LITMIR.BIZ

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than thirty-five, but those cold grey eyes, the tight, pursed lips…Yup. She’d bet her first month’s pay cheque this was Dr Dunwoody.

      ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Dr Dunwoody, but—’

      ‘Spare me the excuses, Dr Hart. All I’m interested in now you’ve finally got here is whether you actually know anything about medicine.’

      This was a pussy cat? No way was this a pussy cat. This was a full-grown tigress, and each and every one of her claws were showing.

      ‘Dr Dunwoody—’

      ‘The staffroom is over there. Please, hang up your coat and get yourself out on the ward so we can see if you’ve been worth the wait.’

      Well, hello, and welcome to Obs and Gynae, Annie thought as Dr Dunwoody strode away. It wasn’t her fault the lift buttons weren’t working properly. If she’d been told about them she would have got here earlier. Not that she suspected it would have made any difference. Something told her that even if she’d arrived at seven o’clock, clutching three medical degrees and a glowing reference from the BMA, Dr Dunwoody would still have hated her on sight.

      There was only one thing she could do. Keep her head down, get on with her work, and maybe then Dr Dunwoody would revise her opinion of her.

      It was easier said than done. By lunchtime she had a pounding headache. By mid-afternoon she felt like she’d been hit by a truck, and it wasn’t the actual medicine that was the problem.

      ‘I just feel so stupid all the time,’ she told Liz Baker when they hastily grabbed a coffee in the small staffroom. ‘Not knowing any of the patients—what they’re in for. Dammit, I didn’t even know where the blood-pressure gauges were kept until you told me.’

      ‘Why should you?’ Liz exclaimed, munching on a chocolate biscuit with relish. ‘You’ve only just arrived, so you can hardly be expected to immediately know everything.’

      ‘Dr Dunwoody thinks I should.’ Annie sighed. ‘Dr Dunwoody thinks I’m a dork.’

      ‘No, she doesn’t. I saw the way her eyebrows shot up when you got that catheter into Mrs Ferguson in fifteen seconds flat.’

      ‘Then why does she keep watching me?’ Annie protested. ‘Like she’s expecting me to suddenly run amok with a kidney dish or something.’

      ‘It’s because you’re a junior doctor. Look, no offence meant,’ Liz continued as Annie gazed at her in surprise, ‘but we’ve had some real corkers in the past. Junior doctors who thought it beneath their dignity to fetch a patient a glass of water. Junior female doctors who were more interested in chatting up the hospital talent than examining any patients.’

      I’ve no intention of doing either, Annie thought grimly, only to stiffen as a familiar figure walked past the open staffroom door. It was him. Mr Mountain Man from the stairs. The big louse himself. Presumably he’d finally found time to make his duty call on his wife.

      ‘Something wrong?’ Liz asked curiously, seeing her sink further down into her seat.

      Apart from never wanting to see that jerk again? Not a thing, Annie decided, but she didn’t say that.

      ‘Are there any more of those chocolate biscuits left?’ she asked instead.

      ‘Dozens. One of our ex-patients brought them in as a thank-you for Gideon, and he gave them to us.’

      Gideon Caldwell, the ward consultant. She hadn’t met him yet. She’d met Tom who’d turned out to be Dr Brooke, Obs and Gynae’s other specialist registrar, and his wife Helen Fraser, who was the ward SHO, but she hadn’t met Mr Caldwell.

      ‘What’s he like—Mr Caldwell?’ she asked.

      ‘Lovely. Great to work for, and a terrific surgeon. Normally you’d have met him when he was doing his morning rounds, but an ectopic was brought into A and E so he’s been in Theatre all morning.’

      Lovely? Well, she wasn’t interested in ‘lovely’, but ‘great to work for’ sounded encouraging. And she desperately needed some encouraging information after spending the better part of the day running around like a headless chicken.

      Helen Fraser looked as though she could do with some upbeat news, too, judging by her harassed expression as she appeared at the staffroom door.

      ‘No, don’t get up,’ she insisted when Annie scrambled hastily to her feet. ‘I just wondered if either of you knew where Sylvia Renton’s blood results were. I was positive I’d put them back in her file but they’re not there any more.’

      ‘Dr Brooke’s got them, Dr Fraser,’ Liz replied. ‘He said he wasn’t happy about her haemoglobin level.’

      ‘I’m not happy about it either, which is why I wanted to check it again,’ Helen said with exasperation, then smiled ruefully across at Annie. ‘Men, eh? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’

      I sure plan to, Annie thought, but managed an answering smile.

      ‘Helen and Tom love each other to bits, really.’ Liz chuckled when the SHO had gone. ‘It’s just sometimes Tom thinks he’s the only doctor on the ward.’

      ‘How long have they been married?’ Annie asked, carrying her coffee cup across to the small sink.

      ‘Ten years. They met at the Belfield when they were both junior doctors, and have the cutest eight-year-old twins you could ever hope to meet, John and Emma.’

      Jamie was cute, too, Annie thought as she followed Liz out of the staffroom. At least usually he was, but today was the first day they’d been apart since he’d been born. Please, oh, please, let him be enjoying himself, she prayed. Please, let him not be missing me. If he’s unhappy and miserable, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have to work. We need the money.

      ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ she asked, suddenly realising that Liz was gazing at her expectantly.

      ‘Only that I was offering you the choice of the century,’ the girl replied, her lips twitching. ‘Do you want me to assist when you examine Mrs Douglas, or would you prefer me to assist while you examine Mrs Gill?’

      Annie stared at her suspiciously. ‘I know Mrs Douglas is suffering from acute constipation after her hysterectomy. What’s wrong with Mrs Gill?’

      ‘Would you believe acute constipation, too?’ Liz chuckled, and Annie laughed.

      ‘Great choice. Actually, that reminds me of something that happened at my last hospital…’

      She came to a halt. Mr Mountain Man was talking to Tom Brooke at the top of the ward. Nothing unusual about that, of course. Patients’ relatives often wanted a quiet word with the specialist registrar, but it was the way Mr Mountain Man was talking to Dr Brooke. Or rather the way Tom was listening to him. Intently, deeply, almost…almost reverentially.

      An awful thought crept into Annie’s mind. A thought which was crazy—insane—but…

      ‘Liz. That man talking to Dr Brooke. Who is he?’

      The sister turned in the direction of her gaze and smiled. ‘That’s Gideon Caldwell. Our consultant.’

      The man she’d met on the stairs was Obs and Gynae’s consultant? Oh, heavens.

      ‘Liz, Mr Caldwell’s wife—she…’ Annie swallowed convulsively. ‘She wouldn’t happen to be a patient on the ward, would she?’

      ‘Good heavens, no. Gideon’s a widower—has been for five years. Actually, it was terribly tragic. She died of ovarian cancer two years after they were married.’

      Not married, but a widower. And not just a widower, but a widower whose wife had tragically died of ovarian cancer. Oh, hell.

      ‘Hey, are you OK?’ Liz continued, her plump face suddenly concerned. ‘You’ve gone a really funny colour.’

      Was

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