Is one night with Dr. Off-Limits...

The best mistake of her life?

Escaping her rural Scottish hometown, midwife Freya has a new job in busy London...and a new crush on sexy consultant Richard Lewis! Charismatic yet commitment-phobic bachelor Richard comes with warning signs, but Freya knows one night would be worth the risk. And when she ends up in Richard’s bed, it feels like a red-hot dream—one Freya doesn’t want to wake up from...

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 her fingers 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!

Also by Carol Marinelli

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Midwife’s One-Night Fling

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07511-4

THE MIDWIFE’S ONE-NIGHT FLING

© 2018 Carol Marinelli

Published in Great Britain 2018

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

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

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

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

‘YOU MUST BE getting excited about the big move to London?’

It was a question Freya Ross had heard many times in recent weeks, and although the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of what lay ahead she smiled.

‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’

As a midwife at the birthing centre attached to Cromayr Bay Hospital, Freya was examining Mrs Roberts while her three little boys ran amok in the rather small cubicle. Most patients preferred to be called by their first name, but not Mrs Roberts.

‘Jamie!’ Mrs Roberts scolded as her boisterous three-year-old climbed on a chair.

Freya was more than used to working with toddlers underfoot, and she was also very used to holding in her thoughts.

She had told no one of her misgivings about moving to London. Not her parents, nor her best friend, nor her colleagues. Certainly she would not burden a patient with her worries.

No one could possibly guess that now her leaving date was almost here Freya was dreading making the move from the small Scottish town of Cromayr Bay to London.

The news of her leaving had come as a complete surprise to everyone. No one had known she’d gone to London for an interview. This was no mean feat in Cromayr Bay! Even swapping her off-duty days had been complicated—Freya hadn’t been able to lie and say that she was visiting the dentist, given that the dentist was the husband of Betty, her senior midwife. And, had she called in sick—well someone would either have mentioned that her car had been seen at Cromayr Bay station, or they’d have dropped in to check that she was okay.

In the end Freya had said that she was catching up with a friend with whom she had trained.

‘Oh? Who?’ Betty had asked...

Feeling as if her nose must surely be an inch longer after such a complex lie, Freya had taken the train to Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and from there had travelled down to London to the Primary, a large, modern hospital.

Freya’s general nursing training had taken place in Cowdenbeath, and she had done some placements in Edinburgh during her midwifery training, so she wasn’t unfamiliar with busy hospitals. The Primary was incredibly large, though, and the interview had been very thorough.

Her training had been excellent, and Freya had kept her skills up to date with regular shifts in the main Cromayr Bay hospital, which the birthing centre was attached to.

She had been offered a six-month contract by the London hospital, commencing in the middle of July, and Freya was starting to get nervous.

Not that she showed it.

Instead of revealing her feelings now, she made small talk with Mrs Roberts as she palpated the baby. ‘We’ve got my leaving do tonight, over at the Tavern,’ Freya said. ‘You’re actually the last patient that I’ll see before I go.’

‘I’m sorry that you shan’t be here for the birth.’

‘I am too, Mrs Roberts,’ Freya agreed. ‘Although I know you are going to do just fine.’

‘I expect Alison is feeling the same as I do about your leaving?’

Freya’s hands paused mid-examination. Alison had made it clear that she didn’t want the news about her pregnancy getting out just yet.

‘We’re best friends.’ Freya decided to give a non-committal answer, just in case she had misinterpreted the question. ‘So, yes, she was a bit upset when I told her that I was moving—but I’ll be coming home regularly.’

‘I meant about the baby,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘It’s okay, I’m not asking you to break any confidences. I just heard the other day that she’s expecting again. It’s lovely news.’

‘It is,’ Freya agreed, though inwardly she sighed for her friend at the fact that the news had got out. Very few people knew. And, even though Alison was past her first trimester, she had wanted to keep it to herself for a while yet.

But nothing stayed a secret for very long here.

‘I just hope...’ Mrs Roberts voice trailed off. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I hope that things go better for her this time.’

Freya gave a small nod, but refused to be drawn into a discussion about the loss of Andrew.

Last year had been a hard one.

Following an uneventful pregnancy, Alison had arrived at the birthing centre in active labour. But while checking the foetal heart-rate Freya had realised something was terribly wrong.

Alison had been transferred to the attached hospital and a crash Caesarean had been performed. The little boy had been resuscitated and then transferred to Edinburgh, where there had been a NICU cot available.

He’d been beautiful and utterly perfect. A chunky baby, with long, dark lashes, big cheeks and pudgy hands. But the lack of oxygen from cord compression and subsequent meconium aspiration had left him severely brain damaged.

Despite best efforts Andrew had died two days later, leaving Alison, her husband Callum and their families shattered.

Freya had been his godmother and proxy aunt, and she still woke regularly from nightmares, with the ominous sound of the CTG bleeping seeming to fill her bedroom. It felt as if her chest was being crushed whenever she recalled the devastation on Alison’s face when it had become clear that things were going terribly wrong.

‘Freya?’ Alison had pleaded.

The fear in Alison’s voice was something that Freya would never be able to erase from her memory.

Alison had never blamed Freya. In fact she had drawn on her friend, and Freya had stayed strong for Alison even through a serious relationship break-up.

And now, not by a flicker did she reveal her own heartache as she focussed on her patient and the little life beneath her hands.

‘Everything’s looking grand,’ Freya said as she felt the baby’s position. ‘The head is down and baby is a good size.’

‘Aye.’

For Freya, the real beauty of working at Cromayr Bay was the chance to really get to know her patients and their families, and now, after being more than willing to chat about Alison’s pregnancy, Mrs Roberts’s short response when discussing her own, concerned Freya.

It wasn’t just that, though. Over the months Freya had been trying to gauge Mrs Roberts’s feelings.

This pregnancy had come close after the birth of twins, but Mrs Roberts insisted it was all part of the plan as she wanted her children to be near each other in age.

Freya was quite certain that Mrs Roberts was struggling, but she was a very proud and private woman. Earlier, though, she’d seemed more talkative, and Freya wondered if she actually wanted to speak to her.

Jamie, the eldest, was getting restless, and the twins were going through their mother’s handbag. Freya was in no doubt that Mrs Roberts would want to dash off as soon as her appointment was done.

As she went to the desk to write up her findings Mrs Roberts dressed and then came over and took a seat.

‘Jamie!’ She scolded her son, who had pulled over a jar of cotton balls. ‘I’m so sorry, Freya.’

‘It’s not a problem. I shouldn’t have left them at a three-year-old’s level.’ As Mrs Roberts went to retrieve them Freya stopped her. ‘He might as well play with them,’ she said—not just because the cotton balls would now have to be discarded, but also because it might keep Jamie amused for a few minutes.

‘He’s into everything,’ Mrs Roberts explained. ‘I need eyes in the back of my head.’

‘You’re certainly going to be busy when the new baby comes,’ Freya agreed. ‘Is there anyone who might be able to help once the baby is here?

‘Och, I’ll not be bothering others. I just have to get on with things.’ Mrs Roberts straightened herself in the chair.

Freya felt for her. She too was very private.

With two younger brothers, Freya had always been ‘the sensible one’. Her mother, Jean, had relied on her to look out for the boys and soothe their hurts rather than her own.

As Freya wrote up her notes she thought how she came across to her patient. Her long dark curls were pulled back into a ponytail and she knew that her green eyes could sometimes come across as guarded rather than shy. She was a quiet person, and that generally suited her patients just fine.

However, like Mrs Roberts, Freya could appear a touch aloof at times—abrupt, even—although not, she hoped, with her patients. And, while she tended not to chat too much about herself, that wasn’t an issue in Cromayr Bay, where everyone knew everyone else’s business anyway.

But Freya wanted to reach her patient and to be sure that she was coping, so she decided to open up a little to Mrs Roberts in the hope that the woman would reciprocate.

‘Actually,’ Freya said, ‘although I’m telling everyone that I’m excited about moving to London, I’m really quite nervous. It’s a big hospital and I shan’t know anyone.’

‘You’ll be fine...’ Mrs Roberts started, and then paused as Freya gently spoke on.

‘I expect everyone is asking if you’re excited now that the baby will soon be here?’

Mrs Roberts nodded. ‘“Not long now!”’ She mimicked the regular phrases being thrown daily her way. ‘“You’ll be hoping for a girl after three boys.”’

‘Are you?’ Freya asked. She knew the sex of the baby.

‘Of course not. I didn’t get pregnant to try for a girl. In fact, I didn’t...’ It was the closest Mrs Roberts had come to admitting the pregnancy had been an accident, but she quickly rallied. ‘Healthy will suit me just fine.’

‘Of course,’ Freya agreed, and Mrs Roberts changed the subject.

‘So you’re nervous about leaving?’

‘Terrified,’ Freya now admitted. ‘And I’m wondering how I’m going to fit in.’

‘You’ll fit in just fine.’

‘I hope so,’ Freya replied. ‘But I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake.’

‘Well, I know that feeling.’

Freya watched as Mrs Roberts closed her eyes and finally admitted the truth. ‘It’s not that I don’t want it—well, I’m sure I will once the baby’s here. I just honestly don’t know how I’m going to cope. The twins are into everything and Jamie runs wild. Davey’s no help. Och, he tries—but he’s out the door for work at seven, then not back until six and wanting his supper. I’m trying to freeze a few meals for when the baby comes...’

‘That’s good.’

‘It’ll take more than a few frozen dinners to see us through, though.’

Freya saw the flash of tears in Mrs Roberts’s eyes and then watched as she buried her face in her hands and started to weep.

‘Mam!’ Jamie toddled over and pulled at her skirt. ‘Mam!’

‘Mummy’s just a little tired,’ Freya said as she gave Mrs Roberts some tissues.

When his inquisitive eyes fell on her stethoscope, Freya took it from her neck and played with it on him, to give Mrs Roberts time to cry by herself.

‘Do you want to have a play with it now?’

Delighted with his new toy, Jamie wandered off.

‘I’m sorry, Freya.’ Mrs Roberts sniffed into the tissue that Freya had pressed into her hand. ‘How on earth am I going to manage with another one? I don’t get a moment to myself as it is.’

‘Have you thought about asking your sister to come and stay with you for a wee while once the baby arrives?’ Freya knew that the two women were close.

‘I have,’ Mrs Roberts nodded, ‘but it’s a huge imposition.’

‘Did she say that?’

‘No, no—she offered to come. But I think it’s asking too much from her.’

‘You’ll need help at the start, Mrs Roberts. It’s better to take it than to do too much and find yourself overwhelmed and exhausted. If you talk about it with her now she can start to make plans.’

And making plans was what Freya and Mrs Roberts did next.

Her sister Norma would come, and also there was a small crèche that Mrs Roberts occasionally used.

‘I might see if they can go there—just one afternoon a week, maybe two—so I can have some time with the new baby.’

‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Freya said. ‘Did you know, once I’ve moved, I’ve got Mrs Hunt coming in to service my cottage between tenants?’

‘I dinnae need a cleaner.’

‘Well, I’m only mentioning it in case you might. She’s very thorough and her prices are reasonable.’

The appointment went well over time, but it was worth every minute because Mrs Roberts was actually smiling as she retrieved the contents of her bag from the floor.

‘You wee monkeys,’ she said to the twins. ‘Jamie, give Freya back her stethoscope.’

Before the cubicle door was opened Freya had a final word. ‘If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed when the baby is here—’

Mrs Roberts broke in. ‘Then I’ll speak to Betty. I honestly will. I feel so much better for talking with you.’

Mrs Roberts rounded up her three sons and Freya saw them to the desk. There she pulled up the appointments on the computer screen and made one for the next Thursday.

‘Thanks so much, Freya.’

‘You’re welcome, Mrs Roberts.’

‘Leah, please.’

Freya smiled, for it was high praise indeed to be invited to call Mrs Roberts by her first name.

‘I wish you all the very best in London.’

‘Thank you.’

Once Mrs Roberts had left Betty came over, and Freya explained a little of what had happened.

‘It would have taken a lot for her to admit she’s struggling,’ Betty agreed. ‘Well done, Freya. And don’t worry—I’ll be keeping a very close eye on her.’

Freya took in Betty’s knowing eyes and kind face and knew Mrs Roberts was in the very best of hands. Betty had been a midwife here for nearly forty years. She had, in fact, delivered Freya herself. Right now, though, she was just trying to get the clinic closed somewhat on time.

‘I’ll shut down the computers and you go and tidy up the cubicles,’ Betty said. ‘You’re going to be late for your own leaving party.’

Goodness, Freya thought when she saw the chaos of the cubicle. It looked as if it had been snowing!

Yet not for a second did she regret that the check-up had spilled more than an hour over time.

Freya tidied up and as she came out saw the waiting room was in semi-darkness.

‘Everything’s done,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll lock up.’

And then it was finally here—the end of her time at the Cromayr Bay birthing centre.

Freya looked around the waiting room and beyond the desk, thinking of the two birthing suites behind. Then she walked out through the familiar room and into the office to collect her coat before a dash home to get changed for her leaving do.

She hoped her ex wouldn’t show up.

Alison would be there. She had cried when Freya had told her that she was moving to London,

‘I’ll be back all the time,’ Freya had reassured her.

‘It won’t be the same.’

No, it wouldn’t be. But then, things hadn’t been the same between them since Andrew had died.

Freya had always been private. The only person she really opened up to was Alison—but of course the loss was Alison’s, so Freya had tried to remain stoic and strong for her friend, not burdening her with her own grief.

She said goodbye to Betty, who promised she would join them all at the Tavern shortly, and then drove the short distance home in her little purple car.

It was July. The holidaymakers were back and the town was busy.

She parked outside her tiny fisherman’s cottage which, although a bit of a renovator’s nightmare, was certainly a home.

Each of the houses along the foreshore was a different colour, and Freya’s little cottage was a duck-egg-blue with a dark wooden door. Opening it, she stepped into the surprisingly large lounge with its open fireplace, seeing on the mantelpiece her favourite pictures and little mementoes.

Freya headed into the tiny alcove kitchen. It needed a complete overhaul, but everything worked—and anyway, Freya wasn’t much of a cook. In pride of place was a coffee machine that Freya was having to leave behind in the move, as there really wasn’t that much room in her father’s car.

It would be nice for the tenants, Freya thought as she made a very quick coffee.

Freya had the house rented out over the summer, but in October it was going on the market to be sold.

In the cellar she had boxed up some of her belongings. The tiny spare bedroom looked a little bare, but it was ready for its new occupant with a pretty wrought-iron bed and a small chest of drawers.

Freya headed into the main bedroom to change out of her uniform and get ready for her leaving do, but for a moment she paused.

The unobstructed view of The Firth had sold the place to her on sight. Often at night she simply lay there in bed, looking out, and she had watched the new Queensferry crossing being built. It was a spectacular cable-stayed bridge, and Freya had watched the huge structure unfold from either side until finally the two sides had met.

It was her favourite view on earth, and as she gazed out to it Freya asked herself again what the hell she was doing leaving. Here, she had a job she loved and friends she had grown up with as well as her family, to whom she was very close.

Yet, the very things she loved about Cromayr Bay, were the very reasons she felt she had to leave.

The loss of Alison’s baby had hit everyone.

After it had happened Freya had often walked into a shop or a café, and on too many occasions the conversation would suddenly stop.

Everyone knew everyone’s business—which wasn’t always a good thing. Take tonight—there was a fair chance that her ex, Malcolm, would be at the Tavern. Not that she really thought of him much, but it was always awkward to run into him and see the hurt, angry expression in his eyes before he turned his back on her.

It wasn’t just about Malcolm, though. Freya wanted more experience and a fresh start.

She would be thirty soon, she reasoned. If she didn’t make the move now then she never would.

Deep down, though, she knew she was running away.

It was going to be hard to leave, but for Freya it was simply too hard to stay.

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS ANYONE...?’

Freya looked up and quickly realised that the woman in theatre scrubs wasn’t asking if she might join Freya at her table in the hospital canteen. Instead all she wanted was one of the spare chairs at Freya’s table.

People, Freya thought, didn’t even bother to speak in full sentences down here.

‘Help yourself.’ Freya nodded.

And so the lady did.

It was orientation day at the Primary Hospital, and apart from being asked her name and shown where to go Freya really hadn’t spoken to anyone. She had tried during the coffee break, but Rita, the woman she had sat next to during the lectures, had gone off to call her husband.

The schedule had been a full one. First there had been an introduction to the Primary—a large general hospital with a major trauma centre. The volume of patients seen in Casualty per annum was, to Freya, staggering, as was the number of deliveries in Maternity, which had reached seven thousand last year.

There was no such thing as orientation day at Cromayr Bay—a new staff member would be shown around and introduced and made welcome. Here, though, Freya sat with approximately fifty fellow nurses, admin staff and ancillary workers who were commencing, or had just commenced work at the Primary this month alone.

Freya felt like a very small fish in a very large and rather cold sea.

On Friday she had been in to collect her uniforms and her lanyard and had got rather lost on her way out of the huge building. Today, though, sitting in the lecture theatre, she had found out that the red strip painted on the corridor wall led to Casualty and the main exit. So that was good to know. The yellow strip, she had then been told, led to Maternity and the blue to Outpatients.

‘It helps not just the staff and the patients,’ the admin manager had said, ‘but it is also far easier to give directions to visitors. We shall soon be adding a green strip for the Imaging Department. Any more than that and the walls will start to look like rainbows!’

After a morning of lectures and films they had been told to head off for lunch and to be back at one.

There was no coloured strip that led to the canteen, but by following the overhead signs Freya had found it quite easily.

The place had been packed, and Freya had rather wished she had thought to bring her own lunch, as most of her fellow orientation candidates seemed to have done. Perhaps that was why she sat alone.

She hadn’t brought any change for the vending machines, so she’d queued up and selected a salad wrap, a packet of cheese and biscuits and a coffee, and then scanned the busy canteen for a table.

They’d all been rather full, but there had been a couple of seats that had seemed free on a table for four.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Freya had asked.

‘We’re just leaving,’ the man there had said.

They had also left their plates, glasses and cups.

She had to stop comparing things to Cromayr Bay, but all this was just so unlike anything she was used to.

Since her father had left her at her one-bedroom flat, four days ago, Freya hadn’t really spoken to anyone. Well, apart from a couple of shop assistants and a worker on the Underground who had helped Freya to buy a travel pass.

She had rung her mother and assured her that everything was fantastic.

‘Your dad said the flat’s a bit grim.’

It was rather grim, but Freya had reassured her mum that it was nothing a few rugs and pictures wouldn’t pretty up, and reminded her that it was a brilliant location—just a ten-minute walk to the Underground.

‘Is anyone...?’

Freya looked up as another unfinished question was asked by an elderly man in a porter’s uniform.

‘No,’ Freya said, and gestured to an empty seat. ‘Help yourself.’

He said nothing in response, just took a seat at the table and opened up some sandwiches, then pulled out a newspaper and started to read.

There was no conversation.

Having finished her wrap, Freya peeled open the foil on her cheese and crackers. But she really wasn’t hungry so she put them down and pushed away her plate.

Glancing at her phone, she saw that there were still another fifteen minutes left until she was due back.

‘Is this seat...?’ asked a snooty, deep, but far from unpleasant male voice.

Freya was suddenly sick to the back teeth of unfinished questions.

‘Is this seat what?’ she asked, but as she looked up her indignation took a rapid back seat as she was momentarily sideswiped by six feet plus of good looks dressed in blue theatre scrubs.

He had straight brown hair that was messy, and was so crumpled-looking that, despite the hour, he appeared to have just got out of bed. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and in his hands was a very laden tray.

Freya regretted her brusque response, but consoled herself that he probably hadn’t understood a word she had said.

Oh, but he had!

‘Is this seat taken?’ he enquired, more politely, though the smile he wore had a tart edge.

‘Please,’ Freya said. ‘Help yourself.’

He put down the tray, and Freya assumed when he looked around and then wandered off that he must be locating a spare chair for his companion. On his tray there were two mugs of tea, a carton of milk and six little boxes of cereal—the type that her mother had used to get when the family had gone camping, or in the holidays as a treat, when she and her brothers would fight over who got what.

But instead of a chair and a companion he returned with a spoon.

‘Len,’ he said to the porter by way of greeting. He got a ‘humph’ in return, but the good-looking stranger didn’t seem in the least bothered by the less than friendly response.

As Freya drank her coffee she tried not to look at him, and pretended not to notice when he opened each box of cereal in turn and poured them into the one bowl with all the flavours combined. It was a heap of cornflakes and chocolate puffs and coloured circles, and then he added to his concoction the small carton of milk.

No, there was no companion about to arrive, for next he added sugar to both cups of tea and made light work of the first.

And still Freya tried not to notice.

A domestic came round with a trolley and started to pick up the collection of cereal boxes, as well as the mess that the previous occupants had left in their wake.

‘Done?’ she asked Freya as she reached for her plate.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and then blinked as the porter—Len—actually spoke.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Sorry?’ Freya asked as he pointed to her plate.

‘You’re not going to eat those?’ he asked, pointing to the open cheese and crackers that Freya hadn’t touched.

‘No.’

‘Do you mind if I have them?’

‘Go ahead,’ Freya agreed—because, really, what else could she do?

‘Ta very much,’ Len said, and took out a piece of kitchen paper from his pocket and wrapped the cheese and biscuits in them.

The domestic didn’t seem in the least perturbed by this odd exchange, and cleared up the boxes and plates. Then as she wheeled her trolley off, The Man Who Liked His Breakfast Cereal, spoke.

‘Here you go, Len.’ He pushed a granola bar across the table to him.

‘Cheers!’ Len pocketed his bounty as he stood up and then walked out of the canteen.

Goodness, Freya thought, people here were so odd. She simply couldn’t imagine asking a complete stranger for the leftover food on their plate.

But then that deep, snooty voice spoke again and attempted to clarify things a little.

‘He only talks to the animals.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Len,’ he explained. ‘He’s miserable around people, but he visits an animal shelter in his free time and he’s always after treats for them.’

‘Oh!’ Freya let out a little laugh.

‘You’re new,’ he said, glancing at her lanyard.

He had realised she was staff, but was quite certain he would have noticed her before if she wasn’t new.

She wore a dark shift dress that accentuated her pale bare arms, and her black curly hair was loose and down to her shoulders. From the little he had heard, he guessed she was far from home.

‘I’m here for my orientation day,’ Freya said.

He grimaced. ‘I’ve done a few of those in my time. The fire lecture, the union rep...’

‘We haven’t had a fire lecture yet,’ Freya said. ‘That’s this afternoon. I think it’s a film, followed by a demonstration.’

‘Fun,’ he drawled as he rolled his eyes. ‘Mind you, I did have a patient who tried to set fire to the ward once...’

She waited for more, but he’d gone back to his cereal.

‘Breakfast?’ Freya asked.

‘And lunch.’ He moved on to his second mug of tea. ‘Are you new to London as well as the hospital?’

Freya nodded. ‘I got here last week.’

‘I worked in Glasgow for a while.’

‘For how long?’

‘A year. I couldn’t understand a word anybody said. “Pardon” became my most-used word.’

‘I’m having the same problem—although in reverse,’ Freya admitted. ‘I have to keep repeating myself.’

‘I can understand you.’

‘Then you’re the first.’

‘You’re not from Glasgow, though?’

She was far too soft spoken for that, he thought. But not soft. He had liked the edge to her tone when he’d asked if the seat was taken. Richard loved the challenge of a sullen woman.

‘No, I’m from Cromayr Bay.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Fife,’ Freya said. ‘Overlooking the Firth.’

‘Never heard of it,’ he said again.

But this time he smiled just a smidge and she couldn’t tell if he was teasing.

‘How are you finding London?’

‘It’s early days.’ Freya gave a small shrug.

‘Ah, after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’

It was then that she noticed his eyes—or rather, it was then that she properly noticed them.

In his good-looking face there were several stand-outs. If she’d been describing him to Alison, his sculpted cheekbones and attractive full mouth were two features she might easily have named, and that his hazel eyes were just so much more than hazel. They were the colour of burnt amber, with a smatter of golden flecks, and they made Freya feel as if she were gazing upon an open fire.

Or was that more from the way he absolutely held her gaze as she replayed his words in her mind?

‘Ah, but after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’

Those words had sounded like an invitation.

As Freya held their eye contact steady, she wasn’t quite sure how, but he made her his sole focus.

And he was hers.

Gone was the canteen, and gone too was the noise.

But then he spoke, and Freya found herself blinking at the intrusion of words.

‘So, where will you be working?

‘Maternity. I’m a midwife. The name’s Freya,’ she added, and she was not just being polite. His stethoscope was hanging over his lanyard and she wanted to know his name and just who this delectable stranger was.

She would have to wait to find out, though. His pager was trilling. As he looked at it he scooped the last of his cereal into his mouth and then gulped down the remaining tea as he stood.

‘I expect you to be fully versed in the operating of a fire extinguisher the next time we meet.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Freya said, but he had already gone, his large frame moving swiftly through the tables as people made way to let him past.

She watched.

And not idly.

The overhead chimes started then, and Freya heard that the Cardiac Arrest Team was needed in Casualty.

Through the glass windows of the canteen Freya watched as he ran down the corridor, and then she turned her head and surveyed his empty cereal bowl and the two empty cups of tea.

Freya didn’t know his name, just that he was gorgeous. Effortlessly so. And way more gorgeous than she could handle.

She hadn’t been born yesterday. In fact, Freya’s thirtieth birthday was fast approaching. And there was something about him that told her he had learnt to flirt from the cradle. There had certainly been a tease and a flirt in his eyes when they spoke—especially with that little quip about late nights.

Well, there would be no late nights spent with him! She was far too guarded and sensible for that.

With her lunch break over, Freya headed back to the lecture theatre for the afternoon session of her orientation day. Sure enough it was the fire lecture. She watched the film and tried not to smile when they were given a demonstration on how to use the various fire extinguishers.

And even as she watched and listened Freya wanted to know more about the time her lunch companion’s patient had tried to set fire to the ward.

And she wanted to know his name.

Fully versed in the fire policy at the Primary, as well as in the various codes used for emergencies of different natures, and how to report safety hazards, Freya found that it was time for coffee—and, she guessed, another fifteen minutes of standing alone.

‘There’s a lot to take in, isn’t there?’ said Rita, the woman who had earlier been sitting next to her.

‘There is,’ Freya agreed. ‘Where will you be working?’

‘I used to be a domestic on Maternity. I’m hoping they’ll send me back there, but I haven’t been told where I’m going yet. You?’

‘I’m a midwife, so I’m certainly hoping that they’ll be sending me there!’ Freya joked.

‘Pardon?’

‘Maternity,’ Freya said instead.

‘Well, I hope to see you there.’

They headed back for their final lectures about the pay office and superannuation. Rita took furtive notes and Freya did her level best not to tune out completely.

Finally orientation day was concluded, and the fifty or so new Primary Hospital workers all headed for home.

Freya followed the red line, and sure enough was soon approaching Casualty.

And there he was.

The man who had understood her when she spoke.

He must be hungry again, Freya thought, watching him feed coins into a vending machine.

Gosh, he really was good-looking—and just so tall and broad. Even side-on there was a presence to him. She wondered if she could come up with a witty line about fire extinguishers in the few seconds she’d have before their paths crossed again.

Except she didn’t come up with any witty lines, and neither was one needed—because he collected a bottle of water and a bar of chocolate and headed back into Casualty without noticing her at all.

Freya headed towards the Underground, as did seemingly fifty million other people, and stood squashed between them for the four stops to her flat. And surely those same fifty million people were getting off at the same stop, for they all seemed to be herding towards the escalator with her.

She thought of her little purple car at home. The one that would never have survived the motorway—which was the reason her father had driven her here. And she thought of the short drive from the hospital to her home and the gorgeous view that awaited her there.

‘Cheer up love!’ called out a man working at a flower stall. ‘It might never happen.’

Freya jolted as she realised he was calling out to her.

She walked into her dingy flat and let out a sigh.

The place looked no better for her efforts over the past four days. She had washed down the walls, but really they needed several coats of paint. The curtains she had washed had shrunk, Freya had realised when she’d put them back, and now they didn’t properly close, falling a foot short of the floor. And there was an awful picture of a horse and cart that had to come down!

Tomorrow, Freya decided. When she would also get a rug to cover the mustard-coloured carpet, she thought as she headed into the kitchen.

It was even worse than her kitchen at Cromayr Bay.

But it wasn’t just the flat that was upsetting her. Apart from that gorgeous guy at lunchtime she had barely spoken to a soul since she’d arrived here.

It would be better soon, Freya told herself. Once she got to the maternity unit she would start to make friends.

Wouldn’t she?

She was starting to think the flower seller had picked up on her mood correctly. ‘It’ had indeed happened.

Moving here, Freya was sure, had been a mistake.

CHAPTER TWO

‘FIONA, CAN YOU go to Labour and Delivery? I mean Freya.’

Freya nodded. She was getting rather used to being called the wrong name by Stella, the associate unit manager.

‘Sure.’

‘And can you buddy with Kelly?’

Freya had been working there for a fortnight now, and today she was to go to the labour and delivery unit. ‘Buddying’ meant that she and Kelly would check each other’s CTG readings to ensure that two sets of skilled eyes overlooked the tracings. Even after two weeks it was no less daunting than it had been on her first day.

She had spent the first week in the antenatal clinic and the past few days on the maternity ward, and now she was on her second day in L&D.

There were so many staff, and each day there seemed to be new faces. Freya had really clicked with one midwife yesterday, but as it had turned out she’d just been doing an agency shift, so Freya had no idea if she would see her again.

Everyone was so busy, and though they were all professional and nice, there just wasn’t the same vibe from her colleagues that Freya was used to.

As she walked to L&D Freya rolled over the top of her trousers as they were way too loose. Her uniform consisted of dark blue trousers and a pale blue top and it was less than flattering. She couldn’t care less, but the sizing must be off because it hung off her. Although she had lost a bit of weight since she’d arrived, due to the constant busy pace and the lack of time to do a proper shop.

As she pressed the green button and the doors to L&D parted she saw a woman pushing an IV, walking the corridor with her support person. Freya gave them a smile.

She checked the board and saw that Dr Mina was the obstetrician in charge today. In the short while she had been at the Primary, Freya had worked with her several times, and found her incredibly efficient as well as a calming presence to the patients.

The hand-over was in depth, so that everyone was well-versed on all the patients—both those present now and those expected to arrive over the course of the shift.

‘Freya, can you take over from Angela in D5?’ asked Pat, the midwife in charge of L&D today. ‘She’s awaiting an epidural, but finding an anaesthetist this morning is proving a rather hard ask.’

‘Has the second-on been paged?’ Freya asked, and that earnt her a wry smile from her colleague.

‘Everyone’s been paged, but there’s been a five-car pile-up on the M25 and there was already a dissecting triple A being rushed to Theatre, along with a collapse on the paediatric ward. Then we had to call the Crash Caesarean Team out half an hour ago. Right now Anaesthetics are snowed under, and it’s a case of if a patient’s screaming then at least they’re breathing.’

Freya took a breath of her own. That patient-load sounded like a full week’s work in Cromayr Bay at the height of summer, but it was just another morning at the Primary.

Or not. Because then Pat explained that it had been an exceptionally busy night in Casualty too.

‘Just remind Kathy in D5 that she hasn’t been forgotten. Her husband, Ben, is getting upset.’

Freya checked her patient’s details and then went into the delivery suite. The lights were low and the suite was dim, and Kathy was kneeling up and holding on to the head of the delivery bed as Angela pressed a hot pack into her back.

‘Hi, there,’ Freya said as she approached. ‘I’m Freya. I’m—’

‘Are you an anaesthetist?’ Kathy’s husband snapped.

‘No, I’m a midwife,’

‘Not good enough! My wife has been waiting for two hours for an epidural.’

‘Please, Ben,’ Kathy implored, but then her face screwed up and she leant on her forearm as a contraction came.

Angela helped her through it as Freya checked all the equipment. Angela brought her up to speed with Kathy’s progress, but then gestured with her head to the door. Freya followed her out.

‘The husband is getting really tense and it’s upsetting Kathy,’ Angela said.

‘I can see that.’ Freya nodded.

‘He’s a great guy—he’s just terrified. But Kathy has still got a good way to go. I’ve called down to Casualty but two of their patients are currently being transferred to ICU, so they’re very tied up. The anaesthetist in our theatre is aware, though he’s probably half an hour or so away.’

‘Okay...’

‘You could try calling Switch and asking—’

‘No need.’

A voice she recognised, though she hadn’t heard it since her orientation day, caused Freya to turn around.

‘Oh, Richard!’ Angela sighed in relief. ‘Am I pleased to see you.’

‘Not as pleased as your patients will be. What room?’

‘D5 is first,’ Angela said. ‘It’s all set up for you.’

‘Thanks, Angela,’ he said. ‘Freya.’

She gave him a smile. ‘Richard.’

Finally she knew his name.

And, more than that, he was still stunning.

He had been wearing scrubs when they’d met, but this morning he wore a dark suit and a crisp white shirt with a silver-grey tie. His straight hair was damp, and rather more in need of a cut than the last time she’d seen him, and he was unshaven.

In seconds she took in every delicious detail, and the last few didn’t quite fit. He was so well turned out that the unshaven jaw stood out for Freya.

Instead of heading to the suite, he took the patient’s notes and walked over to the desk. The sharp, fresh scent of his cologne lingered. Freya saw him removing his jacket as she followed Angela back into D5.

‘Good news,’ Angela said. ‘The anaesthetist is here.’

‘Well, where is he, then?’ Ben demanded.

‘Dr Lewis is just reading up on the notes.’ Angela gave Kathy a lovely smile. ‘I shall leave you in Freya’s hands. You’ve been amazing, Kathy.’

Kathy nodded and tried to say goodbye, but was overwhelmed by another contraction. Freya took over, rubbing Kathy’s back and trying to establish a rapid bond with the woman, and also with her husband.

‘Would you like to come and rub her back?’ Freya suggested, but Ben stood against the wall and gave a tense shake of his head.

Yes, it was all terribly different from anything she was used to. Usually Freya would have seen her patients at antenatal clinic, and often their partners too.

‘Well done, Kathy,’ Freya said as the contraction faded. Knowing that the anaesthetist was here, Freya suggested that Kathy empty her bladder and walked with her, pushing the IV pole, to the en suite bathroom attached to the delivery room.

‘He’s nervous,’ Kathy said, explaining Ben’s behaviour.

‘Of course he is,’ Freya said. ‘It’s hard work for the women but it’s hell on the men.’

That made Kathy laugh a little.

Freya waited outside, and when Kathy came out after washing her hands, she asked Freya a question. ‘Do you have children?’

‘No.’ Freya said. ‘I’ve got nieces and nephews, and my best friend’s expecting, but I’d definitely like my own someday.’

She was actually enjoying getting to know the women here, and opening up to people who didn’t know her at all, Freya realised. At home, had she said that, it would have been all around town that she and Malcolm were trying for a baby.

‘We tried for ages...’ Kathy sighed. ‘I thought it would never happen.’

‘Well, it clearly is.’

‘Thanks, Freya,’ Kathy said as Freya pushed the IV pole. But as they got to the door she paused. ‘Please...’ she said. ‘Don’t mind Ben. His bark is far worse than his bite.’

‘I know that. You’ll be feeling a lot more comfortable soon, and I’m sure he will too.’

She was just helping Kathy back onto the delivery bed when the door opened and she saw the beautiful man she now knew was called Richard come in.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Ben said by way of greeting.

‘I’m Dr Lewis,’ he responded. ‘Consultant anaesthetist.’ Then he smiled at his patient. ‘Hello, Mrs Hudson.’

But Ben wasn’t finished yet. ‘She was booked to have an epidural hours ago, but she’s been left screaming in pain.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Hudson, and I agree that it’s unfortunate, but I’m here now.’

‘It’s more than unfortunate, it’s not good enough,’ he retorted.

‘Ben, please...’ Kathy pleaded, but her husband still wasn’t done.

‘Where were you?’

‘Actually,’ Richard said as he rolled up his sleeves, ‘I was in bed when I was called to see if I could come in. I’m not supposed to be here until eight.’

It was only just after seven. And Freya understood now why he hadn’t shaved.

‘Now...’ He looked over to his patient as he tied on a plastic apron. ‘Would you prefer me to call you Mrs Hudson or Kathy?’

‘Kathy.’

‘Well, Kathy, we’ll have you feeling a lot more comfortable soon.’

He was very meticulous. As Freya helped Kathy to sit on the edge of the bed for the procedure Richard Lewis went through all that had been set up. He made no small talk as he checked and rechecked everything.

‘Right,’ he said, as if to himself, and then he addressed Kathy. ‘You’re going to feel a sting from the local anaesthetic and then a bit of pressure. I’ll need you to stay as still as you can—do you understand that?’

‘I do—but what if I get a contraction.’

‘It’s fine. I’m used to them. I’ll work around it.’

He went through everything that she could expect to feel, and as the next contraction came he put on gloves, waiting for the pain to diminish before the procedure commenced.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said suddenly.

‘It’s fine,’ Richard responded. ‘It’s awful to see someone you love in pain. However, by all accounts your partner has been doing marvellously. Let’s try and make this last bit a whole lot easier for her, shall we?’

Whoa! Freya thought as she held on to Kathy. He had somehow accepted the apology while reminding the husband just who this day was about.

‘Why don’t you come this side?’ Freya suggested to Ben. She knew he was really just terribly anxious. ‘You can hold Kathy’s hand.’

This time he didn’t shake his head and came and took his wife’s hand.

Richard worked quietly and soon the epidural was in. Kathy lay back on the delivery bed.

‘You’ll need to stay in bed now,’ Richard reminded her as he disposed of his sharps and then removed his gloves. ‘Thank you, Freya. Can I leave my mess to you? I believe I’m wanted in D3.’

‘Sure.’

Freya checked Kathy’s obs, and those of the baby, and by the time she had tidied up Kathy was indeed starting to feel the benefits of the epidural.

‘You should try and get a little rest now,’ Freya suggested. ‘I’ll be in and out, and there’s the call bell if you have any concerns at all.’

‘Freya!’

Her name was called the second she stepped out of the room. ‘Can you go and take the baby in D7?’

Freya nodded and headed to delivery suite number seven. ‘Taking’ a baby was wonderful indeed. It combined all the joy with barely a hint of the pain.

Stepping in to the delivery suite, she found the atmosphere was lovely and peaceful. Kelly, one of the other midwives was there, along with the soon-to-be father, who had his arms wrapped around his wife’s shoulders.

In fact Kelly was so calm that even when she told Freya that Dr Mina and the anaesthetist had been paged she did it in such an open way that there was no jolt of alarm from the mother.

‘The baby is small for the dates and the head is smaller than expected,’ she said, and Freya checked all the equipment was ready.

Despite the unexpectedly small head, everything seemed to be under control.

‘Try not to push, Sita,’ Kelly said. ‘Just pant.’

‘Okay,’ Sita said, and fought against the urge.

‘Good girl,’ said Kelly. Her focus was totally on the delivery, and she didn’t look over when the door opened.

‘Hello, there,’ Richard said quietly, and Kelly calmly told him the reason for him being paged.

‘Thirty-seven weeks and small for dates,’ Kelly explained.

The room was getting crowded. Stella had come in after Richard, followed by Dr Mina just as the head was delivered. And now there was Guy Masters, the paediatrician on call, whom Freya had already met.

‘Well done, Sita,’ Dr Mina said. ‘Just breathe and do as Kelly says. Dr Masters is a paediatrician and he’s here to check your baby.’

The head really was tiny, and Freya found she was holding her breath as the body slithered out. But even as she accepted him he started to cry. His huge eyes were blinking at the light and his little face was wrinkled.

He was utterly gorgeous, Freya thought as she held this tiny piece of the future in her hands. Tiny, but perfect. And as she rubbed him down Guy was already examining him.

‘One that is better out than in,’ Guy said.

The baby had clearly not been getting sufficient nutrition in-utero, but he was angry and defiant and utterly perfect.

‘I don’t think we need you, Richard,’ he said as loud cries pierced the room and the baby pinked up beautifully.

‘Not with those lungs,’ Richard agreed. And it was just as well he wasn’t needed because his pager was going off.

He left unnoticed by all, Freya thought. All except her.

‘I think he’s ready to meet his mum,’ Guy said, and Freya popped a little hat on the baby to keep him warm, wrapped him, then carried him over to his waiting parents.

She smiled as she watched a family being born. Freya loved delivering babies, but taking them was special too. They always tried to deliver them straight to the mother, but sometimes, as with this unexpected small size, the baby needed a proper examination. Apart from his size this one was doing just fine. Another perfect new life.

* * *

The day seemed to be running away from her. Busy, a bit crazy, and after her hectic morning she could only take a coffee break on the run at the desk.

There, Dr Mina was speaking with Richard and Kelly was chatting with Stella about a film they were going to see at the weekend.

‘It’s supposed to be really good,’ Freya commented, subtly fishing to be asked to go with them, but Kelly just nodded her head.

Freya took her lunch in the staff room, and just as she returned she was told that Kathy was ready to push.

When she got to the delivery room Ben was white with fear and Freya gave him a smile.

‘I thought you’d gone home,’ Ben said.

‘And miss out on this?’ Freya asked.

Ben proved to be a champion when it came to coaxing Kathy to push. It was clearly an excellent epidural, because she could feel the sensation and some pressure but had no pain.

‘Another big push,’ Freya encouraged. ‘Come on—a really big one, right down into your bottom.’

This time it was Kelly who arrived to take the baby and soon Freya delivered a chunky baby boy. He was gorgeous, and there were tears from both Ben and Kathy as he lay on her stomach, blinking at the world.

‘Are you going to cut the cord, Dad?’ Kelly asked, and Ben came over with tears in his eyes to have that special moment with his son.

Baby Hudson didn’t have a name yet, but by the time Freya was ready for home he’d had his first feed and Kathy had had a well-earned cup of tea.

It hadn’t been a particularly busy day, or so Freya had been told, and yet she was exhausted.

The high of Baby Hudson’s birth lasted right through the Tube journey, but faded as she began the walk for home.

Freya had never been surrounded by more people, and yet she had never felt more alone.

There was a social club at the hospital, but she was hardly going to walk in on her own, and making friends was proving a lot more difficult than she had anticipated.

However, later, rather than sit alone with her noodles, Freya reminded herself that she did indeed have friends and called Alison.

‘How are things?’ Alison asked.

‘Busy,’ Freya said. ‘Well, work is—the social life, not so much.’

‘But you’re in London!’ Alison said.

‘I know...’ Freya sighed, because Alison’s observation just made it worse. ‘I am trying,’ she admitted. ‘I sort of hinted to a couple of girls at work that there was a film I’d like to see, but I felt like a bent coin in a vending machine.’

‘Rejected?’ Alison laughed.

‘Exactly.’

‘Keep at it. Just say yes to anything you’re invited to.’

‘I’ll have to be invited somewhere first.’

‘You will be.’

‘How are you?’ Freya asked. She felt her throat clamp tight, but she swallowed and pushed through, trying to keep her voice casual and light. ‘How’s the baby.’

‘All good. I’m fifteen weeks now, and I swear I’ve got a bump, although Callum says it’s too early.’

Freya hesitated, because women sometimes showed more quickly with a second pregnancy, but she couldn’t gauge whether or not that was the right thing to say to Alison now.

Freya dealt with pregnant woman every working day, and she dealt with loss too. And, what was more, she prided herself on dealing with it well. Yet when it came to her friend she felt like an absolute novice, and simply didn’t know how to be around the subject of Alison’s pregnancy.

Freya was terrified she might break down, and Alison didn’t need that. Of course they had both cried together in the days following Andrew’s birth, and then his death, but right now Freya was sure it was time to be strong.

‘When’s your ultrasound?’ Freya asked.

‘In two weeks’ time. I’ll believe it’s really happening once I’ve heard its little heart.’

Alison’s voice broke then, and Freya closed her eyes when she heard it. ‘It will be okay,’ she offered.

‘You don’t know that, Freya,’ Alison snapped.

‘I know, but...’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Sorry,’ Alison said.

‘Don’t be.’

And then Freya turned on her midwife voice and said all the right things, just as she would to a patient.

But Alison was her best friend. It was awkward and it was difficult and things were different between them.

There was no escaping that.

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