The Consultant's Italian Knight. Maggie Kingsley

Mario observed as Paul hurried away in answer to his bleeper. ‘I don’t like him, either.’

      Professional courtesy told her she should immediately spring to her specialist registrar’s defence, but she was all out of courtesy today.

      ‘He’s a complete prat,’ she said, and Mario laughed.

      ‘Good luck with the D and D.’ His smile widened as he saw her confusion. ‘In my med days, M and M conferences were also known as death and doughnut affairs if they laid on refreshments.’

      She let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘I must remember that.’

      ‘See that you do, and don’t let the top brass grind you down.’ He held out his hand. ‘I might see you again, Kate Kennedy, and I might not. If I don’t, it’s been nice meeting you. ’

      It had certainly been different, she thought, as she shook his hand then dropped it quickly when she felt a warm tingle of sensation race up her arm, but it was better if she never saw him

      again. Her work was exhausting enough without added complications, and if Mario Volante was married then he was strictly off limits as far as she was concerned.

      And if he’s single? her mind whispered as she watched him walk away.

      He was still most definitely off limits, she told herself firmly.

      ‘Have those bozos in Admin ever tried to save the life of a body-packer?’ Terri asked, incensed, when Kate returned from her conference, stressed out and exhausted. ‘Do they have any idea of the complications, the difficulties—’

      ‘They play it as they see it, Terri,’ Kate interrupted wearily, ‘so let’s just forget it, OK?’

      And the sister said no more, but throughout the rest of their long and tiring shift Kate heard her muttering under her breath.

      She wanted to mutter, too, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Duncan Hamilton had died whilst under her care and, though nobody in Admin had come right out and said it, she knew there was always going to be the underlying implication that he might have lived if somebody else had been treating him.

      ‘Would you like a lift home?’ Terri asked when their shift finally ended.

      ‘Thanks, but I’d prefer to walk,’ Kate replied. ‘It might clear my head.’

      ‘You’re sure?’ Terri said uncertainly, and Kate forced a chirpy smile to her face.

      ‘Of course I’m sure. It’s a lovely evening, and I could do with some fresh air.’

      She could, too, Kate thought, as she hitched her shoulder bag onto her shoulder, and left the hospital. It had been a long day, and an extremely tiring one. The kind of day when she wondered if it was worth it. The endless paperwork, the drunken abusive patients who almost never died, whereas the nice people, the kind people, all too often did. And then she remembered the little girl she had treated this afternoon. Her mother had been so certain her daughter had meningitis, and the look of relief and gratitude on her face when Kate had been able to tell her that the rash was simply an allergy had been worth more than winning the lottery.

      It was all worth it, she decided, breathing in deeply and savouring the late evening sunshine as she stepped off the pavement to get past the scaffolding that had been erected round the Edwardian building on the corner of the street. Everyone had days when they wondered whether they’d made the correct career choice. Everyone had moments when they wondered whether this was all there was to life. OK, so maybe today she’d had a bad day, but every job had its bad days.

      Though maybe not quite as unremittingly awful as this one was turning out to be, she thought, as she felt someone’s hands slam into her back and the next thing she knew she was lying face down in the road.

      Mugger, was her first thought, but, as she turned, ready to hit out with her feet and fists at her assailant, she saw to her amazement that Mario Volante was kneeling on the ground behind her, covered in dust, and the shattered remnants of a baluster were lying in the road not six feet from where she’d been standing.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he said, getting to his feet quickly. ‘Did any of that masonry hit you?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she gasped. ‘Bit winded, that’s all.’ She squinted up at the building from which the baluster had fallen. ‘No wonder they’ve got all that scaffolding up. That place is literally falling to bits.’

      ‘Kate—’

      ‘Oh, hell, would you look at my skirt?’ she continued in dismay as she got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I’ll never be able to mend it, and I only bought it six—’

      ‘Forget about your skirt,’ he interrupted. ‘Did you notice anybody hanging about before the baluster fell?’

      ‘Did I notice…?’ Her mouth fell open. ‘You think somebody deliberately pushed that baluster, don’t you? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mario. The building is simply unsafe, and I was unlucky enough to be walking past it when a bit fell off.’

      ‘Maybe. ’

      ‘Are all policemen this suspicious?’ she demanded. ‘Or are you just especially paranoid?’

      ‘Kate—’

      ‘And what are you doing here, anyway?’ she continued, her eyes suddenly narrowing. ‘Are you following me?’

      ‘Of course I’m not following you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I just happened to be conducting an enquiry across the street, and came out of the house as the baluster began to fall. Come on, my car’s over there. I’ll drive you home.’

      He had already caught hold of her arm, clearly taking her agreement for granted, and she shook herself free with annoyance.

      ‘I don’t need—or want—you to drive me home,’ she replied. ‘My flat’s just three blocks away, and I’m perfectly capable of walking there.’

      ‘I’m sure you are but Union Grove is not three blocks away, and I’m driving you home.’

      ‘Don’t you ever take no for an answer?’ she protested, irritated beyond measure by his implacable expression. ‘I am fine—OK?—and I want to walk home, so why don’t you just go away and get on with your police work?’

      ‘Because I’m fresh out of little old ladies to harass and now I’m targeting a younger age group. Kate, are you going to come quietly,’ he continued, as she glared up at him, ‘or am I going to have to cuff you?’

      Would he? She couldn’t be one hundred per cent certain that he wouldn’t, and with ill-disguised bad grace, she hitched her shoulder bag back up onto her shoulder and strode across the road to the dusty, nondescript Volkswagen that was sitting there.

      ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, yanking open the passenger door and clambering in. ‘Haven’t you got a wife, or significant other, to go home to?’

      ‘My wife divorced me four years ago, and there is no significant other in my life.’

      ‘I…I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly, ‘about your wife, I mean.’

      ‘I loved my work, my wife didn’t,’ he replied as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her. ‘End of story. Want to talk about why your marriage failed?’

      ‘No. ’

      ‘Fair enough,’ he replied. ‘He’s a doctor at the General, isn’t he, but his speciality is Orthopaedics rather than A and E.’

      ‘How did you…? Oh, of course,’ she continued tightly. ‘You have all my information on file, don’t you, right down to the size of shoes I take, and the make of my underwear.’

      ‘We only carry detailed dossiers of known and suspected drug dealers,’ he observed, then his eyes glinted. ‘But if you’d like to tell me the make of your underwear—purely for our file, of course…’

      ‘No,