The Consultant's Italian Knight. Maggie Kingsley

you.’

      ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said.

      Dio, but he shouldn’t have either, he realised, as he saw a blush creep across her cheeks. OK, so she was bright, and funny and attractive, and he did think her husband was an idiot, but what the hell was he doing here? He never paid women compliments unless he was making a play for them, and he had no intention of making a play for Kate Kennedy. In fact, he’d been more than a little relieved to discover when he got back to his office on Saturday night that she was married which meant she was strictly off limits as far as he was concerned.

      She still is, he told himself, as her large grey eyes met his then skittered away quickly. Divorced—separated—single—it made no difference. No way was he ever going to get involved with this woman. OK, so maybe she possessed the kind of lush, full breasts guaranteed to send a man’s blood rushing to his head, and a pair of hips that simply cried out to be touched, but she was trouble. He didn’t know how she possibly could be, but he could feel it, sense it.

      ‘What can you tell me about Terri Campbell?’ he said brusquely.

      ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she asked in confusion, and saw his eyebrows snap down. ‘OK—All right—for some reason best known only to yourself you want to know about Terri,’ she continued quickly. ‘She’s worked at the General for more than twenty years, has been a sister in A and E for the past ten years, is married to Frank, and has two children—Neil and Lissa.’

      ‘Has she any money or family worries?’

      Kate blinked. Quite what he was trying to get at here was beyond her, but she had no intention of telling him anything about Terri’s problems with her son, Neil. That was the sister’s private business.

      ‘None as far as I know,’ she said.

      ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘Don’t you trust anybody?’ she exclaimed, and his lips curled as he wrote something down in his notebook.

      ‘God perhaps, but everyone else I regard as a suspect.’

      ‘Wow, but with that sort of attitude you must have a real fun social life,’ she said without thinking, then winced as she waited for him to explode, but to her amazement his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

      ‘You’re right, I don’t,’ he murmured. ‘What can you tell me about Paul Simpson, your specialist registrar?’

      ‘Paul?’ she echoed, desperately trying to marshal her thoughts, and not think about why a man with looks like Mario Volante should have a lousy social life. ‘Not a lot, really. He’s worked in the department for almost a year. He’s bright, efficient, and very organised.’

      ‘And you don’t like him,’ he said shrewdly.

      She didn’t, and it had nothing to do with Paul’s capabilities. He was bright and efficient, but she also had the distinct impression that he didn’t like working for a woman. It wasn’t because of anything he’d said—he was far too astute to leave himself open to an accusation of sexual bias—but there had been the occasional look, the odd throwaway comment, that had more than ruffled her.

      ‘I can’t like everybody,’ she declared, suddenly realising Mario was expecting her to reply, ‘and as long as he continues to work efficiently I’ll have no complaints. ’

      ‘Colin Watson?’

      She shook her head. ‘I don’t know him well enough to comment. He just qualified last month, and this is his first week with us.’

      ‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘The dreaded August intake. Never be ill or have an accident in August because that’s when all the still-wet-behind-the-ears newly qualified doctors are let loose on the wards.’

      ‘Exactly.’ She could not help but laugh. ‘And before you ask me about the nursing staff,’ she continued, seeing him glance down at his notebook. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re all terrific, and if you want personal details about them you’ll have to ask Terri. The only other member of staff I know well is our porter, Bill, who’s worked in the department for twelve years, and is an absolute gem.’

      Mario closed his notebook, and extracted a sheet of paper from his pocket.

      ‘This should be an exact transcript of what you told me on Saturday night. Could you read through it, then sign it if you agree that it’s accurate?’

      She took the piece of paper from him, scanned it quickly, then reached for her pen.

      ‘What about the photographs you wanted me to look at?’ she said, scrawling her signature across the bottom of the page.

      From his other pocket he pulled out a plastic envelope but before he could shake its contents out onto her desk, they both heard a distant thud.

      Kate half rose to her feet, then slowly sat down again. If anything major had happened in the treatment room, Terri, or somebody else, would come for her. She knew that. She was fully aware of that, but the thud had sounded as though something or someone had fallen over. Maybe she ought to check it out, but Paul was on duty, and despite the fact that she didn’t like him, he wasn’t an idiot. Having said which…

      ‘Your department isn’t going to collapse simply because you’ve taken a half hour break,’ Mario declared, watching her, and she flushed.

      ‘I know.’

      ‘It’s just you don’t think anybody else can do the job as well as you can,’ he observed. ‘So which are you—a control freak, or an over-compensator?’

      John had asked her that once, too, she remembered with a stab of pain. She’d yelled back at him that nobody ever questioned a man’s dedication to his work, and he had stared back at her for a long, silent moment, and then he’d walked away.

      ‘Kate?’

      Mario’s eyes were fixed on her, curious, thoughtful, and she sat up straighter.

      ‘I thought you wanted me to look at some photographs?’ she declared.

      For a moment she thought he was going to press the subject but, to her relief, he shook the photographs out of their packet onto her desk, then sat back.

      ‘Take your time. Don’t rush at it, but examine each one carefully.’

      She was sorely tempted to tell him she wasn’t an idiot, but didn’t. Instead, she did as he asked, but when she’d reached the last one she shook her head.

      ‘I’m sorry. Nobody looks even remotely familiar. As I said before—’

      ‘You don’t run out into the waiting room and stare at the people sitting there,’ he finished for her. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was a long shot anyway, and thanks for trying.’

      ‘Is that everything?’ she asked.

      ‘Almost.’ He gathered up the photographs and pocketed them. ‘You might be interested to know we’ve got a full ID on Duncan Hamilton. He was originally from London, and had been doing casual work around Aberdeen for the past ten months. According to his widowed mother, he was a Grade A student who dropped out of university and had never been in trouble before.’

      ‘Then how in the world did he ever get mixed up in something like this?’ Kate said, and Mario’s face grew grim.

      ‘As I told you on Saturday, it can happen to anybody. The fixers prey on the weak and the unhappy. People who are in debt, people who think they’ll only have to be a mule or a body-packer once, and then all their worries will be over.’

      But it was such a waste of a life, she thought, as she remembered Duncan Hamilton’s face as he’d thrashed and gasped in agony on the trolley. He ought to have had his whole life ahead of him, and now his body was lying, cold and stiff, on a mortuary slab.

      And then something else occurred to her.

      ‘Your