Midwives On Call: Stealing The Surgeon's Heart. Marion Lennox

eyes fill with embarrassed tears, she changed track. ‘Your friends are there, Harriet, people who know and care about you. They’ll give you the five-star treatment. Surely that can only be good?’

      But she didn’t want the five-star treatment. Instead, she wanted unknown faces treating an unknown patient, couldn’t bear the thought of having to answer the question that would surely be on everyone’s lips.

      ‘What were you doing at a bus stop?’

      Over and over the question had been asked—by the paramedics, by Louise, who was still stuck on Triage, by the nursing supervisor as she’d directed the stretcher into cubicle one in an attempt to spare Harriet the indignity of the entire department seeing her brought in, by Susan, her concerned face looming over her as she pumped up the blood-pressure cuff. ‘You were supposed to be at home. Why on earth didn’t you just—?’

      ‘Enough!’

      The single word, however sharply spoken, couldn’t disguise the thick accent, and as the staff finally melted away, Harriet closed her eyes in shame as Ciro stood over her. He’d already examined her on arrival and commenced treatment, but thankfully that was a distant vague blur, but now the fluids that were being delivered intravenously were starting to kick in and the oxygen being administered through nasal prongs was having the supposed desired effect, the world was starting to come back into focus. Harriet listened as he dismissed the gathered nurses and paramedics, waiting until the cubicle was vacant before finally she managed to peel her eyes open, bracing herself for the question she had heard incessantly since her arrival.

      Instead, it was answered.

      ‘Your husband is staying in a hotel for work, and had you told me that you knew I wouldn’t have let you go home alone…’

      Confused, Harriet blinked back at him.

      ‘You’ve had trouble with the phone since you moved in, haven’t you?’

      ‘Thank you.’ It was all she could manage, her voice strangling in her throat as Ciro dealt with the social absurdities that still mattered at times like this. ‘I just couldn’t bear everyone’s sympathy at the moment, the gossip that would start. I’m just so ashamed.’

      ‘Silly girl,’ Ciro said, but not unkindly, the backs of his fingers sweeping her forehead to check her temperature. ‘You should—’

      ‘Should have what, Ciro?’ Harriet interrupted. ‘I found my husband in bed with another woman. I was hardly going to ask them to move over so that I could lie down! What did you expect me to do?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I’m just glad that you had the presence of mind to call for help when you did. Had you not called, your appendix might have ruptured and you would have been very ill indeed.’

      ‘It was either call for help or sit at the bus stop all night.’

      ‘Life will start to look up very soon.’

      ‘It has to.’ Sunken, dry eyes stared back at him. ‘After all, just how low can one person go?’

      ‘You should be asking Drew that, Harriet, not yourself.’

      ‘How did you know?’ she gulped. ‘I mean, how did you guess what had happened when I went home?’

      He gave a vague shrug. ‘You said yourself that nothing was happening in the…’ His English wasn’t that good, but painfully she caught the drift. ‘It was stupid of me to send you home unannounced in the early hours of the the morning, given what you’d told me. I’m sorry,’ he added, as if this whole stupid mess was his fault. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

      ‘I was sick on the carpet.’ Why she was filling him in, Harriet had no idea, but somehow sharing the most embarrassing details made them seem less so. ‘I left it for him to clean up—told him that if he thought my job was so easy then he should try it.’

      ‘Good for you.’ A smile broke out on his face and even though she’d seen him smile before it was like witnessing it for the first time because now it was aimed entirely at her—his eyes softer now, intimate almost. Not for the first time that night, Harriet felt bewildered and confused, but for entirely different reasons.

      Impossibly shy all of a sudden, she lowered her eyes. ‘Can I have some Maxalon now?’

      ‘You already have.’ He attempted a smile. ‘And a massive dose of pethidine. That’s why you’re able to talk. The surgeon is ready for you in Theatre. You’ll go to EHU afterwards. Unfortunately there aren’t any beds on the surgical ward, but I’m sure they’ll find you a side room tomorrow.’

      EHU stood for Emergency Holding Unit, a rapid-turnover ward that acted as a holding bay for emergency patients when the wards were full, but Harriet couldn’t have cared less where she was admitted. At least she’d have a bed for a couple of days! All she wanted right now was for the pain in her stomach to go so she could focus on the pain in her heart.

      ‘Is there anyone you want me to call for you?’ Ciro asked, ever practical.

      Harriet shook her head.

      ‘What about your parents?’

      ‘There’s only Mum, she lives in Perth.’ It was all she could manage, her lips almost numb, her mind curiously clear. ‘I don’t want to worry her.’

      ‘What about your husband?’ Ciro pressed gently. ‘He is your next of kin. Someone ought to know what’s happening to you.’

      ‘Please, don’t call him.’ She shook her head against the pillow. ‘I just don’t want to see him yet.’

      ‘OK,’ Ciro soothed. ‘I’m not going to do anything without your permission. But perhaps this may be the wake-up call he needs—’

      ‘It’s over,’ Harriet broke in, her voice the firmest it had been since her arrival in the department, her mind completely made up. ‘I’m just not up to telling the world yet. Oh, hell, Ciro, what am I—?’

      ‘Shh…’ His hand was back on her forehead, only this time he wasn’t checking her temperature. This time he was brushing back a couple of strands of hair, soothing her, pushing her back down to the foggy oblivion the pethidine afforded, that gorgeous full mouth, softly speaking, telling her that it would all be OK, that all she had to do was concentrate on getting well, to close her eyes and just go to sleep.

      But she didn’t want to.

      Didn’t want to close her eyes on the sweetest painkiller of them all.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘HARRIET?’

      A million adolescents would have given their entire year’s pocket money to wake up to that face, but when Harriet opened her eyes all she wanted was to close them again. She’d been back from Theatre a few hours now, but had slept for the most part, vaguely acknowledging the absurdity that Alyssa, who she had cared for the previous night, now lay in the next bed to her. The world was way too confusing to face right now, but any chance of a longer reprieve from her problems faded as Drew’s face came into unwelcome view. Everything about him revolted her now—the blond hair he faithfully had streaked to capture the surfie look, the spray-on tan that was carefully shaded to accentuate his gym-toned muscles. Squinting to focus, Harriet stared at the man who had caused her so much pain, the previous night’s events pinging in with alarming clarity. She watched as he braced himself for her stinging words, but instead of accusations she said the first thing that sprang to her anaesthetic-riddled mind, with no offence meant, but not caring if it were taken.

      ‘You pluck your eyebrows.’

      Irritated, he shook his head as he stood up and pulled the curtains around her, clearly not wanting the scene made public. ‘Don’t be daft.’

      ‘You