The Spanish Doctor's Convenient Bride. Meredith Webber

permission to do the op.’

      Carlos waited for the teenager’s reaction, sure there’d be more histrionics. The more he’d seen of this particular patient, the more sure he’d become that he’d leave any O and G work, particularly with teenage patients, to whatever other medical or nursing staff he could beg or bribe to take over.

      But the girl surprised him by accepting that her mother would have to know, although she looked pale, and so young Carlos felt his heart ache with sympathy for her. Then he thought of another girl—even younger—a baby girl high above them in the hospital.

      He’d been beginning to think that, with sufficient help, he might be able to bring up a child, but no way would he be able to handle this kind of thing. Was it because she was a woman that Marty seemed a natural at it? Or was it her training that she’d been firm when she needed to be firm, while her underlying compassion came through in even her sternest words?

      A nurse came in to tell Marty Regan’s mother was here, and Marty nodded, then told the nurse with them to contact Theatre to make arrangements for the minor op and for an anaesthetist to meet them there. She turned to Carlos.

      ‘Will you go with Regan and the nurse to Theatre?’

      This was colleague-to-colleague conversation, so why did he notice her eyes as they met his when she asked her question? And notice how fine her skin was—smooth, lightly tanned and unblemished except for a small freckle just above her lip on the left hand side?

      In days gone by, women with such a mark would have darkened it to make a beauty spot, drawing their admirers’ attention to the full lips beneath it.

      ‘Carlos?’

      Had he not answered her?

      Had the sleepless night confused his mind to the extent he was distracted by a freckle?

      ‘Of course,’ he said, and saw a slight smile flash across Marty’s face.

      She suspected he was thinking of Emmaline—which he had been earlier.

      ‘Keep Regan here a few minutes while I talk to her mother,’ Marty suggested, as another nurse and an orderly came into the small trauma room.

      Carlos moved to stand beside the girl while the nurse attached the drip to the small stand on the trolley and readied the patient for her move. Then Marty returned with an anxious, harried-looking woman, who rushed towards her daughter, caught her in her arms, and scolded her and hugged her all at once.

      ‘Stupid, stupid girl! You know we can talk about anything, yet you didn’t tell me. Honestly, Regan, sometimes I wonder if all your brains are in your toes. But you’ll be all right, pet. The doctor will fix you up and everything will be fine, but I tell you, if you ever, ever pull a stunt like this again, I will personally kill you then cut you into tiny pieces and feed them to the dog!’

      ‘Oh, Mum!’ Regan sobbed into her mother’s shoulder. ‘I was so scared.’

      ‘Of course you were,’ her mother whispered brokenly, crying now as much as her daughter. ‘All the silly stuff I told you about my getting pregnant too early and the struggle I had to keep you. Of course you didn’t want to tell me.’

      Carlos watched and listened with a sense of wonder and discovery, as if he’d sailed into foreign seas—or landed on a planet called ‘Women’—and was learning firsthand just how different this world was. For these two were angry and upset yet obviously deeply loving towards each other in spite of the other emotions—the mother accepting, concerned, forgiving and nurturing all at once.

      He could never handle that role for Emmaline…

      It was obviously something only women could do…

      He glanced towards Marty, who’d stood back and watched the reunion with that small shy smile on her face.

      She already loved his baby…

      ‘Moving time, people,’ she said briskly. ‘Ms Collins, you can come with us up to the next floor. There’s a waiting room there where you can get tea or coffee. Do you have to let anyone know you’re here?’

      The woman shook her head, gave her daughter one last pat, then stood back so the professionals could do their job.

      ‘She obviously loves her daughter very much,’ Carlos murmured to Marty as they fell in a small distance behind the procession. ‘So why was Regan so concerned?’

      This time Marty’s smile was just for him.

      ‘It’s complicated,’ she said.

      ‘That I had realised,’ he assured her. ‘But how? Why?’

      ‘It’s a lot to do with expectations,’ Marty explained. ‘For some reason they seem to grow exponentially with love. Because these two are very close, Regan feels far worse about disappointing her mother than she would if perhaps she had a less involved and caring mother. Her mother has probably always told her she can talk about anything with her, and Regan believes that, but she also feels that her mother would be disappointed in her if she found out Regan wanted to have sex with her boyfriend, so to avoid hurting her mother she didn’t tell her.’

      She smiled again, this time less shyly, and added, ‘That probably doesn’t make a jot of sense to you but, believe me, in the spider’s web of mother-daughter relationships, it’s near to normal.’

      They’d reached the theatre and Marty was once again all business.

      ‘I’d have suggested you do it for practice,’ she said to Carlos, ‘but given how the haemorrhage happened, I’d better see what’s happening in there. If we leave a bit of tissue, she could end up with infection, and if there’s damage to the uterine wall, I’ll need to fix it.’

      More than happy to be left on the sidelines, Carlos moved to stand beside the anaesthetist, who was questioning Regan about her health and explaining what she was about to do, inserting a mild sedative into the drip, attaching an oxygen mask, talking quietly and reassuringly as she worked.

      Female anaesthetist, female surgeon—a woman’s world again. Was he more aware of it because in Sudan he’d seen less of the women? Their husbands brought the children for attention, or brought their wives and explained their conditions, wary about letting a man touch—or even look at in some cases—their women.