‘ODDS ON IT’LL be the Pattersons. She was telling me the other day that she missed out on winning it a couple of years ago, so she’s going to cross her legs until the twenty-fifth. No hot curries, or hot baths and definitely no hot sex for her.’
You and me both, girlfriend. Obstetrician Isabel Delamere tried to remember the last time she’d had anything like hot sex and came up with a blank. It was all by design, of course … working in a maternity unit was enough reminder of what hot sex could lead to—that and her own experiences. But every now and then she wondered … what the hell was she missing out on?
Plus, how could she possibly be lonely when she spent all of her waking hours surrounded by colleagues, clients and lots and lots of wriggling, screaming, gorgeous babies?
Sighing, she wrote Patterson down on the First Baby of Christmas sweepstake form and added her five-pound note to the pot. ‘If mum has her way there’s no way that baby’s coming until Christmas Day. She’s set her heart on the hamper, and between you and me they don’t have a lot of money. I think she needs it.’
‘I admire your optimism …’ Bonnie Reid, one of Isabel’s favourite midwives—and new friend—at the Cambridge Royal Maternity Unit, added her contribution of a large box of chocolates and a bumper pack of newborn nappies to the crate of donations that threatened to overshadow the huge department Christmas tree and wooden Nativity scene. With a heavy bias on baby items, some gorgeous hand-knitted booties and shawls, and heaps of food staples, whoever won would be set up for the next year. ‘But when I saw her yesterday that baby was fully engaged and she was having pretty regular Braxton Hicks contractions, so my bet is that baby Patterson will make a show well before Christmas Day.’ Bonnie stepped back and surveyed the decorations, her lilting Scottish accent infused with wistfulness. ‘Oh, I do love Christmas.’
Me too. Isabel dug deep and found a smile. Well, in reality, she loved being with her sister at Christmas; they shared a very special bond. This last year here in the UK had been the longest they’d spent apart, and the prospect of Isla doing all the traditional celebrations without her bit deep. Especially … she sighed to herself … especially when Christmas had always been so full of memories.
Isabel slammed back the sadness and tried to immerse herself in the here and now rather than thinking of her sister back in Melbourne on the other side of the world, all ripe and ready to have her first baby. She wondered whether the Melbourne Maternity Unit was taking similar bets. Maybe Isla would win the Aussie sweepstake? Now that would give the rest of the department something to giggle about: the head midwife winning with a Christmas Day baby! ‘So, go on, then, who will it be?’
‘Who will what be?’ A deep male voice, redolent with her beloved Aussie tones. The sound of home.
The sound of heartbreak.
Isabel inhaled sharply.
Sean.
And even if the man had been mute she’d have known he was behind her simply because of the full-on reaction her body had any time he was in the vicinity. Every tiny hair stood to attention. Her heart rate escalated. Palms became sweaty. Seventeen years on and she’d managed to deal with it … when she didn’t have to face him every day. She’d almost erased him from her heart.
Almost. She’d come to the other side of the world to forget him. And she’d managed quite well for close to nine months until he’d turned up, out of the blue, and those feelings had come tumbling back. The memories … and his questions … Questions she couldn’t bear to answer.
Somewhere a phone rang. Somewhere voices, raised and harried, called to her. ‘Dr Delamere. Please. There’s been an accident …’
Oh, God. She was shaken from her reverie but her heart rate stayed too high for comfort. ‘Isla?’
‘Isla? No,’ Bonnie called over from the nurses’ station. ‘Susan Patterson. Motor vehicle accident. They’re bringing her in to ER. Heavy vaginal bleeding. Mum shocked. Foetal distress. ETA five minutes.’
‘What? No! We were just talking about her.’ Without even looking at Sean, Isabel jumped straight into doctor mode. ‘Right, Bonnie, sounds like a possible abruption. Get Theatre on alert. I’ll meet the ambulance down in the ER.’
‘I’m coming with you.’ Sean was heading towards the door.
Only when hell freezes over. ‘No. Sean, absolutely not.’
Silence.
She realised that all the eyes of the staff were on her. No one knew about their history, and for as long as there was breath in her body no one was going to. ‘I mean … thank you very much for your offer, Dr Anderson, but I’ll be fine.’
He shrugged, following her into the corridor, into more quiet. ‘I’m in a lull here. Everyone’s discharged or doing well, I don’t have a clinic until two o’clock. Are you really saying you couldn’t use an extra pair of hands? I have done this before, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She also knew what a talented and empathetic obstetrician he was, she just didn’t relish the prospect of spending any time with him. But she had to give this mum everything she had and an extra pair of confident hands would definitely help. ‘Okay. But this is my case, my theatre, my rules.’
‘Of course. If I remember rightly, it was always your rules, Isabel. Right down to the bitter end. In fact, I don’t remember having any say in that at all.’ He gave a wry lift of his eyebrow as they hurried towards the emergency room. ‘This one time I’ll abide by them. But once we’re out of there then …’
She stopped short. ‘Then, what?’
‘Then I change the rules to suit me.’
She shrugged, hoping upon hope that he couldn’t see through her recalcitrant façade to the shaking, smitten teenager she still felt like when she was around him. ‘Do what you want. It won’t affect me. At all.’ Liar. It seemed as if everything he did affected her. Just being here. Breathing. In Cambridge. Goddamn him.
Isabel threw him a look that she hoped told him where exactly to shove his rules, and strode straight in to Resus. She would deal with Sean Anderson … later … never, if she had her way. ‘Now, Susan? Crikey, love, what on earth has been happening?’ She took hold of her patient’s hand.
Mrs Patterson was lying on a trolley, tears streaming down her cheeks. Pale. Terrified. Her voice was barely audible through the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. ‘Thank God you’re here, Isabel. I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose this baby. Please. Do something.’
‘I will. I just need some details then we’ll make some decisions. And we’ll be quick, I promise.’ She’d have to be. If it was a placental abruption, as she suspected, both mum and bub were at serious risk. Outcomes weren’t always positive. And well she knew. Too well. Isabel examined Susan’s belly for the baby’s position and well-being. Then she tightened an electro foetal monitor belt over the baby bump. ‘Has anyone called Tony?’
‘I did.’ Jenny, the paramedic, filled her in on further details. ‘He’s on his way. Grandma’s looking after the toddler. They were in the car at the time of impact. Hit from behind. Susan felt a tight pull in her belly. Possibly from an ill-fitting seat belt, but there’s no visible marking or bruising on the abdomen. I have normal saline through a wide-bore IV in situ. Moderate vaginal bleeding. Blood pressure