It had been the most romantic thing she’d ever experienced. For a while, all of Michael’s romantic gestures had deluded her into thinking she was worthy of love after all. When the cracks started appearing, the more she worked to shore them up, the worse things had got. His parting words still haunted her. You’re too hard to love, Claire.
Her alarm had chosen that moment to shrill, pulling her thoughts sharply and blessedly away from the past and dragging them firmly into the present. She’d run to the shower and left the flat half an hour later, walking directly to Tony’s in the ubiquitous London mist.
The barista handed her the usual half dozen coffees pressed snugly into their cardboard carrier along with one extra. ‘What’s this?’ she asked as her left hand wrapped around the single cup.
‘A proper latte, doctore.’
‘But, Tony, I wanted decaf.’
He tapped the cup with a D scrawled on it. ‘Is here. But you drink it and I know you wish you get your usual.’
‘Thanks.’ He wasn’t to know that if she were any more wired she’d shatter. She handed over some pound notes but he waved them away. ‘The doctors at the castle, they fix my Serena when she born with her bad foot. Sick bambinos need the hospital. I happy to help.’
‘That’s very generous of you. I know the protestors on the night shift appreciate your coffee.’
She heard the gentle clearing of a throat behind her—the British equivalent of Hurry up.
‘Bye, Tony.’
‘Ciao, bella. You have a good day, yes.’
A good day. Oh, yeah. It was going to be one for the ages. More than anything she wanted a time machine so she could return to last night and change everything that had happened, starting with preventing little Ryan Walker from having a large brain bleed. At least the gods were on her side today in as much as it wasn’t an operating day. The thought of having to stand next to Alistair—Mr North, Mr North, Mr North.
You’re kidding yourself if you think using his title is going to give you any protection.
It’s all I’ve got.
That and hiding from him as much as possible. Only she knew hiding was a pipe dream. The whole point of her scholarship was to work hand in glove with the man and learn as much from him as she possibly could. Last night, she’d left the hospital the moment the difficult interview with the Walkers was concluded. In fact, she’d been the first one to leave, with a brisk goodnight to her consultant in front of the distraught parents, blocking any chance of him saying anything to her about the kiss.
The only reprieve she had today was that straight after rounds he was working from home, preparing his paper for the neurosurgery symposium.
Yesterday morning when she’d read that entry in the electronic diary, she’d rolled her eyes. In not unexpected fashion, he’d left it pretty much to the last minute to get it done. If she’d been presenting a paper, she’d have had it fully edited, bound and memorised a week ahead of time because medicine had a habit of throwing curve balls. All it took was a couple of emergencies or some staff illness to throw out a timeline. She always padded her deadlines with a lot of wriggle room, as much to allow for her own set of learning challenges as well as for external ones.
Today, however, there was no eye rolling at Alis—Mr North’s laid-back procrastination, only unbridled relief. It meant the only time she had to see him today was at the ICU and Koala Ward rounds. Given they’d be surrounded by staff and students and their focus would be on patient care, how hard could that be? He was hardly going to say anything to her about last night in front of everyone and she sure as hell wasn’t going to mention it. Not now. Not ever. In regards to last night, her plan was to pretend and subsequently believe that it had never happened. She could only hope that Mr North felt the same.
Lost so deeply in her thoughts, she was surprised to find she’d arrived at the hospital. As she distributed the coffees, she made sure to mention to everyone they were a donation from Tony’s Trattoria. Chatting with the protesters and learning more and more stories about the legacy of the castle was fast becoming a favourite part of her day and she listened with delighted fascination. A woman was telling a tale about her grandfather who’d been a surgeon during the Second World War. Claire was so busy listening to how he’d risked his own life to save others by operating in the basement of the hospital during the Blitz that she lost all sense of time.
Hearing someone’s watch chime the hour, she gasped. Late! She hurriedly excused herself, ran through the gates, pelted up the D wing stairs, flung herself through the door and arrived on Koala Ward a panting and gasping mess.
Andrew Bailey gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘You okay?’
She was desperately short of breath but she dug deep and summoned up a husky ‘Fine’ as she tried to fill her lungs with air. At the same time, she worked on quelling the rising tide of frantic dread that threatened to swamp her like a massive wave at Coogee. Being a few minutes late for rounds with a consultant who considered ten minutes after the hour as being ‘on time’ wasn’t an issue. Being twenty minutes later than her usual arrival time was a disaster. It meant she had no time to read and memorise the overnight reports. It meant she’d be flying blind during rounds.
Panicked, she rounded on her house officer. ‘Have you read the reports?’
‘Was I supposed to?’ Andrew asked, half bemused and half confused. ‘I thought that was the point of rounds.’
Still trying to catch her breath, she huffed loudly and caught the injured look in her generally congenial junior’s eyes. He was absolutely correct—for most people that was the case. ‘True, but it never hurts to be ahead of the game and impress the consultant.’
A grin broke across his round face. ‘Is that why you’re here early most days?’
She dodged the truth with the skill of a secret keeper. ‘Something like that.’
The rumble of many feet against the linoleum floor made her turn. Alistair North was striding along the corridor with the nurse unit manager and the nursing and medical students hurrying along behind.
Claire pressed her glasses up her nose and blinked. Alistair North didn’t ever wear a white coat but he generally wore one of what she’d come to realise was a selection of fine wool Italian suits. Generally, he started the day in a jacket and tie, although the ties were never serious. They were almost always prints of animated characters from kids’ TV shows, which the little patients loved. Claire’s favourite ties were from a fundraising range sold by the castle’s auxiliary. Some clever clogs had come up with the idea of printing the children’s drawings of doctors, nurses and auxiliary staff onto silk. She particularly liked the one of a doctor wearing a head torch and a big smile.
Just admit it. You like that one because it’s Alistair.
Not if my life depended on it.
By late afternoon most days, he was seen on the ward in scrubs, or if it was a non-operating day, he’d have discarded the jacket and tie. An open-necked business shirt was as casual as she’d ever seen him, but today there was no sign of a suit, nor smart casual weekend wear or even jeans. He was striding towards them wearing a T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest and perfectly outlined the rise and fall of his pectoral muscles. The shirt read Epilepsy Warrior Run. Her gaze instinctively dropped.
Damn. No compression tights.
Shut up! She hated the zip of disappointment that wove through her that the rest of his body wasn’t delineated in fine detail by tight fabric. His running shorts, however, only came to mid-thigh, giving her plenty of opportunity to admire his taut quads.
Look up, look up, look up.
‘Morning, Mitchell. Bailey,’ he said with his usual nod of greeting. ‘Missed the two of you at boot camp this morning.’
‘Boot