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have crèche facilities at the Belfield Infirmary.’

      ‘Charlie is eight and Susie is fourteen. They’re much too old for a crèche.’

      The specialist registrar glanced down at her application form, then up at her again. ‘Your daughter is fourteen? But…’ He coloured slightly. ‘It says here on your application form that you’re twenty-nine.’

      ‘The children aren’t mine. My sister…’ Maddie’s throat closed as it always did when she had to talk about Amy. ‘My sister and her husband John were killed in a car crash two years ago. John’s parents…’ We’d like to help, Maddie, we really would, but we’re much too old to look after children, and with Charlie the way he is…‘They couldn’t look after Charlie and Susie, and my parents are dead, so…’

      ‘I see,’ Dr Washington said gently. ‘It can’t have been easy for you—I’m sure it isn’t easy now—but I’m afraid my neonatologist, Mr Dalgleish, expects the very highest standards from his staff, and though you have secretarial qualifications you don’t actually have any experience, do you?’

      ‘I gained a highly commended in my computer studies, and a merit in my typing,’ she said, trying and failing to keep the desperation from her voice. ‘I’m a fast learner. I work well under pressure—’

      ‘Miss Bryce, I’m not disputing your enthusiasm or your willingness to work hard,’ the specialist registrar interrupted awkwardly. ‘In fact, I’m sure if Mr Dalgleish had been here to interview you and not been called away on an emergency he would have said the same, but we’ve had some very highly skilled and experienced secretaries applying for this post.’

      She knew they had. She’d sat amongst them in the waiting room. Eight highly professional women all stylishly dressed in smart office suits while she, the last to be interviewed, had been all too horribly aware that she neither looked the part nor felt it.

      ‘Dr Washington—’

      ‘Mr Dalgleish will, of course, give your application his fullest consideration, and you should be notified in about a week if you’ve been successful.’

      But don’t hold your breath.

      The specialist registrar didn’t say the words—he didn’t need to. This was the third interview she’d been to in as many weeks and she couldn’t even get a job to cover somebody’s maternity leave. Well, there’d be other jobs, she told herself. Maybe they wouldn’t be as perfect as this one—close to home, and with her cousin Nell working as a sister in the neonatal intensive care unit it could almost have been like old times—but there’d be other jobs. There had to be. After not working for two years her savings were all but gone, and what little Amy had left her was almost gone now, too.

      With an effort she pasted a smile to her lips. ‘Thank you for your time, Dr Washington. I appreciate it.’

      ‘It was my pleasure. I just wish—’ She didn’t find out what he wished because the door of the office suddenly opened and the specialist registrar got to his feet, an expression of clear relief on his face. ‘Mr Dalgleish. I was just talking about you.’

      ‘Saying something nice, I hope, Jonah,’ a deep male voice replied, and as Maddie turned in her seat to face the newcomer her first thought was, Nell, you lied.

      ‘He’s tall and dark,’ her cousin had said when she’d asked her what Gabriel Dalgleish was like. ‘Around thirty-six, I’d say, and quite good-looking in a chiselled, square-jawed sort of way. Not bad to work for. An OK sort of a neonatologist, really.’

      Well, he was tall, Maddie conceded as the neonatologist walked towards her. Six feet two inches tall, she guessed, and broad-shouldered with it. He was also dark. Thick black hair, piercing grey eyes and, as Nell had said, quite good-looking. But an OK sort of neonatologist?

      Nope. No way. Her cousin knew as well as she did that there were only two types of neonatologist. There were the neonatologists who supported their staff, worked with them, encouraged them, and then there were the others. The men—and it was nearly always men—who ran their departments as their own personal fiefdoms, men who radiated power and arrogance from the top of their immaculately groomed hair to the tips of their highly polished shoes. One glance at Gabriel Dalgleish was enough to tell her this man was Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun rolled into one.

      Nell, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.

      ‘Mr Dalgleish, this is Miss Bryce,’ Dr Washington declared. ‘She’s one of the applicants for our post of departmental secretary.’

      ‘Given the time of day, and the fact I was planning on interviewing the candidates myself, I’d gathered that much,’ Mr Dalgleish murmured dryly, failing entirely to say hello to Maddie, and she felt her hackles rise another notch. So the neonatologist used sarcasm as a weapon, did he? Well, she hadn’t liked it when she’d been a nurse and she didn’t like it now.

      ‘Goodbye, Dr Washington,’ she said, bestowing the warmest of smiles on him and giving Gabriel Dalgleish the coldest of cold shoulders. ‘It was very nice meeting you.’

      ‘Just a minute,’ Gabriel Dalgleish said sharply as she began to walk towards the office door. ‘Why haven’t you applied to my department for a job as a nurse?’

      ‘Why hasn’t anybody ever taught you some manners?’

      The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and she saw a flash of anger appear on Gabriel Dalgleish’s dark face, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t got the job, was never going to see this man again, so she could say whatever she damn well liked.

      For a second there was complete silence in the office, then to her surprise a faint wash of colour appeared on Gabriel Dalgleish’s cheeks.

      ‘I apologise if my question seemed…a little brusque,’ he said with difficulty, ‘but I would appreciate an answer.’

      Dr Washington was glancing from her to his boss in open-mouthed fascination, and for a second Maddie hesitated, but she supposed the neonatologist had apologised so the least she could do was meet him halfway.

      ‘As I’ve already explained to Dr Washington,’ she said evenly, ‘I have two children to look after. And before you suggest a crèche,’ she added, ‘my children are too old for one and a childminder is out of the question.’

      ‘That’s your only reason?’

      His grey eyes were fixed on her, searching, intent. What was he getting at—what was he trying to find out? She hadn’t the faintest idea and neither, it appeared, did Dr Washington.

      ‘Gabriel, I think Miss Bryce has already explained—’

      ‘Let her answer, Jonah.’

      Part of her—a very large part—longed to tell him she wouldn’t have wanted to work as a nurse in his department even if he could have arranged for her to be paid double the national nursing wage with a free car thrown in for good measure, but she’d already been quite rude enough.

      ‘Yes, that’s the only reason,’ she said, and for a fleeting moment an odd look appeared in Gabriel Dalgleish’s grey eyes. A look that almost seemed like triumph. But before she could say anything he’d turned away and begun sifting through the application forms on his specialist registrar’s desk.

      Was that all he wanted to say? It looked as though it was, but she glanced questioningly across at Dr Washington to discover he looked as bemused as she felt.

      ‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask Miss Bryce?’ he said uncertainly, and Gabriel Dalgleish didn’t even turn round.

      ‘No, but I’d like her to wait outside for a few minutes,’ he replied.

      And would it be too much of an effort for you to tell me so yourself, you big jerk?

      Of course it would. He was the head honcho, the top banana. He didn’t speak directly to minions—and why the

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