Working at such a prestigious hospital was appealing. Everyone knew about the two-hundred-year-old hospital and one night, midway between tears and frustration, she’d applied. When they’d emailed back the next day to arrange a telephone interview she’d been surprised. And when they’d told her the next day she had the job she’d been stunned. Things had moved at a rapid pace ever since. References, occupational health forms and a formal offer telling her they wanted her to start straight away.
Thankfully, she’d had a sympathetic community manager in Scotland who knew about her circumstances and had done a little jigging to allow her to take annual leave and special leave to let her only work two weeks’ notice. The last two weeks had passed in a complete blur.
This morning had been hard. There had been tears and sniffles from Freya, a normally placid child. Bonnie held her breath. The school window remained empty; it was clear the teacher had successfully distracted her.
With a sigh of relief she glanced at her watch. Yikes. First day and she was going to be late. She hurried back to the bus stop. Getting a car was next on the ‘to do’ list. She phoned and left a message on the director of midwifery’s answerphone—hardly a good start for her first day on the job. But it couldn’t be helped. The woman knew she wasn’t arriving until last night and that her daughter was starting a new school today. She still had to hand some paperwork into HR and pick up her uniforms before she could start on the labour ward.
For once, she was in luck. The bus appeared almost immediately. Now it was daylight and she could actually see a bit of the beautiful city she’d decided to live in on almost a whim.
Well, a whim that was a result of catching her husband in bed with her best friend. She should still feel angry and hurt. But all she really felt was relief. As soon as the ink was dry on the divorce papers she’d started job hunting. She needed a fresh start and there was something so exciting about coming to a historic city like Cambridge. She watched as the Victorian-style shops and Grade II listed buildings whizzed past and allowed herself to smile a little. Cambridge was truly an atmospheric city; seeing it in daylight made her all the more excited to get a chance to see round about.
The hospital came into a view. A large, imposing building based in the heart of the bustling city. A little tremor of anticipation went down her spine. This was it. This was where she worked. As the bus drew to a halt, climbing down, she took a final glance around the city of Cambridge. Her city. Full of possibilities.
This was now home.
* * *
Jacob Layton was more than mildly irritated. He was mad—but, these days, that was nothing unusual for him.
He hated disorganisation. Hated chaos. He prided himself on the fact that his unit ran like clockwork. Any midwife or medic not up to the job at this hospital was quickly rooted out and dealt with.
It might sound harsh. But in Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit the lives of women and babies were on the line every day. He was a firm believer that all expectant mothers deserved the best possible care and it was his job to ensure they got it.
This morning, he stood at the nurses’ station with his hands on his hips as his temper bubbled just beneath the surface. There was no sign of any member of staff. None of the whiteboards were up to date—he didn’t even know which patient was in which room. Case notes were spread all over the desk with a whole variety of scribbled multicoloured sticky notes littering the normally immaculate desk.
‘Where is everyone?’ he yelled.
The frightened faces of a midwife and junior doctor appeared simultaneously from separate rooms. The midwife hurried towards him, her eyes fixed on her shoes. The junior doctor walked slowly, obviously hoping the midwife would get the brunt of Jacob’s rage this morning. He should be so lucky.
The midwife handed over a set of notes with slightly shaking hands. ‘I think this is the set of notes you wanted. I was just doing Mrs Clark’s observations. Everything seems fine.’
He snatched them from her hands and reviewed them quickly. Relief. Things were looking better for Mrs Clark. He raised his head, keeping his voice in check. ‘Good. Tell Mrs Clark I’ll be in to see her shortly.’
The midwife disappeared in a flash. The junior doctor’s legs practically did a U-turn in the corridor. He didn’t want to be left with Jacob.
‘Dr Jenkins.’
The young guy’s legs froze midstride. Jacob flung case notes onto the desk one after another. ‘Ms Bates needs her bloods done, Mrs Kelly needs her bloods repeated, where is the cardiac consult for Lucy Evans—she’s been here more than six hours—and how long ago did I ask you to arrange another ultrasound for Ms Shaw? Get it done, now!’ His voice rose as the anger he was trying to contain started to erupt. He hated incompetence. These patients were in the best maternity unit for miles. They should be receiving top-quality care.
The doctor’s face paled and he gathered up the notes in his arms. ‘Right away, Dr Layton,’ he said, practically scampering down the corridor to the nearest office.
He sighed. This place—normally his pride and joy—was becoming a disaster zone.
Ever since he’d diagnosed the ward manager with pre-eclampsia and sent her home with the instructions not to come back until she had her baby, this place had gone to pot. There were four other senior midwives. All of them excellent at clinical care—and none with an organisational bone in their body.
The director of midwifery had promised him that their new employee would be able to help with all this. But he’d just read her CV, and was struggling to see why a Scottish community midwife would be able to do anything to help a busy city labour ward.
But the thing that was really making him mad was the fact that she wasn’t here. He glanced at his watch again. First day on a new job—after nine-thirty—and the new start wasn’t here.
The doors at the bottom of the corridor swung open right on cue. Bonnie Reid. It had to be. Jacob knew everyone who worked here and he didn’t recognise her at all. Dressed in the blue scrubs that the labour ward midwives wore and bright pink trainers, she had her red hair coiled up on top of her head in a strange kind of knot. How on earth did she do that? That, coupled with the curves not hidden by the shapeless scrubs, reminded him of a poster he’d had on his wall as a teenager. He felt a smile form on his lips.
Was she nervous? Her hands fidgeted with her security pass and she seemed to make a conscious effort to slow her steps. What irritated him most of all was the fact she didn’t seem to notice him standing, waiting for her. Instead, she stopped at every room on the way along the corridor, nodding and introducing herself to the members of staff. She even disappeared for a second to obviously help with a patient.
Then, she appeared with a load of laundry, which she put into the laundry bags, reorganised two of the hand scrubs outside the doors and tidied the top of the cardiac-arrest trolley on her way past.
He waited until she’d almost reached him. ‘Bonnie Reid?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Nice of you to finally join us.’
Something flickered across her face. Her skin was pale under the bright hospital lights and he could see a few tiny freckles under her make-up. She’d looked good from a distance. Up close, she was much more interesting.
She had real knockout eyes. Dark, dark blue. Not the pale blue normally associated with a redhead. But then her hair wasn’t the average red either. It was a dark deep auburn. The kind of colour normally associated with Hollywood actresses who probably had a whole team of people to get it that colour. Almost instantly he knew that Bonnie Reid’s was entirely natural. She gave him the slightest glance from those eyes. And for the first time, in a long time, he took a deep breath.
It had been a long time since a woman had ignited something in his system. Maybe it was her dark blue eyes against her pale skin? Or the look of disdain she gave him as she walked past