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prospect of a new patient.

      ‘Yes.’ Jane needed to change the subject. To find out what Mike wanted and then get off the phone so she could try and think of how to cope. ‘What’s happening with William? He looked stable when I saw him in Recovery.’

      ‘He’s tachycardic. Blood pressure’s dropped a bit.’

      ‘Any abdominal signs? What’s happening with drainage?’

      ‘I can’t see any indication of bleeding. Drainage is minimal. There’s no distension.’

      ‘Urine output?’

      ‘Also minimal.’

      ‘Oxygen saturation?’

      ‘Good. Ninety-eight per cent.’

      ‘Increase the rate of IV fluids and see if you can get his BP stable. I’ll be up as soon as I can. I just need a few minutes to sort this…’

      What—this baby? The situation? The feeling like she’d been sideswiped from her chosen path through life and was falling into a huge crevasse?

      Mike didn’t wait for an explanation. As always, he was eager to impress. ‘I’ll be here. I’ve finished on the ward for now. Everything’s looking good.’

      ‘Fine. I’ll pop in there later.’

      Jane ended the call. The ward wasn’t far away. The charge nurse, Margaret, was experienced and unflappable. Just the person Jane needed right now.

      My friend’s in trouble, she practised silently as she wrapped Sophie back in her blanket and took the bag from the car seat. A family emergency. I’ve got to look after this baby for a little while and I really need some assistance. Just until I’ve seen all my patients.

      And possibly taken one back to Theatre, but even so it shouldn’t be for more than an hour or two. Jane eased the safety strap over the lumpy bundle and secured Sophie into the carry seat.

      And what then?

      Jane carried the seat in one hand and the bag in the other, leaving her office and heading towards the paediatric wards. What if Izzy’s brother-in-law didn’t come back and take over the care of this infant?

      She couldn’t very well leave it in the hospital over-night. Questions would be asked. Social Services might be contacted. The truth would emerge.

      At least it was Friday. At worst, if she had to take the baby home, all she had to deal with workwise tomorrow was a morning ward round. Then she would have until Monday morning to get this mess sorted out.

      And she would get it sorted out.

      There was simply no alternative.

      Nine p.m.

      Dylan McKenzie returned the smiles from a group of young girls who teetered on their high heels as they passed the park bench he was sitting on. The ones who weren’t flat out texting absent friends on their mobile phones turned their heads for another look.

      ‘Come with us,’ one of them called cheekily. ‘It’s Friday night. Time to party!’

      Dylan shook his head, his smile fading. ‘I’ve got a date,’ he responded. ‘But you have fun. And take care,’ he added.

      They were far too young to be heading for a night on the town in their skimpy tops and tight jeans. No more than fifteen or sixteen, surely? Did their parents know where they were and what they were up to?

      Would Sophie be off doing things like this when she should still be safely under adult supervision?

      Dylan sighed. Funny how one’s view of the world changed so dramatically when one became a parent.

      Or an almost parent.

      He sighed again. More than twenty-four hours of travelling to get from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Christchurch, New Zealand, were taking their toll. He’d never felt this tired.

      Or this despondent.

      Okay, he’d hardly expected Jane Walters to fall over herself in delighted surprise at being presented with her baby but she’d been so obviously uninterested. Appalled, in fact.

      She didn’t want Sophie.

      She’d offered him money to try and make the problem go away.

      Not many things made Dylan really furious. He prided himself on being able to see both sides of any conflict and being able to retain dignity, if not a sense of humour, in dealing with adverse circumstances, but that had made him angry.

      So angry that walking out had seemed the only way to make his point. That Dr Walters had to shoulder at least some of the responsibility. And he’d been worried sick ever since.

      What was happening? She might have left Sophie in the care of someone else. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone in her position to engage the help of the paediatric ward staff, for instance, and knowing that had been why Dylan hadn’t immediately turned round and gone back after his dramatic exit.

      But she might have called the police. They might be hunting for him right now, with a warrant for his arrest for having abandoned a helpless baby. If so, he’d be easy enough to find, sitting here in public view beside the river only a few minutes’ walk from the hospital. With a backpack beside him to advertise that he wasn’t a local.

      He’d been sitting here for a very long time now. Hours. Trying to see a way forward. A future he had never envisioned. It wasn’t that he wasn’t prepared to turn his world upside down to care for his niece because he was quite willing to do that. So was his father, but they’d both agreed that what Sophie really needed was a mother.

      Preferably her own. The woman who was genetically closer to Sophie than either her uncle or her grandfather. It had been worth a try, anyway, but it certainly wasn’t looking a likely prospect.

      Dylan’s legs felt stiff as he finally got up from the bench. According to the business card in his hand and the map now stuffed into the side pocket of his backpack, he was about at the halfway point between the hospital and the address where Jane Walters lived.

      She would be home by now. If she had even a spark of responsibility or humanity, she would have taken her baby with her. If she hadn’t, that would be that as far as Dylan was concerned. He would find where Sophie was and take her back to the other side of the world.

      Why wouldn’t she stop crying?

      Margaret had said she had just been fed and changed when Jane had collected her from the ward around 8 p.m. Tucked into the car seat, the baby had been happy enough until the short taxi ride to her apartment block had ended. The miserable wailing had started as Jane had slipped the key into the lock of her penthouse door and it hadn’t stopped since.

      This baby knew it was in the wrong place and with the wrong person and there was nothing Jane could do about that because that’s how it was. She paced the distance of her open-plan living, dining and kitchen area. Round and round. Rocking the baby. Talking to her. Trying to reassure both the baby and herself. Trying to unravel the knot of anxiety that could morph into something close to panic as it sat there, like a stone, in her stomach.

      She actually felt sick. There had been no time to boil a kettle for a hot drink, let alone think about making any dinner. Jane still hadn’t even pulled the drapes that covered the wall of glass overlooking the huge central city park across the road.

      ‘It’ll be OK,’ she told Sophie. ‘He’s coming back. You were happy enough with him before, weren’t you?’

      A lot happier than she was with her biological mother, that was for sure.

      ‘He’ll look after you. He loves you.’

      He had certainly given the impression that he loved this baby. She had looked so comfortable and safe in those strong, male arms.

      ‘He looks like a very nice man.’

      His brother

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