them, or at least it was uncomfortable for Bridgette.

‘I’m sorry this is awkward.’ She tried to broach it, to go ahead and say what was surely on both their minds, to somehow ease the tension, because the Dominic she had seen today was nothing like the man she had met, and she certainly didn’t want to cause any problems at work. ‘Had I known you were still working here, I wouldn’t have…’ Her voice trailed off—it seemed rather stupid to say that she’d never have taken the job, that she wouldn’t have come back to the unit she loved. But had she known he would be here for a little while more, there might have been a delay in her return—with Jasmine being away she was completely out of the loop as to what was going on at work.

‘Awkward?’ Dominic frowned as he carried on writing. ‘Why would it be awkward?’ And then he shook his head. ‘Are you referring to…?’ He looked over and waited till her skin was burning, till there was no question that, yes, she was referring to that night. ‘Bridgette, it was months ago.’ She swallowed, because it was actually just a few weeks; she’d counted them. ‘We shared one night together.’ How easily he dismissed it, relegated it, reduced it to a long-ago event that had meant nothing—something so trivial that it didn’t even merit a moment’s reflection. Except she was quite sure that wasn’t true.

‘Thanks for the e-mail,’ she said, to prove it had been more than that, that he had come back to her door, had later that night sent her a photo, yet he frowned as if trying to place it and then he had the nerve to give a wry laugh.

‘Oh, that!’

‘You got my e-mail address?’

‘On some stupid group one from Vince and…’ He gave a shrug, clearly couldn’t remember Jasmine’s name. ‘Just clearing out my inbox, Bridgette.’ She felt like a stalker, some mad, obsessed woman, and he clearly must be thinking the same. ‘It was one night—hardly something to base your career path on. Don’t give it another thought. There really is no problem.’

‘Good.’

‘And as for awkward, it’s not in the least. This is how I am at work.’ And then he corrected himself. ‘This is how I am—ask anyone.’ He gave a very thin smile. ‘I’m not exactly known for small talk. It has nothing to do with what took place. It really is forgotten.’

And over the next few days he proved his point. She saw that Dr Dominic Mansfield was cool and distant with everyone. He was mainly polite, sometimes dismissive, and just never particularly friendly. There was an autonomous air to him that wasn’t, Bridgette realised, solely reserved for her. Not that she should mind—nothing had shifted her heart. She was still way too raw to contemplate a relationship. And the patients, or rather their parents, didn’t seem to mind the directness of his words in the least. In fact, as Bridgette wheeled Carla up later in the week for a visit with her newborn, Carla admitted it was Dr Mansfield’s opinion she sought the most about her daughter.

‘I don’t want a doctor who tries to spare my feelings,’ Carla said as they waited for the lift. ‘He tells it like it is, which Frank and I appreciate.

‘Mind you…’ she smiled as Bridgette wheeled her in ‘…he’s not exactly chatty. Gorgeous to look at he may be, but you wouldn’t want to be stuck in a lift with him.’ Whether she agreed or not, Bridgette smiled back, pleased to see her patient’s humour returning, along with colour to her cheeks. It really had been a hellish ride for Carla. It had been four days until she had been well enough to see her baby, and there was still, for Francesca, a long road ahead.

‘Carla.’ Dominic gave a nod to the patient as Bridgette wheeled her over.

‘Is everything okay?’ Carla asked, anxious to see him standing by Francesca’s incubator.

‘She’s had a good morning, by all reports,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m just checking in.’

He gave Bridgette the briefest nod of acknowledgement then moved on to the next incubator. He wasn’t, she now realised, being rude or dismissive towards her. It was the way Dominic was to everyone.

It hurt more than she had time to allocate to it. Her days were so busy, and more and more Courtney was asking her to have Harry. It was hard trying to achieve some sort of routine and work full-time with a toddler—a toddler who worryingly didn’t toddle very much, one who seemed far happier to sit with his building blocks, happier in his own world than hers. But sometimes at night, when all she should do was close her eyes and get some much-needed sleep, it was then that Bridgette’s mind wandered. It was on those occasions that she realised not so much what she’d lost but more what she’d been privy to that night.

A side to Dominic that was rare indeed.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HARRY!’ Bridgette gave him a wide smile but Harry didn’t look up. He was engrossed with the pile of bricks in front of him. ‘How has he been today?’ Bridgette asked.

‘Busy building!’ Mary answered. ‘He loves his bricks.’

Bridgette saw her own fingers clench around the pen as she signed Harry out for the day, saw the white of her knuckles as her brain tightened just a fraction, wondering if Mary’s comment was friendly chatter or a more professional observation. She was being paranoid, Bridgette told herself, seeing problems where there were surely none, but as she picked up Harry she wished, and not for the first time, that Harry was just a little bit more pleased to see her, a little more receptive.

There couldn’t be something wrong with him. It wasn’t just for selfish reasons that she panicked at the thought—it was Courtney’s reaction that troubled Bridgette, or rather Courtney’s lack of reaction towards her son. Her sister wasn’t exactly coping now, let alone if her son had special needs.

Special needs.

It was the first time that she had actually said it, even if only in her mind, and instantly she shoved it aside because there was just so much to deal with at the moment. She had so many things to contend with, without adding the unthinkable to the pile. But she had to approach it.

‘How do you think he’s doing?’ she asked Mary.

‘Grand.’ She beamed. ‘Mind, he does have a bit of a temper—’ she tickled him under the chin ‘—if one of the other littlies knocks over his bricks.’

‘What about his talking?’ Bridgette looked at Mary, who just smiled at Harry.

‘He’s not much of a talker,’ Mary said, ‘but, then, he’s just been here a couple of weeks and is still settling in so maybe he’s a bit shy. If you’re concerned, though…’ Mary was lovely, but she told Bridgette what she already knew, that maybe his mum should take him to his GP if she was worried that he wasn’t reaching his milestones.

‘How is Mum?’ Mary asked, because, despite Courtney collecting him a couple of times, it mainly fell to Bridgette.

‘She’s okay,’ Bridgette answered. ‘Though I’ll be bringing Harry in for the next couple of days. She’s got some job interviews lined up in Bendigo and is staying there with friends for a few nights.’

‘Bendigo!’ Mary’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s a good few hours away.’

‘Well, it’s early days,’ Bridgette said, ‘but it’s good that she’s looking for work.’

Bridgette had mixed feelings. Yes, she wanted her sister to get a job and to make a fresh start, but the thought of her, or rather Harry, so far away had Bridgette in a spin. She was doing her best not to dwell on it as she left the crèche.

‘Excuse me!’ She heard the irritation in the man’s voice as she, a woman who wasn’t looking where she was going, collided with him as she walked out of the daycare centre. And then Dominic looked down, saw who he was talking to, saw who she was holding, and she was quite sure that he frowned as he gazed into Harry’s eyes. Eyes that were exactly the same sludgy grey as hers, and though he quickly moved his features to impassive and gave her a very brief nod, she could feel the tension. They walked down a long corridor, Bridgette several steps behind him. As he headed out through the ambulance bay and turned left, it was clear they were both heading for the car park.

She should have managed to avoid him, given that she now walked incredibly slowly, but one of the security guards halted him and they spoke for a moment. No matter how Bridgette dawdled, no matter how hard she tried not to catch up, the security guard gave him a cheery farewell at the very second Bridgette walked past and, like it or not, for a moment or two there was no choice but to fall in step alongside him.

‘Is that why you had to dash off?’

It was the first time he acknowledged he even recalled the details of that night, that morning, the slice of time when things had felt more than right.

‘I should have explained…’ She really didn’t know what to say, what could she say. ‘I didn’t know how…’ She still didn’t. Should she plead, ‘I’m his aunt. He’s not my responsibility’? Harry was, he was solid in her arms—and whether Harry understood her words or not, he certainly did not need to be present as she defended her reasons for not telling this man of his existence. Instead she walked to her car that, unlike his, which lit up like a Christmas tree the second he approached, needed keys. Bridgette had to scrabble in her bag for them, with Harry, who was becoming increasingly heavy, but she was too nervous to put him down in the middle of a car park. He was, she realised, just too precious to let go.

As Dominic’s sleek silver car slid past her, she deliberately did not look up, did not want to remember the night he’d driven her to heaven then returned her home again.

She was very close to crying, and that Harry did not need, but finally she found her keys and unlocked the car, opening the windows to let it cool down before she put Harry in.

‘Here we go.’ The car still felt like a sauna but she strapped Harry in, climbed into the seat and looked in the rear-vision mirror at his wispy curls and serious grey eyes. She gave him a very nice smile. ‘You’re ruining my love life, Harry!’

CHAPTER SIX

‘WOW!’ Bridgette walked into the delivery room, where Maria was pacing. ‘I turn my back for five minutes…’ She smiled at Maria, who had progressed rapidly in the past half hour.

‘I was worried you wouldn’t make it back,’ Maria said.

‘I’m sorry I had to dash off.’ Harry had been a touch grizzly this morning when she’d dropped him off and had, half an hour ago, thrown the most spectacular temper tantrum, bad enough for Mary to call her on the ward and for Bridgette to take an early coffee break.

‘I know what it’s like,’ Maria said. ‘I’ve got three of my own.’

‘Four soon,’ Bridgette said, and Maria smiled.

‘I can’t wait to meet her.’

‘Neither can I,’ Bridgette admitted. It was, so far, turning out to be a gorgeous labour—especially as it was one that could have been labelled ‘difficult’ because the testing and scans had revealed that Maria and Tony’s baby had Trisomy 21. The diagnosis, Maria had told Bridgette, had caused intense upset between both families—Spanish passion combined with pointless accusations and blame had caused a lot of tension and heartache indeed. Maria and Tony, however, once they had got over the initial shock, had researched as much as they could, and had even met with a local support group who ran a regular playgroup.

‘It took away a lot of the fear,’ Maria had explained, when Bridgette admitted her. ‘Seeing other Down’s syndrome babies and toddlers and their parents coping so well. We’re so looking forward to having our baby. I just wish our families would stop with the grief.’

So upset was Maria with the response of her family that she hadn’t even wanted them to know that she had gone into labour, but with three other small children to care for she’d had no choice but to tell them. And now two anxious families were sitting in the maternity waiting room. Still, Maria was doing beautifully and was helped so much by her husband’s unwavering support. He rubbed her back where she indicated, stopped talking when she simply raised a hand. They had their own private language and were working to deliver their daughter as a team.

‘How are things?’ Rita popped her head around the door. ‘The family just asked for an update.’

‘It’s all going well,’ Bridgette said.

‘Tell them it will be born when it’s good and ready,’ Maria snapped, and then breathed through another contraction. She was suddenly savage. ‘You’d think they were preparing for a funeral more than a birth!’ She let out an expletive or three in Spanish and Tony grimaced, then she told him exactly what she thought of Abuela.

‘Grandmother,’ Tony translated with a smile when Bridgette winked at him. ‘My mother.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘She does a lot for us, but she can be a bit too much at times, though she means well.’ He rubbed his wife’s back as Maria said a little more of what she thought about her mother-in-law. ‘Maria always does this when…’ And Bridgette smiled, knew as Tony did, what was coming. Maria leant against the bed, her face changing to a familiar grimace.

‘I want to push.’

‘That’s good,’ Bridgette cheered.

‘Come on, Tony,’ she said and they both helped Maria up onto the bed. ‘I’m just going to let Dr Hudson know—’

‘No need.’ Dr Hudson came in.

‘How’s she doing?’ Rita popped her head around the door again and Bridgette gritted her teeth, while trying not to let Maria see.

‘Can we get the paediatrician down?’ The obstetrician’s tone was a little brusque and Bridgette saw the flare of panic in Maria’s eyes.

‘It’s fine, Maria,’ Bridgette reassured her as Rita went to make the call. ‘The fact Dr Hudson wants the paediatrician to come down means that you’re getting close now and it won’t be long till your baby’s born.’

‘The paediatrician is on his way,’ Rita called over the intercom. ‘I’ll come in and give you a hand in a moment.’

Bridgette watched as Maria’s eyes closed; as she dipped into her own private world and just tried to block the gathering crowd out. She had wanted the birth to be as low-key and as relaxed as possible, and had three other births with which to compare, but because of the possible health complications, more staff would be present with this one. Though potentially necessary, it just compounded things for Maria.

‘Have you got everything ready?’ Rita bustled into the room. ‘Dominic is just a couple of minutes away.’

Bridgette felt incredibly confident with Dominic. He was an amazing doctor and very astute. However, for Maria, perhaps it was not the best combination of staff. Dr Hudson believed in planning for every eventuality—every eventuality—and Rita was one of those high-energy people who somehow didn’t soothe. Now Dominic, a rather aloof paediatrician, was being added to the mix, except…‘Dominic Mansfield?’ Tony looked over at Bridgette. ‘Is that the paediatrician who’s coming?’ When Bridgette nodded, Tony hugged his wife. ‘That’s good news, Maria.’

‘Bridgette?’ Rita was checking and double-checking everything Bridgette had already done. ‘Have you got the—?’

‘Shut up!’ roared Maria, just as Dominic came into the room.

For once Bridgette was grateful for his silence. He gave Tony a nod as Maria quietly laboured. Dominic took off his jacket and headed to the sink to wash his hands and then tied on a plastic apron.

‘Big breath, Maria,’ Bridgette said gently. ‘Come on, another one…’ The birth was imminent. ‘And then push until Dr Hudson tells you to stop.’ Maria was very good at this. There was grim concentration on her face as she bore down and Bridgette held her leg, relaying Dr Hudson’s gruff instructions but in more encouraging tones. ‘Don’t push now. Just breathe. The head’s out.’

The baby didn’t even require another push. She slithered out into Dr Hudson’s hands, where Rita was waiting to cut the cord and whisk the baby off for examination.

‘Up onto Mum’s stomach,’ Dominic said. ‘Tony can cut the cord.’ Bridgette silently cheered as his calm, authoritative voice slowed the haste.

‘Do you want the baby moved over for examination?’ Rita checked when, again, she didn’t need to. It had been a very beautiful birth, and Bridgette was especially thrilled that Dominic seemed in no rush to whisk the baby off and examine her—instead, he just quietly observed.

The little girl was small and Bridgette placed a towel over her, rubbing her to stimulate her, but she felt very calm with Dominic’s stoic presence so close.

As the baby took her first breaths, Dominic called Tony over and the cord was cut—and Bridgette felt a blink of tears because the birth Maria had wanted so badly for her baby was happening.

‘I can examine her here,’ Dominic said, when Rita checked again if he wanted the baby moved over. And he did. He checked the little baby’s muscle tone and her palate and listened to her heart for a long time. He told Maria he would perform a more comprehensive examination in a little while. ‘But for now I’ll let you enjoy her.’

There really was a lot to enjoy. She peered up at her mum, her almond-shaped eyes huge and gorgeous; she was very alert, and even though she let out a few little cries, she was easily comforted by Maria.

‘Do you want me to let your family know?’ Rita asked, and Bridgette’s jaw tightened. She could understand the conversation that had been held at Jasmine’s leaving do now. Rita really did try and take over.

‘They’ll want to come in,’ Maria said. ‘I just don’t want…’ She held her baby closely. ‘I want it to be a celebration, the same as it was with my others.’

‘It will be,’ Dominic said. ‘They just haven’t met her yet.’

‘She wants to feed,’ Maria said, as her daughter frantically searched for her breast.

‘Let her.’

‘You said they’d scan her first,’ Maria said, because, though detailed prenatal scans had not shown anything, the nature of the syndrome meant the little girl was at risk of a heart defect and would need to be checked by a paediatric cardiologist soon after birth, but Dominic was clearly happy with his findings.

‘She’s looking great,’ he said, quietly observing, and the baby did latch on, but Bridgette helped with the positioning.

It was one of those births that confirmed her vocation—there was no greater gift than watching a new life come into the world, and today’s so-called difficult birth had been made especially wonderful by the calm presence of Dominic. Again he had surprised her. He wasn’t particularly effusive or gushing, he was so much more than that, and he was everything this little family needed today.

Dominic stayed and wrote up his notes while the little girl fed and Bridgette watched for any signs that the baby was having trouble sucking and swallowing but she was doing very well. ‘Dominic said that breast feeding might be more difficult than with the others…’ Maria looked down at her daughter, who was tiring, so Bridgette suggested she take her off now.

‘She’s doing an awful lot right,’ Bridgette said, checking the babe and then filling in her own notes. ‘She’s cried, pooed, wee’d and fed.’

Dominic came over. ‘You remember I said that I’d take her up to NICU for a little while after she was born,’ he said. ‘I want that scan done. Everything looks good,’ he reassured the parents, ‘but I just want her thoroughly checked. Hopefully she’ll be back down with you soon.’

Maria nodded and then took a deep breath. ‘Can you bring in my family first?’ Her eyes went to her husband’s. ‘If they start, I want you to…’

‘We’ll be here,’ Bridgette said. ‘You won’t have to say a thing. I’m very good at bringing up excuses as to why people have to leave. If you start getting upset, or you’ve just had enough, you just have to let me know.’ They worked out a little code, and she gave Tony a smile as he walked out. Dominic, she noted, instead of heading out to the desk, was sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, finishing his notes—a quiet, unobtrusive presence that was welcome.

Maria and Tony set the tone, but Bridgette’s heart did go out to the family. They were trying to be brave, to not be upset, but there was so much tension, so many questions as they all peered at the newest member of the clan. Then Maria’s three-year-old, Roman, climbed up on the bed and gazed at his sister, kissing her on the forehead, and the old abuela laughed.

Dominic came over and checked the baby briefly again, more for the family’s benefit, or rather Maria’s, Bridgette rightly guessed, because the questions they had been asking Maria were aimed at him now.

‘She’s doing very, very well,’ he said, and answered more of their questions and told them that, yes, the prenatal diagnosis was correct. Yes, shortly there would be further testing, but for now she was doing perfectly. And then Bridgette blinked as he chatted with the abuela in what appeared to be fluid Spanish for a moment. ‘Sí, ella es perfecta…’

‘We’re going to move her up now.’ Kelly from NICU had come down just as all the cameras came out.

‘Photo with el medico,’ the abuela said.

‘We really ought to get moving.’ Dominic was reluctant, but then obliged, and it struck Bridgette that though of course he held babies in the course of examining them, he wasn’t the type to steal a cuddle.

He held the new infant and gave a smile for the camera and then he looked down at her.

‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ Maria said.

‘Oh, I don’t do the cute-baby thing,’ Dominic answered, ‘but, yes, I think I have to agree in this case. You have a very cute baby. Has she got a name?’

‘Esperanza,’ Maria said.

‘Hope!’ Dominic smiled.

He popped her back in her cot and at the last minute Tony asked if he might be able to stay with the baby during her tests. When Dominic agreed, the family all followed Dominic, Kelly and the porters in a little procession down the hall.

‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ Maria said. ‘Dominic, I mean. He sort of tells you like it is.’

‘He’s very good,’ Bridgette said, and gave Maria a wink. ‘Speaks Spanish too.’

‘Abuela was very impressed.’ Maria grinned. ‘Dominic’s mother is Spanish apparently.’ She had to find out about him from a patient! ‘He’s been great. We went to him when we got the amnio back and he told us what to expect. Well, I guess he’d know as his brother has Down’s.’ She must have seen Bridgette’s eyes widen. ‘Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said—it was just that Tony was crying and so was I and it seemed like a disaster when we first found out, but Dominic was terribly patient. He told us what we were feeling was completely normal. We saw him again a couple of weeks ago and we were embarrassed about the scene we’d made, but he said not to give it another thought. It was all very normal, that his mother had been the same.’

They knew nothing about each other, Bridgette realised.

Which had been the point, she remembered.

She really was lousy at one-night stands.

Still, she didn’t have time to dwell on it. L and D was busy and she was soon looking after another birth, a first-time mum called Jessica, who was very nervous, as well as keeping an eye on Maria.

Esperanza was gone for about an hour, and her heart test was clear, which was brilliant news, and by the time she was back, Bridgette had just transferred Maria to the ward. Having checked on her next patient, Bridgette was more than ready for lunch.

‘What’s all this?’ Bridgette tried not to care that Dominic was sitting in the staffroom. After all, if he didn’t care, why should she? Anyway, Rita was there too and there were other distractions this lunchtime. Instead of plain biscuits the table was heaving with fruit platters, small filled rolls and a spread of cheese.

‘Leftovers from the obstetricians’ meeting.’ Rita gave a wry smile. ‘I rescued some for the workers. Enjoy.’

Bridgette selected a roll and a few slivers of fruit. She glanced at the cheese—even though that would usually be her first option, even if it seemed stupid, with Dominic there she chose to give it a miss.

‘How’s Harry?’ Rita asked.

‘Better,’ Bridgette answered. ‘He was just having a bit of a tantrum. He’s not in the best of moods today. I’m sorry I had to dash off.’

As annoying and inflexible as she could be, Rita could, Bridgette conceded, also be very nice. ‘No problem. It’s to be expected in the first weeks at daycare. He’ll soon get used to it. The real question is, how is his aunt doing?’

‘Trying to get used to it too,’ Bridgette admitted. ‘But we’re getting there.’

Unfortunately Rita’s break was soon over and word couldn’t yet have got around about the spread on in the staffroom because only Dominic and Bridgette remained. Well, she wasn’t going to give up a single minute of the precious break by going back early. Her feet were killing her and she was hungry too, and Jessica, her new patient, was progressing steadily. If Dominic wasn’t feeling awkward then why on earth should she be? And if she wanted cheese, why not?

Bridgette stood and refilled her plate with some Cheddar and Brie and a few crackers and went to sit back down, selecting a magazine to read as she did so.

‘I thought you liked blue cheese.’

‘Maybe.’ Bridgette refused to look up, just carried on reading the magazine. She was not going to jump to make conversation just because he suddenly deigned to do so.

‘How’s Maria?’

‘Marvellous.’ She refused to be chatty, just because he suddenly was.

‘The baby I saw you with yesterday…’ Still she did not fill in the spaces. ‘He’s your nephew?’ When still he was met with silence, Dominic pushed a little further. ‘Why didn’t you just say so?’

‘I don’t really see that it’s relevant,’ Bridgette answered, still reading her magazine. ‘Had our one-night stand been two years ago and you’d seen me walking out of daycare carrying a mini-Dominic, then, yes, perhaps I’d have had some explaining to do. But I don’t.’ She smirked with mild pleasure at her choice of words and looked up. She was rather surprised to see that he was smiling—not the Dr Mansfield smile that she had seen occasionally since her return to work but the Dominic smile she had once been privy to.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I just jumped to conclusions. I saw you with—’ he paused for a brief second ‘—Harry, and I thought that was the reason…’ He really felt awkward, Bridgette realised. Despite insisting how easy this was, Dominic seemed to be struggling.

‘The reason?’ She frowned, because he’d done this to her too, made her blush as she’d revealed that she thought about that night—but Dominic didn’t blush in the same way Bridgette had.

‘The reason that you went home that morning.’

‘Oh, I needed a reason, did I?’ She went back to her magazine.

What was it with this woman? She had made it very clear that morning that she didn’t want more than their one night. Normally it would have come as a relief to Dominic, an unusual relief because he was not the one working out how to end things.

‘Excuse me.’ Her phone buzzed in her pocket and Bridgette pulled it out, taking a deep breath before answering.

‘Hi, Mum.’

Why did he have to be here when she took this call? Hopefully he’d choose now to leave, but instead he just sat there.

‘I might need a hand a little bit later,’ she said to her mother. She’d left a message for her parents earlier in the day, when she’d realised that Harry might not last out the day in crèche and also she wanted to stay longer for Jessica. ‘There’s a chance that I won’t be able to get away for work on time and it would really help if you could pick up Harry at four for me.’ She closed her eyes as her mother gave the inevitable reply. ‘Yes, I know the crèche doesn’t close till six, but he’s a bit grizzly today and I don’t want to push things—it’s been a long day for him.’

Bridgette looked down and realised she was clicking her pen on and off as her mother reeled out her excuses. She could hear the irritation creeping into her own voice as she responded. ‘I know Dad’s got the dentist but can’t he go on his own?’ She listened to the train of excuses, to how they would love to help, but how nervous Dad got at the dentist, and if he did need anything done when they got there…‘You mean he’s just having a check-up?’ Now Bridgette couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice. She really wanted to be there for Jessica and didn’t want to be nervously keeping one eye on the clock in case the crèche rang. With a pang that she didn’t want to examine, her heart ached for the long day Harry was having. She wanted some back-up, and despite her parents’ constant reassurances that they would help, she never seemed to ask at the right time.

‘Don’t worry about it’ Bridgette settled for, and managed a goodbye and then clicked off the phone. Then she couldn’t help it—she shot out a little of the frustration that her parents so easily provoked. ‘Why can’t he go to the dentist by himself?’ Bridgette asked as Dominic simply grinned at her exasperation. ‘They go shopping together, they do the housework together…I mean, are they joined at the hip? Honestly, they don’t do anything by themselves.’

‘Breathe.’ Dominic grinned and she did as the doctor recommended, but it didn’t help and she stamped her feet for a moment and let out a brief ‘Aagggh!’

‘Better?’ Dominic asked.

‘A bit.’

Actually, she did feel a bit better. It was nice to have a little moan, to complain, to let some of her exasperation out. Her parents had always been the same—everything revolved around dinner, everything in the house was geared towards six p.m. They were so inflexible, right down to the brand of toothpaste they used, and that was fine, that was how it was, that was how they were, but right now Bridgette needed more hands and their four seemed to make a poor two.

‘Have you got no one else who can help?’ Dominic asked.

‘I miss Jasmine for things like this,’ Bridgette admitted. It was nice that they were finally talking but of course now that they were, Rita buzzed and told her Jessica was in transition and it was time for her to go back.

‘You might be out by four,’ he said, and she shook her head, because Jessica was a first-time mum.

‘I doubt it.’

Dominic’s phone was ringing as she left, and when he saw that it was his father, he chose not to answer it. Stupid, really, because his father would just ring again in an hour, Dominic thought, and every hour after that, till he could tick it off his to-do list.

He finally took the call at three.

‘Hi.’

Dominic rolled his eyes as his father wished him a happy birthday. ‘Thanks.’ Dominic was being honest when he said that he couldn’t talk for long, because he was summoned urgently and headed down to Theatre when paged for a child who was having an allergic reaction in Recovery. There was that theatre nurse, her blue eyes waiting, when he and the anaesthetist had finished discussing the child’s care.

‘Long shift?’ Dominic asked when she yawned, because on certain occasions he did make conversation.

And today was a certain occasion.

It was, after all, his birthday.

‘It’s been busy.’ She nodded.

‘Back again in the morning?’

‘Yes…though I shouldn’t moan. My husband’s away so I can just go home and sleep.’

He was always away, Dominic thought.

‘What does he do?’ He broke one of their rules and he watched her cheeks go pink. There were colleagues around, and they were seemingly just chatting, so of course she had to answer.

‘He drives a coach,’ Blue Eyes said. ‘Overnight, Melbourne to Sydney.’

He gave a nod and walked off, felt a bit sick in the guts really, which wasn’t like him, but he thought of the poor bloke driving up and down the freeway as Dominic bonked his wife. No questions asked, no real conversation.

Maybe he was growing up, Dominic thought. He hadn’t been with anyone in weeks, not since Bridgette, in fact, though he rapidly shoved that thought out of his mind.

Well, why wouldn’t he be growing up? It was his birthday, after all.

And birthdays were supposed to be enjoyed.

Never doubt the power of a woman in labour—Bridgette should really have known better. Jessica was amazing, focused and gritty, and the birth was wonderful, so wonderful that she was still high on adrenaline as she sped down the corridor to daycare.

‘Bridgette.’ He was walking towards her and this time he nodded and said her name—progress indeed!

‘Dominic.’ She grinned and nodded back at him, ready to keep walking, except he stopped in front of her.

‘I was wondering,’ Dominic said. ‘Would you like to come out tonight? You’re right, this is awkward, and I’d really like to clear the air.’

This she hadn’t been expecting. ‘The air is already clear, Dominic.’ Except it wasn’t, so Bridgette was a little more honest. ‘You were right. Harry is the reason that I didn’t want you to come in that first night. My computer didn’t have a virus.’ She gave a guilty grin. ‘Well, it wasn’t Harry exactly, more the cot and the stroller and the rather blatant clues that were littered around my flat at the time.’ And with Bridgette, he did ask questions, and got some answers. ‘I look after my nephew a lot. My sister’s really young.’ He didn’t look away, his eyes never left her face, and she rather wished that they would. ‘So!’ She gave him a smile as his pager went off and Dominic glanced down at it and then switched it off. ‘That’s a little bit what my life is like when Harry’s with my sister—I’m permanently on call.’ Yes, the air had been cleared, and now they could both move on; she truly wasn’t expecting what came next.

‘Bridgette, would you like to come out tonight?’

She turned around slowly and he looked the same as he had before—completely unreadable. She didn’t want a charity dinner, didn’t want him taking her out because he’d already asked her. To make things easier for them both she gave him a small smile, shook her head and politely declined. ‘That’s really nice of you, thanks, but I have to say no—it’s hard to get a babysitter.’ There, she’d given him the out. It was over and done with, and she awaited his polite smile back—it didn’t come. Instead he looked at his watch.

‘How long does a dental check-up take?’ He even smiled. ‘Can you try?’ He pulled out a card and wrote his mobile-phone number on it and handed it to her. Maybe he read her too well because instead of saying that he would wait to hear if she could make arrangements, he lobbed the ball firmly back into her court. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven, unless I hear otherwise. Ring me if you can’t get a babysitter.’

It was utterly and completely unexpected. She had thought he would run a mile—she’d given him an out, after all.

She wanted him to take it.

Bridgette really did. She just wasn’t ready to get back out there and certainly not with Dominic. Still, maybe tonight he would just tell her how impossible it all was; maybe she would receive a long lecture on how they found each other attractive and all that, but how unsuitable they were—yet, remembering just how good they had been, it was very hard to say no.

‘Hi, Mum.’ It was the second time that day she’d asked her mum for help. ‘Is there any chance you and Dad could babysit tonight?’

‘You mean have our grandson over?’ Betty laughed. ‘We’d love to.’ As Bridgette blinked in surprise, as she paused just a fraction, her mother filled the gap. ‘Though we do have a couple of friends coming over tonight. Old friends of your dad’s—remember Eric and Lorna?’ Bridgette felt her jaw tense. Her parents insisted they were accommodating, but it was always on their terms—when it suited them. ‘Could we maybe do it tomorrow?’

‘I’ve got an invitation to go out tonight, Mum. I’d really like to go.’

‘But we’ve got people over tonight. Tomorrow we can come over to you and stay. It might be easier on Harry.’ Yes, it might be easier on Harry, but it certainly wouldn’t be easier on her—or Dominic. He was already taking a leap of faith in asking her out. Though he wasn’t asking her out, she reminded herself—he simply wanted to clear the air. Still, no doubt he was used to having the door opened by a groomed, glossy beauty who invited him in for a drink as she applied a final layer of lip gloss—somehow she couldn’t imagine inflicting her mother and father and Harry on the guy.

‘Mum, I haven’t had a night out in weeks.’ She hadn’t, not since that night with Dominic. ‘I’m sorry for the short notice. If you can have Harry, that would be great. If not…’ If not, then it simply wasn’t meant to be, Bridgette decided. If she couldn’t get away for one single night without planning it days in advance, she might just as well text Dominic now with the whole truth.

It would be quite a relief to, actually, but after a moment’s silence came her mother’s rather martyred response. ‘Well, make sure you bring a decent change of clothes for him. I want Harry looking smart. I’ve got Eric and Lorna coming over,’ she repeated. ‘Have you had his hair cut yet?’ Bridgette looked at the mop of blond curls that danced in the afternoon sun as Harry built his bricks and wondered why her mother assumed that Harry’s hair was Bridgette’s responsibility. His mop of unruly hair was a slight bone of contention between them—Courtney would never think to get a haircut for her son and though at first it had irritated Bridgette, more and more his wild curls suited him. Bridgette was now reluctant to get them cut—she certainly wasn’t going to rush out and get a haircut just to appease her parents’ guests and, anyway, there wasn’t time. ‘No, Courtney hasn’t had his hair cut, but he’s looking beautiful and I’ve got a gorgeous outfit for him.’

And with Harry dropped off and the quickest bath in history taken, the flat had to be hastily tidied, not that she had any intention of Dominic coming in. She’d be ready and dressed at the door, Bridgette decided, so she had about sixteen minutes to work out a not-so-gorgeous outfit for herself.

There was a grey shift dress at the back of her wardrobe and she had to find her ballet pumps but first she had a quick whiz with hair tongs and her magical blusher.

‘Please be late,’ she begged as she remembered her screensaver was of them. Her computer was in the spare bedroom, but in case of earthquake and it was the room they ended up in, she had to change it.

‘Please be late,’ she said again as she stashed dishes in the cupboard beneath the sink and shovelled piles of building bricks into the corner.

‘Please be late,’ she said as she opened her bedroom door to get her pumps and was distracted by the shelves she’d been meaning to build and the million-thread-count sheets she’d bought in a sale and had been saving for when the room was painted.

But the bedroom was too untidy to even contemplate bringing him in and, no, her prayers weren’t answered.

Bang on seven, she heard the doorbell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘READY!’ Bridgette beamed as she opened the front door and stepped out, because there was no way he was coming in.

‘Shoes?’ Dominic helpfully suggested just after she closed the door.

‘Oh. Yes.’ Which meant she had to rummage in her bag for her keys as he stood there. ‘They must be in here.’

‘Can’t the babysitter let you in?’

‘He’s at my parents’,’ she said as she rummaged.

‘Have you locked yourself out?’

‘No, no,’ Bridgette said cheerfully. ‘I do this all the time—here they are.’ She produced them with a ‘ta ra!’ and she let herself in, which of course meant that she had to let him in too—well, she couldn’t really leave him on the doorstep.

‘Go through,’ she said, because she didn’t even want him to get a glimpse of the chaos in the bedroom. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’ Except he didn’t go through. He stood in the hallway as she slipped through the smallest crack in the door and then scrambled to find her shoes. She must get more organised. Bridgette knew that, dreamt of the day when she finally had some sort of routine. She’d had a loose one once, before Harry was born, but now the whole flat seemed to have gone to pot.

There they were, under the bed. She grabbed her pumps and sort of limbo-danced around the door so that he wouldn’t see inside. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Just been a bit of a mad rush.’

‘Look, if you’re too tired to go out for dinner…’

She gave him a strange look. ‘I’m starving,’ Bridgette said. ‘How could anyone be too tired to eat dinner?’

‘I meant…’

‘So we’re not going out dancing, then,’ she teased. ‘You’re not going to teach me the flamenco.’ She was leaning against the wall and putting on her ballet pumps, hardly a provocative move, except it was to him.

‘Impressed with my Spanish, were you?’

‘No Flamenco Medico?’ She pouted and raised her arm and gave a stamp of her foot. Dominic stood there, his black eyes watching and sudden tension in his throat.

‘Any chance of a drink?’

‘Sure!’ She beamed and headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got…’ She stared at a jug of cordial, kicked herself for not grabbing some beer or wine, or olives and vermouth to make cocktails, she frantically thought.

‘I meant water.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve got some somewhere.’ She grinned and turned on the tap. ‘Oh, yes, here it is.’ Was that a reluctant smile on the edge of his lips? ‘Here you go.’ She handed him the glass as his phone rang, and because of his job he had no choice but to check it. Bridgette’s smile was a wry one as ‘Arabella’ flashed up on the screen.

‘She’s hitting the bottle early tonight.’

He laughed. ‘It’s my birthday.’

‘Oh!’ It was all she could think of to say and then her brain sort of slid back into functioning. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said. ‘I’ve got candles but no cake.’

Then the phone rang again and they stood there.

And she was annoyed at his ex, annoyed that he was standing there in her kitchen, and her eyes told him so. ‘You really did break her heart, didn’t you?’

‘Long story,’ he said. He didn’t want to talk about it, hadn’t ever spoken about it, and really he’d rather not now.

‘Short version?’

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘the table’s booked.’

‘You know what?’ Bridgette said. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

‘You just said you were starving.’

‘Not enough to sit through five hundred phone calls from your ex.’

‘Okay, okay.’ He offered a major concession. ‘I’ll turn it off.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not doing it any more, putting up with crap.’ She was talking about Paul, but she was talking about him too, or rather she was talking about herself—she would not put herself through it again. ‘Even if you turn it off, I’ll know she’s ringing. What’s that saying? If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a noise?’

‘What?’ He was irritated, annoyed, but certainly not with her. ‘I’ve said I’ll turn it off, Bridgette. She doesn’t usually ring—I never thought when I asked you to come out that it was my birthday. I don’t get sentimental, I don’t sit remembering last year, blah blah blah.’

‘Blah blah blah…’ Bridgette said, her voice rising, irritated and annoyed, and certainly it was with him. ‘That’s all she was, blah blah blah.’ The night was over before it had even started. She really should have left it at one night with him. ‘What is it with men?’ She stormed past him, completely ready to show him the door, and it was almost a shout that halted her.

‘She didn’t want my brother and his friends at our engagement party.’

They both stood, in a sort of stunned silence, he for saying it, she that he had.

‘He’s got Down’s,’ Dominic said, and she was glad that she knew already. ‘He lives in sheltered housing. When I’m there I go over every week and sometimes she came with me. She was great…or I thought she was, then when we were planning the engagement, my dad suggested it might be better if Chris didn’t come, Chris and his friends, that we have a separate party for them, and she agreed. “It might be a bit awkward.”’ He put on a very plummy voice. ‘“You know, for the other guests. You know how he loves to dance.”’

And Bridgette stood there and didn’t know what to say.

‘I couldn’t get past it,’ Dominic said, and he’d never discussed this with another person, but now that he’d started, it was as if he couldn’t stop. Months of seething anger and hurt for his brother all tumbling out. ‘My dad wanted nothing to do with him when he was born, he has nothing to do with him now, and it turned out Arabella didn’t want him around either—well, not in the way I thought she would.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It was all she could say and she could hear the bitterness in his response.

‘She keeps saying sorry too—that she didn’t mean it and if we can just go back of course he can come to our party. She claims that she said what she did because she was just trying to get on with my dad, except I heard it and I know that it was meant.’ He shook his head. ‘You think you know someone…’

And when the phone rang again she decided that she did know what to say, after all.

‘Give it to me,’ she said, and she answered it and gave him a wink and a smile as she spoke. ‘Sorry, Dominic’s in bed…’ She looked at him, saw him groan out a laugh as she answered Arabella’s question. ‘So what if it’s early? I never said that he was asleep.’ And she put down the phone but didn’t turn it off. Instead she put her hand to her mouth and started kissing it, making breathy noises. Then she jumped up onto the bench, her bottom knocking over a glass.

‘Dominic!’ she shrieked.

‘Bridgette!’ He was folded over laughing as he turned off the phone. ‘You’re wicked.’

‘I can be,’ she said.

And he looked at her sitting on the bench all dishevelled and sexy, and thought of the noises she had made and what she had done, and just how far they had come since that night. Her words were like a red rag to a bull—he sort of charged her, right there in the kitchen.

Ferocious was his kiss as he pushed her further up the bench, and frantic was her response as she dragged herself back.

His hands were everywhere, but she was just as bad—tearing at his shirt till the buttons tore, pulling out his belt, and she was delighted that they weren’t going to make it to the bedroom again, delighted by her own condom-carrying medico. Except Dominic had other ideas.

‘Bed.’ He pulled her from the bench. ‘This time bed.’

‘No.’ She pulled at his zipper. ‘No, no, no.’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t want the floor again. He was leading her to her room, dragging her more like as she dug her heels in.

‘You can’t go in there!’

‘Why?’ He grinned, except he’d already pushed the door open. ‘Have you got more babies stashed away that you haven’t told…?’ He just stopped. She doubted anyone as glamorous as he had seen a really messy bedroom, like a really messy one. He looked at the chaos and then at the beauty that had somehow emerged out of it.

‘I told you not to go in there!’ She thought she’d killed the moment. Honestly, she really thought she had, but something else shifted, something even more breathtaking than before.

‘In here now, young lady.’ His voice was stern as he pointed, and she licked her lips, she could hardly breathe for the excitement, as she headed to her bedroom. ‘You can hardly see the bed,’ he scolded as he led her to it. ‘I’ve a good mind…’

Yes, they were bad. He did put her over his knee, but she nearly fell off laughing and they wanted each other too much to play games. It was the quickest sex ever, the best sex ever.

Again.

Again, she thought as he speared into her. They were still half-dressed, just mutual in want. She’d wanted him so badly again and now he was inside her.

It was bliss to have him back, to be back, to scream out as he shuddered into her.

Bliss for it already to have been the perfect night and it was only seven-thirty p.m.

To be honest, as she looked over he seemed a bit taken back by what had happened.

‘Bridgette…’ Please don’t say sorry, she thought. ‘I had no intention…’ He looked at her stricken face. ‘I mean…I had a table booked and everything.’

‘You’re not sorry, then?’

‘Sorry?’ He looked over to her. ‘I couldn’t be less sorry, just…’ He might even be blushing. ‘I did want to talk, to take you out. We could still go…’

‘If you can sew on your own buttons!’ Bridgette looked at his shirt. ‘But first you’d have to find a needle. And thread,’ she added after a moment’s thought.

They settled for pizza. Bridgette undressed and slid into bed, and there would be time for talking later, for now they filled the gap and her roaring hunger with kissing until the pizza was delivered, and then he undressed and got into bed too.

And they did have that grown-up conversation. It sort of meandered around other conversations, but the new rules were spoken by both of them. It was difficult and awkward at times too, but so much easier naked in bed and eating than at some gorgeous restaurant with others around. They spoke about nothing at first and then about work.

‘I don’t get close.’ Dominic shook his head. ‘I’m good at my job. I don’t need to be like some politician and hold and cuddle babies to be a good doctor.’

‘Never?’ she checked.

‘Never,’ Dominic said. ‘Oh, I held little Esperanza, but that was more for the parents, for the abuela, but…’ He did try to explain it. ‘I said she was cute and, yes, she is, but they’re not going to get a touchy-feely doctor if they are on my list.’ He said it and he meant it. ‘I can’t do that. I know all that might happen—I can’t get involved and then in a few weeks have to tell them that the news isn’t good.’ He was possibly the most honest person she had met. ‘I’ll give each patient and their parent or parents one hundred per cent of my medical mind. You don’t have to be involved to have compassion.’ It was too easy to be honest with her, but sometimes the truth hurt. ‘I couldn’t do it, Bridgette. I couldn’t do this job if I got too close—so I stay back. It’s why I don’t want kids of my own.’ He gave her a nudge. ‘That’s why I don’t get involved with anyone who has kids.’

‘I don’t have kids.’ Bridgette said. ‘And I think it wasn’t just the long-term viability of our future you were thinking about that night…’ She nudged him and he grinned, though she didn’t repeat midwife-speak to him; instead she spoke the truth. ‘Here for a good time, not a long time…and not have the night interrupted with crying babies.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Didn’t Arabella want kids?’

‘God, no,’ Dominic said.

The conversation sort of meandered around, but it led to the same thing.

They both knew it.

‘I will be moving back to Sydney.’ He was honest. ‘It’s not just work. It’s family and friends.’ And she nodded and took a lovely bite of cheesy dough and then without chewing took another. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with them. She took another bite and he told her about his brother, that he’d been thirteen when Chris was born. ‘To be honest, I was embarrassed—I was a right idiot then. So was my dad,’ he said. ‘They broke up when he was three. I was doing my final year school exams and all stressed and self-absorbed and Chris would just come in and want to talk and play—drove me crazy.

‘He didn’t care that I had my chemistry, couldn’t give a stuff about everything that was so important to me—except clothes. Even now he likes to look good, does his hair.’ Dominic grinned. ‘Loves to dance!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Loves women…’

‘Must be your brother!’ Bridgette smiled—a real one.

‘When I was doing my exams I’d be totally self-centred, angry, stressed. “What’s wrong, Dom?” he’d ask. And I’d tell him and he’d just look at me and then go and get me a drink or bring me something to eat, or try to make me laugh because he didn’t get it. You know, I stopped being embarrassed and used to feel sorry for him. My dad didn’t have anything to do with him, but then I realised Chris was the one who was happy and feeling sorry for me!’

‘We’ve got it all back to front, you know,’ Bridgette admitted.

‘He’s great. And you’re right…’ He saw her frown. ‘I’m not like a paediatrician. I was like my dad growing up—just me, me, me. Without Chris I would have been a sports doctor on the tennis circuit or something—I would,’ he said, and she was quite sure he was right, because he had that edge, that drive, that could take him anywhere. ‘I’d certainly have had a smaller nose.’

‘What?’ She frowned and he grinned. ‘My father thought I needed a small procedure. I was to have it in the summer break between school and university. He had it all planned out.’ He gave a dark laugh. ‘The night before the operation I rang him and told him to go jump.’

‘Do you talk now?’

‘Of course.’ He looked over. ‘About nothing, though. He never asks about Chris, never goes in and sees him on his birthday or Christmas, or goes out with him.’ He gave her a grin. ‘I can still feel him looking at my nose when he speaks to me.’

‘He’d be wanting to liposuction litres out of me!’ Bridgette laughed and he did too.

Dominic lay and stared up at the ceiling, thought about today—because even if he did his best not to get close to his patients, today he hadn’t felt nothing as he’d stood and had that photo taken. He’d been angry—yes, he might have smiled for the camera, but inside a black anger had churned, an anger towards his father.

He’d walked up to NICU and Tony had walked alongside him, had stood with his baby for every test, had beamed so brightly when the good news was confirmed that her heart was fine.

‘I’ll come back to Maternity with you in case Maria has any questions,’ Dominic had said, even though he hadn’t had to. He had stood and watched when Tony told his wife the good news and wondered what he’d have been like had he had Tony as a father. He didn’t want to think about his father now.

‘How long have you been looking after Harry?’ he asked instead.

Bridgette gave a tense shrug. ‘It’s very on and off,’ she said.

‘You said she was a lot younger…’

‘Eighteen,’ Bridgette said. He’d been so open and honest, yet she just couldn’t bring herself to be so with him. ‘I really would rather not talk about it tonight.’

‘Fair enough,’ Dominic said.

So they ate pizza instead and made love and hoped that things might look a little less complicated in the morning.

They didn’t.

‘Do you want to go out tonight?’ he asked, taking a gulp of the tea she’d made because Bridgette had run out of coffee. ‘Or come over?’

‘I’d love to, but I truly can’t,’ she said, because she couldn’t. ‘I’ve got to pick Harry up.’

‘When does his mum get back?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Bridgette said. ‘I think.’

‘You think.’ Some things he could not ignore. ‘Bridgette, you seem to be taking on an awful lot.’

‘Well, she’s my sister,’ Bridgette said, ‘and she’s looking for flats and daycare. It’s better that she has a few days to sort it out herself rather than dragging Harry around with her.’

‘Fair enough.’

And he didn’t run for the hills.

Instead he gave her a very nice kiss, and then reached in for another, a kiss that was so nice it made her want to cry.

‘Have breakfast,’ she said to his kiss, trying to think what was in the fridge.

And he was about to say no, that he had to go to work in an hour and all that.

Except he said yes.

He thought of the frothy latte he’d normally be sipping right now.

Instead he watched Bridgette’s bottom wiggle as she made pancakes because she didn’t have bread.

Watched as she shook some icing sugar over them.

How could you not have bread? she screamed inside.

Or bacon, or fresh tomatoes. She had thrown on her nursing apron—it had two straps with buttons and big pockets in the front. She had ten of them and they were brilliant for cooking—so the fat didn’t splat—but she was naked beneath.

‘We should be sitting at a table outside a café—’ she smiled as he watched her ‘—or at the window, watching the barista froth our lovely coffees.’

She must have read his mind.

As she brought over two plates of pancakes, where Bridgette was concerned, he crossed the line. ‘How long ago did you break up with Paul?’

‘Excuse me?’ She gave him a very odd look as she came over with breakfast. ‘I don’t remember discussing him with you.’

‘You didn’t.’ He gave a half-shrug. ‘You really don’t discuss yourself with me at all, so I’ve had to resort to other means.’ He saw the purse of her lips. ‘I didn’t just happen across it—I asked Vince for your e-mail address. Guys do talk.’ He saw her raise her eyebrows. ‘He said there had been a messy break-up, that was all he knew.’

‘Well, it wasn’t very messy for me.’ Bridgette shrugged. ‘It might have been a bit messy for him because he suddenly had to find somewhere to live.’ She shook her head. She wasn’t going there with him. ‘It’s a long story…’

‘Short version,’ Dominic said.

‘We were together two years,’ Bridgette said. ‘Great for one of them, great till my sister got depressed and moved in and suddenly there was a baby with colic and…’ She gave a tight shrug. ‘You get the picture. Anyway, by the time Harry turned one we were over.’ She had given the short version, but she did ponder just a little. ‘He felt the place had been invaded, that I was never able to go out.’ She looked over at him. ‘Funny, I’d have understood if it had been his flat.’ She gave Dominic a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. He could see the hurt deep in them and knew better than to push.

‘I’ll see you at work on Monday,’ she said as she saw him to the door.

‘I’m still here for a while,’ Dominic said.

‘And then you won’t be…’

‘It doesn’t mean we can’t have a nice time.’ If it sounded selfish, it wasn’t entirely. He wanted to take her out, wanted to know her some more, wanted to spoil her perhaps.

‘Like a holiday romance?’ Bridgette asked.

‘Hardly. I’m working sixty-plus hours a week,’ he said to soften his offering, because, yes, a brief romance was the most he could ever commit to. But she hadn’t said it with sarcasm. Instead she smiled, because a holiday romance sounded more doable. She certainly wasn’t about to let go of her heart and definitely not to a man like him. A holiday romance maybe she could handle.

‘I won’t always be able to come out…I mean…’ Bridgette warned.

‘Let’s just see.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Who knows, maybe your sister will get that job, after all, and move up to Bendigo.’

And you should be very careful what you wish for, Dominic soon realised, because a few days later Courtney did.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AT FIRST it was great. Out had come the silver dress, and he had taught her the flamenco—not that he knew how, but they’d had fun working it out.

In fact, with Courtney and Harry away, it had been Dominic who had found himself the one with scheduling problems.

‘I’ll get back to you within the hour.’ There was a small curse of frustration as Dominic put down the phone and pulled out his laptop.

‘Problem?’ Bridgette asked.

‘Mark Evans wants me to cover him till eleven a.m. I’m supposed to be picking up Chris from the airport then.’ He pulled the airline page up. Chris had been missing his brother, and with Dominic unable to get away for a while, a compromise had been reached and Chris was coming down to Melbourne for the night. ‘I’d say no to Mark except he’s done me a lot of favours. I’ll see if I can change his flight.’

‘You could just ask me,’ Bridgette said, unable to see the problem. ‘Surely if Chris can fly on his own, he won’t mind being met by a friend of his brother’s.’

‘You sure?’

‘It’s no big deal.’

To Dominic it was a big deal. Arabella would, he realised, have simply had Chris change his flight, which was maybe a bit unfair on her, because Arabella would have been at work too. Bridgette was, after all, not starting till later. ‘What if the flight’s delayed? It doesn’t leave you much time to get to your shift as it is…’

‘Then I’ll ring work and explain that I’m delayed. What?’ She misread his curious expression. ‘You don’t think I’d just leave him stranded?’

Chris’s flight wasn’t delayed. In fact, it landed a full ten minutes early and he had hand luggage only, which left plenty of time for a drink and something to eat at an airport café before she started her late shift. He told her all about his first time flying alone and then they drove back to Dominic’s, getting there just as he arrived. There was no denying that the two brothers were pleased to see each other. ‘Come over tonight if you want,’ Dominic said, ‘after your shift. We’re just seeing an early movie so we could go out for something to eat if you like?’

‘I’ll give it a miss, thanks,’ Bridgette said. ‘I don’t want to spoil your party and anyway I’m on an early shift tomorrow.’ And he was always defensive around his brother yet not once did he think it was a snub. He knew Bridgette better than that—well, the part of Bridgette that she let him know. And he knew that she wouldn’t even try to win points by hanging around to prove she was nothing like Arabella.

She was nothing like Arabella.

‘See you, Chris.’ She gave him a wave. ‘Have a great night.’

‘See you, Bridgette,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the cake.

‘We went to a café,’ Chris explained, when she had gone. ‘Is that your girlfriend?’

‘She’s a friend,’ Dominic said.

‘Your girlfriend.’ Chris grinned.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ Dominic admitted, ‘but it’s not as simple as that.’ It wasn’t and it was too hard to explain to himself let alone Chris.

There was a reason why holidays rarely lasted more than a few weeks—because any longer than that, you can’t pretend there are no problems. You can’t keep the real world on hold. Perhaps selfishly Dominic had wanted Courtney to leave, wanted to get to know a bit better the woman he had enjoyed dating, but once Chris had gone home, he realised that it wasn’t the same Bridgette when Harry wasn’t around. Over the next few days she couldn’t get hold of Courtney and they were back to the morning after he’d met her—Bridgette constantly checking her phone. There was an anxiety to her that wasn’t right.

He wanted the woman he’d found.

But Bridgette had that bright smile on, the one he had seen when they’d first met. She gave it to him the next Friday afternoon at work as she dropped off a new mum for a cuddle with her baby and he gave her his brief work nod back. Then she stopped by the incubator, as she often did, to speak with Carla.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

‘Good today!’ Carla smiled. ‘Though it all depends on how Francesca is as to how I’m feeling at any moment, but today’s been a good day. Do you want a peek?’ There were drapes over the incubator and when she peeled them back Bridgette was thrilled by the change in the baby. She was still tiny, but her face was visible now, with far fewer tubes. It had been a precarious journey, it still was, but Francesca was still there, fighting.

‘She gave us a fright last week,’ Carla said. ‘They thought she might need surgery on the Friday, but she settled over the weekend. Every day’s a blessing still. I’m getting to hold her now—it’s fantastic. Frank and I are fighting to take turns for a cuddle.’

It was lovely to see Francesca doing so well, but Bridgette’s mind was on other things as she walked back to the ward, and she didn’t hear Dominic till he was at her side.

‘Hi.’ He fell into step beside her. Not exactly chatty, he never was at work, but today neither was she. ‘How’s your shift?’

‘Long,’ she admitted. ‘Everything’s really quiet—I’m waiting for a baby boom.’ She smiled when she saw Mary walking towards them.

‘We’re missing that little man of yours,’ Mary said. ‘How is he doing?’

‘He’s fine,’ Bridgette said, expecting Dominic to walk on when she stopped to talk to Mary, but instead he stood there with them. ‘I am sorry to have given you such short notice.’

‘Hardly your fault.’ Mary gave her a smile. ‘You’d be missing him too?’

Bridgette gave a nod. ‘A bit,’ she admitted, ‘but they should be home soon for a visit.’

‘That’s good.’ Mary bustled off and Bridgette stood, suddenly awkward.

‘Have you heard from her?’

Bridgette shook her head. ‘I tried to ring but couldn’t get through—I think she’s out of credit for her phone. Right.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I’m going to head for home.’

‘I should be finished soon,’ Dominic said. ‘And then I’m back here tomorrow for the weekend.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘Some holiday romance.’

‘We can go out tonight,’ Bridgette offered. ‘Or sleep.’

‘Nope,’ Dominic said, ‘we can go out and then…’ He gave her that nice private smile. ‘Why don’t you head over to mine?’ he asked, because there were cafés a stone’s throw away, unlike Bridgette’s flat.

‘Sure,’ Bridgette said, because she couldn’t face pizza again and the flat still hadn’t been tidied. The cot was down, but stood taking up half the wall in her spare bedroom, which made it an obstacle course to get to the computer.

Next weekend she was off for four days and she was going to sort it.

Bridgette let herself into his flat, and wondered how someone who worked his ridiculous hours managed to keep the place so tidy. Yes, he’d told her he had someone who came in once a week, and she knew he did, but it wasn’t just the cleaner, Bridgette knew. He was a tidy person, an ordered person.

Knew what he wanted, where his life was going.

She had a little snoop, to verify her findings. Yes, the dishes were done and stacked in the dishwasher; the lid was on the toothpaste and it was back in its little glass. She peered into the bedroom—okay, it wasn’t exactly hospital corners, but the cover had been pulled back up. She wandered back to his lounge and over to his desk.

There was a pile of mail waiting for him, one a very thick envelope, from that exclusive hospital where he wanted to work, but it was too much to think about and she had a shower instead. Then she pulled on a black skirt with a pale grey top, because an awful lot of her clothes seemed to live here now. The outfit would look okay with ballet pumps or high heels—wherever the night might lead.

It was a holiday romance, Bridgette kept telling herself to make sense of it, and summer was coming to an end. The clock would change soon and in a couple of weeks it would be dark by now. She felt as if she were chasing the last fingers of the sun, just knew things were changing. Oh, she’d been blasé with Mary, didn’t want to tell anyone what was in the bottom of her heart, that things were building, that at any moment now the phone would ring and it would all have gone to pot.

‘Sorry about that…’ He came in through the door much later than expected and gave her a very haphazard kiss as he looked at his watch and picked up his mail. He didn’t want her to ask what the hold-up had been, didn’t want her to know the scare little Francesca had given him just a short while before. He had twelve hours off before a weekend on call and he needed every moment of it, but first…‘I’ve got to take a phone call.’

‘No problem.’

‘Hey,’ Dominic said when his phone rang promptly at seven-thirty. ‘How are you?’

‘Good,’ Chris said, and got straight to the point. ‘When are you coming back to Sydney?’ Chris was growing impatient. ‘It’s been ages since you were here.’

And Dominic took a deep breath and told him the news he hadn’t really had time to think about, let alone share with Bridgette. ‘I got a phone call today, an—’ he didn’t want to say too much at this early stage ‘—I’m coming home for a few days next weekend. We’ll go out then.’

‘It’s been ages.’

‘I know,’ Dominic said, and he knew how much his brother missed him, but he tried to talk him around, to move the conversation to other things. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

‘A party,’ Chris said, and normally he’d have given him details as to who was going, the music that would be played, what they were eating, but instead he had a question. ‘Bridgette is your girlfriend, isn’t she?’

And normally Dominic would have laughed, would have made Chris laugh with an answer like ‘One of them’, but instead he hesitated. ‘Yes.’

And usually they would have chatted for a bit—until Chris’s Friday night kicked off and he was called out to come and join the party, but instead Chris was far from happy and told Dominic that he had to go and then asked another question.

‘When are you properly coming back?’

‘I’ve told you—I’m coming back soon for a few days,’ Dominic said.

It wasn’t, from Chris’s gruff farewell, a very good answer.

‘Right.’ He came out of his room and saw that Bridgette was writing a note. ‘Finally…Let’s go and get something to eat. I’ve still got the sound of babies crying ringing in my ears.’

‘Actually—’ she turned ‘—my sister just called.’ Back on went that smile. ‘Things didn’t work out in Bendigo and she’s back. She’s a bit upset and she’s asked if I can have Harry tonight. I called and asked my parents, but they’re out.’

‘Oh.’ He tried to be logical. After all, apart from one time in the corridor he’d never even seen Harry, and if her sister was upset, well, she needed to go. And even if more children was the last thing he needed tonight, she really had helped out with Chris and, yes, he did want to see her. ‘We can take him out with us.’

‘It’s nearly eight o’clock,’ Bridgette said, though when Harry was with her sister his bedtime was erratic at best.

‘It’s the Spaniard in me,’ Dominic said.

Courtney, Dominic thought as he sat in the passenger seat while Bridgette collected Harry, didn’t look that upset. But he said nothing as Bridgette drove. They’d gone out in her car because of baby seats and things, but they drove along to the area near his house and parked. It was cool but still light as they walked. She felt more than a little awkward. Walking along, pushing a stroller on a Friday night with Dominic felt terribly strange.

They sat out in a nice pavement café. They were spoiled for choice, but settled for Spanish and ate tapas. It was a lovely evening, but it was cool, even for summer. For Bridgette it was made extra bearable by one of Dominic’s black turtlenecks and a big gas heater blazing above them. It was nice to sit outside and Harry seemed content, especially as Bridgette fed him crema catalana. Dominic had suggested it, a sort of cold custard with a caramel top, and Harry was loving his first Spanish dessert, but the mood wasn’t as relaxed as it usually was. Dominic was lovely to Harry, there was no question about that, but Bridgette knew this wasn’t quite the night he’d had planned.

‘So, what’s Courtney upset about?’ He finally broached the subject

‘I didn’t really ask.’

‘Does she do this a lot?’

Bridgette shot him a glance. ‘It’s one night, Dominic. I’m sorry for the invasion.’ She was brittle in her defence and he assumed she was comparing him with Paul. She changed the subject. ‘Have you been to Spain?’

‘We used to go there in the summer holidays,’ Dominic said. ‘Well, their winter,’ he clarified, because in Australia summer meant Christmas time. ‘My father had a lot of social things on at that time, you know, what with work, so Chris and I would stay with Abuela.’

‘And your mum?’ Bridgette asked.

Dominic gave her an old-fashioned look, then a wry grin. ‘Nope, she stayed here, looking stunning next to Dad. And I spent a year there when I finished school. I still want to go back, maybe work there for a couple of years at some point. It’s an amazing place.’

And there were two conversations going on, as she ate thick black olives and fried baby squid, and he dipped bread in the most delicious lime hummus, and Harry, full up on the custard, fell asleep.

‘I’d better get him back.’

They walked back along the beach road, a crowded beach full of Friday night fun, except Dominic was pensive. He was trying to remember the world before Chris had come along and Bridgette was for once quiet too.

She drove him back to his place. Harry was still asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him up by coming in. Dominic had to be at work tomorrow, so there was no way really he could stay at hers.

And they kissed in the car, but it was different this time.

‘Not your usual Friday night,’ she said. ‘Home by ten, alone!’

He didn’t argue—she was, after all, speaking the truth.

CHAPTER NINE

RATHER than change things, the situation brought what was already coming to a head.

Dominic didn’t know how best to broach what was on his mind.

He was used to straight talking, but on this Tuesday morning, lying in bed with Bridgette warm and asleep beside him, he didn’t know where to start. He’d been putting this discussion off for a couple of days now, which wasn’t at all like him.

‘Hey, Bridgette.’ He turned and rolled into her, felt her sleepy body start to wake, and he was incredibly tempted to forget what had been on his mind a few seconds ago and to concentrate instead on what was on his mind now. ‘When do you finish?’

‘Mmm…?’ She didn’t want questions, didn’t want to think about anything other than the delicious feel of Dominic behind her. She could feel his mouth nuzzling the back of her neck and she wanted to just sink into the sensations he so readily provided, to let him make love to her, but automatically she reached for the phone that was on her bedside drawer, checked there were no messages she had missed and frowned at how early it was—it wasn’t even six a.m.

‘It’s not even six,’ she grumbled, because they hadn’t got to bed till one—an evening spent watching movies and eating chocolate, laughing and making love, because neither wanted to talk properly.

‘I know that you’re off next weekend, but when do you actually finish?’

‘I’ve got a long weekend starting Thursday at three p.m. precisely.’ She wriggled at the pleasurable thought. ‘I’m not back till Wednesday when I start nights. Why?’

‘Just thinking.’

Though he didn’t want to think at the moment, it could surely wait for now, Dominic decided, because his hands were at her breasts, and how he loved them, and her stomach and her round bottom. She was the first woman he loved waking up with.

It was a strange admission for him, but he usually loathed chatter in the morning. Arabella had driven him mad then too.

‘Do you want coffee?’ Arabella would ask every morning.

It was just the most pointless question.

Okay, maybe not for a one-nighter, but two years on, had she really needed to start each day with the same?

He looked at Bridgette’s back, at the millions of freckles, and she was the one woman who could make him smile even in her sleep. ‘Do you want coffee?’ he said to a dozing Bridgette.

‘What do you think?’ she mumbled, and then…‘What’s so funny?’ she asked as he laughed and his mouth met her neck.

‘Nothing.’

‘So what are you lying there thinking about?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Dominic?’

He hesitated for an interminable second, his lips hovering over her neck and his hand still on her breast. ‘I’ve been invited for an informal interview.’ He was back at her neck and kissing it deeply. ‘Very informal. It’s just a look around…’

‘In Sydney?’

Her eyes that had been closed opened then. She’d sort of known this was coming. He’d always said he wanted to work there; they’d been seeing each other just a few short weeks and there had been that envelope she’d peeked at.

‘Yep—there’s a position coming up, but not till next year. It’s all very tentative at this stage—they just want me to come and have a look around, a few introductions…’

‘That’s good.’

And that wasn’t the hard bit.

They both knew it and they lay there in silence.

Like an injury that didn’t hurt unless you applied pressure, they’d danced around this issue from day one, avoided it, but they couldn’t keep doing that for ever.

‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We could have a nice weekend. You could use the break before you start nights.’

She didn’t want to think about it.

Didn’t want to think about him going to Sydney, and there was still something else to discuss. Bridgette knew that, and Dominic knew it too.

There was a conversation to be had but it was easier to turn around, to press her lips into his. ‘Bridgette…’ Dominic pulled back. ‘It would be great.’ He gave her a smile. ‘I won’t inflict my family on you.’

‘What?’ She tried to smile back. ‘You’ll put me in some fancy hotel?’

‘We’ll be staying at my flat,’ Dominic said—and there it was, the fact that he owned a flat in Sydney but he was only renting here. He had a cleaner there, coming in weekly to take care of things while he was temporarily away. ‘Bridgette, you’ve known from the start that was where I was going.’

‘I know that.’

‘It’s only an hour’s flight away.’

She nodded, because his words made sense, perfect sense—it was just a teeny flight, after all—but her life wasn’t geared to hopping on planes.

‘Look,’ Dominic said, ‘let’s just have a weekend away. Let’s not think about things for a while. I’ll book flights. The interview will be a morning at most. I’ll see Chris…’

And so badly she wanted to say yes, to say what the hell, and hop onto a plane, to swim in the ocean, shop and see the sights, to stay in the home of the man she adored, but…‘I can’t.’

‘You’ve got days off,’ Dominic pointed out.

‘I really need to sort out my flat.’ She did. ‘I’ve been putting it off for ages.’

‘I know,’ Dominic said. ‘Look, why don’t I come round a couple of nights in the week and help with those shelves?’

‘You!’ She actually laughed. ‘Will you bring your drill?’ She saw his tongue roll in his cheek. ‘Bring your stud finder…’ she said, and dug him in the ribs. He would be as hopeless as her, Dominic realised. After all, his dad had never been one for DIY—he wouldn’t know how to change a washer. But it wasn’t the shelves that were the real problem. Yes, it would be so much easier to talk about stud finders, to laugh and to roll into each other as they wanted to, but instead he asked her again.

‘If I can’t do it—’ he had visions of her being knocked unconscious in the night by his handiwork ‘—then I will get someone in and those shelves will be put up on your return,’ he said. ‘But it really would be nice to go away.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, because she simply could not bear to be so far away from Harry. Courtney’s silence was worrying her and it couldn’t be ignored; also, she couldn’t bear to get any closer to Dominic. To open up her heart again—especially to a man who would soon be moving away.

‘Look, I have to go back this weekend.’

‘Go, then!’ Bridgette said. ‘I’m not stopping you. I’m just saying that I can’t come.’

‘You could!’ he said. He could see the dominos all lined up, so many times he’d halted them from falling, and he was halting them now, because when talking didn’t work he tried to kiss sense into her. She could feel her breasts flatten against his chest and the heady male scent of him surrounding her, and she kissed him back ferociously. It was as close as they had come to a row: they were going to have a row in a moment and she truly didn’t want one, knew that neither did he. This way was easier, this way was better, this simply had to happen, because somehow they both knew it was the last time.

He kissed her face and her ears, he pushed her knees apart and they were well past condoms now. He slid into her tight warmth, went to the only place she would come with him and she did. They both did.

It was a regretful orgasm, if there was such a thing, because it meant it was over. It meant they had to climb back out of the place where things were so simple.

‘I think a weekend away would be great.’ He tried again. He’d heard the first click of the dominos falling and still he was trying to halt them. ‘I think we need to get away. Look, if you don’t want to go to Sydney…’ He didn’t want to let down Chris, didn’t want to reschedule the interview, but he didn’t want things to end here. He wanted to give them a chance. ‘We could drive. There’s a few places I want to see along the coast…’

‘I can’t this weekend,’ she said. ‘I told you, I’ve got the flat to sort out. Courtney’s still upset…’

‘Well, when can you?’ And he let them fall. ‘I want to get away on my days off.’ He really did—it had been a helluva weekend at work. He wanted to be as far away from the hospital as possible this next weekend, didn’t want to be remotely available, because he knew that if they called, he’d go in. What was he thinking, driving to the coast when he had an interview, letting down Chris? For what? So that they could stay in and wait for her sister to ring?

‘Look, I know you help out your sister…’ He simply did not understand her. In so many things they were open, there were so many things they discussed, but really he knew so little about her. There was still a streak of hurt in her eyes, still a wall of silence around her. ‘But surely you can have a weekend off.’

‘Maybe I don’t want one,’ Bridgette said. ‘Maybe I don’t want to go up to Sydney and to see the life you’ll soon be heading back to.’

‘Bridgette…’ He was trying to prolong things, not end them. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘You’re not supposed to, that’s not what we’re about.’ It wasn’t, she told herself. It was supposed to be just a few short weeks—a break, a romance, that was all. It was better over with now. ‘Just go to Sydney,’ Bridgette said. ‘That’s what you want, that’s where you’ve always been heading. Don’t try and blame us ending on Harry.’

‘I’m not blaming Harry,’ Dominic said, and he wasn’t. ‘I’ll admit I was a bit fed up with his aunt on Friday.’

‘Sorry to mess up your night.’ She so wasn’t going to do this again. ‘God, you’re just like—’

‘Don’t say it, Bridgette,’ Dominic warned, ‘because I am nothing like him.’ He’d heard a bit about her ex and wasn’t about to be compared to Paul. ‘I’ll tell you one of the differences between him and me. I’d have had this sorted from the start. Your sister’s using you, Bridgette.’ He looked at her, all tousled and angry, and truly didn’t know what this was about.

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

‘So why do you let her?’ He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘Do you know, I think you hide behind Harry. He’s your excuse not to go out, not to get away.’ Bridgette was right, Sydney was where he’d always intended to be—that was his hospital of choice and he wasn’t about to have his career dictated to by Courtney.

‘I’m going for the interview. I’m flying out on Thursday night. I’ll text you the flight times. We’ll be back Sunday night.’

‘Don’t book a ticket for me,’ Bridgette said. ‘Because I can’t go.’

‘Yes, you can. And, yes, I am booking for you,’ Dominic said. ‘So you’ve plenty time to change your mind.’

He did book the tickets.

But he knew she wouldn’t come.

CHAPTER TEN

‘SORRY to call you down from NICU.’ Rebecca, the accident and emergency registrar, looked up from the notes she was writing. It was four a.m. on Tuesday morning. It had been a long day for Dominic and a very long night on call. After the interviews in Sydney and long walks on the beach with Chris, his head felt as if it was exploding, not that Rebecca could have guessed it. He was his usual practical self. ‘I’m trying to stall Mum by saying we’re waiting for an X-ray.’

‘No problem. What do we know so far?’

‘Well, the story is actually quite consistent—Mum heard a bang and found him on the floor. He’d climbed out if his cot, which fits the injury. She said that he was crying by the time she went in to him. It was her reaction that was strange—complete panic, called an ambulance. She was hysterical when she arrived but she’s calmed down.’

‘Are there any other injuries you can see?’

‘A couple of small bruises, an ear infection, he’s a bit grubby and there’s a bit of nappy rash,’ Rebecca said, ‘but he is a toddler, after all. Anyway, I’m just not happy and I thought you should take a look.’ She handed him the patient card and as Dominic noted the name, as his stomach seemed to twist in on itself, a young woman called from the cubicle.

‘How much longer are we going to be waiting here?’ She peered out and all Dominic could think was that if he had not recognised the name, it would never have entered his head that this woman was Bridgette’s sister. She had straggly dyed blond hair and was much skinnier. Her features were sharper than Bridgette’s and even if she wasn’t shouting, she was such an angry young thing, so hostile in her actions, so on the edge, that she was, Dominic recognised in an instant, about to explode any moment. ‘How much longer till he gets his X-ray or CT or whatever?’

‘There’s another doctor here to take a look at Harry,’ Helga, the charge nurse, calmly answered. ‘He’ll be in with you shortly—it won’t be long.’

‘Well, can someone watch him while I get a coffee at least?’ Courtney snapped. ‘Why can’t I take it in the cubicle?’

‘You can’t take a hot drink—’ Helga started, but Dominic interrupted.

‘Courtney, why don’t you go and get a coffee? Someone will sit with your son while you take a little break.

‘Is that okay?’ He checked with Helga and she sent in a student nurse, but Rebecca was too sharp not to notice that he had known the name of the patient’s mother. ‘You know her?’ She grimaced as Courtney flounced out, because this sort of thing was always supremely awkward.

‘I know his aunt.’ Dominic was sparse with his reply but Helga filled in for him.

‘Bridgette. She’s a midwife on Maternity. She’s on her way. I called her a little while ago—Courtney was in a right panic when she arrived and she asked us to.’

‘Okay.’ Dominic tried not to think about Bridgette taking that phone call—he had to deal with this without emotion, had to step out and look at the bigger picture. ‘I’m going to step aside.’ He came to the only decision he could in such a situation. ‘I’m going to ring Greg Andrews and ask him to take over the patient, but first I need to take a look at Harry and make sure that there’s nothing medically urgent that needs to be dealt with.’ His colleague might take a while. He did not engage in further small talk; he did not need to explain his involvement in the case. After all, he was stepping aside. Dominic walked into the cubicle where Harry lay resting in a cot with a student nurse by his side. Rebecca came in with him.

‘Good morning, Harry.’ He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg and proceeded to wash his hands and then made his way over to the young patient. He looked down into dark grey eyes that stared back at him and they reminded him of Bridgette’s. He could see the hurt behind them and Dominic did not try to win a smile. ‘I expect you’re feeling pretty miserable? Well, I’m just going to take a look at you.’ Gently he examined the toddler, looking in his ears for any signs of bleeding, and Harry let him, hardly even blinking as he shone the ophthalmoscope into the back of each eye, not even crying or flinching as Dominic gently examined the tender bruise. Through it all Harry didn’t say a word. ‘Has he spoken since he came here?’ Dominic asked

‘Not much—he’s asked for a drink.’ The curtains opened then and Helga walked in. Behind her was Bridgette, her face as white as chalk, but she smiled to Harry.

‘Hey.’ She stroked his little cheek. ‘I hear you’ve been in the wars.’ She spoke ever so gently to him, but her eyes were everywhere, lifting the blanket and checking him carefully, even undoing his nappy, and he saw her jaw tighten at the rash.

‘How is he?’

‘He just gave everyone a fright!’ Helga said, but Bridgette’s eyes went to Dominic’s.

‘Could I have a quick word, Bridgette?’

He stepped outside the cubicle and she joined him.

‘He’s filthy,’ Bridgette said. She could feel tears rising up, felt as if she was choking, so angry was she with her sister. ‘And he didn’t have any rash when I saw him on Friday. I bought loads of cream that she took—’

‘Bridgette,’ he interrupted, ‘I’m handing Harry’s care over to a colleague. You will need to tell him all this. It’s not appropriate that I’m involved. You understand that?’ She gave a brief nod but her attention was diverted by the arrival of her sister, and he watched as Bridgette strode off and practically marched Courtney out towards the waiting room.

‘I’ll go.’ Helga was more than used to confrontations such as this and called to the nurses’ station over her shoulder as she followed the two sisters out. ‘Just let Security know we might need them.’

And this was what Courtney had reduced her to, Bridgette thought, standing outside the hospital early in the morning, with security guards hovering. But Bridgette was too angry to keep quiet.

‘He climbed out of his cot!’ Courtney was immediately on the defensive the moment they were outside. ‘I didn’t know that he climbed. You should have told me.’ Maybe it was a good idea that security guards were present because hearing Courtney try to blame her for this had Bridgette’s blood boiling.

‘He’s never once climbed out of the cot when I’ve had him,’ Bridgette answered hotly. ‘Mind you, he was probably trying to get out and change his own nappy or make himself a drink, or give himself a wash. You lazy, selfish…’ She stopped herself then because if she said any more, it would be way too much. She paused and Helga stepped in, took Courtney inside, and Bridgette stood there hugging her arms around herself tightly, mortified when Dominic came out.

‘This has nothing to do with you,’ Bridgette said, still angry. ‘You’ve stepped aside.’

‘You know I had to.’

She did know that.

‘Is this why you couldn’t get away?’ Dominic asked, and she didn’t answer, because a simple yes would have been a lie. ‘Bridgette?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You never do,’ he pointed out, but now really wasn’t the time. ‘I know that it doesn’t seem like it now,’ Dominic said, ‘but Harry being admitted might be the best thing that could have happened. Things might get sorted now.’

As an ambulance pulled up she gave a nod, even if she didn’t believe it.

‘Bridgette, I was actually going to come over and see you today,’ Dominic said, and she knew what was coming. ‘I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else—I’ve just given notice. I’m leaving on Saturday.’ He chose not to tell her just how impossible the decision had been, but in the end it had surely been the right one—he wanted simple, straightforward, and Bridgette was anything but. He’d opened up to her more than he had with anyone, and yet he realised that, still, despite his question, he knew very little about her and even now she said nothing. ‘Anyway, I thought I should tell you myself.’

‘Sure.’

‘I’d better get up to…’ His voice stopped, his stomach tightened, as the ambulance door opened and he met Tony’s frantic eyes.

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