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up before he answered her. ‘All right. But you talk me through exactly what you’re doing and why.’

      Her mouth tightened behind her mask. ‘Like a junior?’

      ‘Like any other senior registrar on their first operation with a new consultant. It’s a quick way of getting to know how we both work.’

      Fair enough. He was still a bit abrupt for her liking, but maybe he’d discovered that she was the daughter of a baron and thought she was just playing at being a doctor. This was her chance to prove to him that she was serious—and she wasn’t going to blow that chance.

      As part of the preparation, Declan’s head had been completely shaved. Instead of making him look like a thug, the haircut made him look like a defenceless little boy. Which was exactly what he was.

      But there was no room for sentiment or emotion here in Theatre. Vicky had a job to do. And she was going to do it well.

      ‘This is where I’m going to cut,’ she said, indicating the area on Declan’s head.

      ‘OK,’ Jake said.

      Deftly, she cut through the layers of skin, muscle and membrane at the site. ‘Burr-holes next,’ she said, drilling a series of tiny holes. ‘The bone’s not too thick at this point, so I don’t need to drill them very, very close together.’

      She talked him through the rest of the operation—using a Gigli’s saw, passed between the burr-holes using a malleable saw guide, then lifting the lid of bone back on a hinge of muscle so she could open the dura mater to reveal the inner membranes. ‘Here’s the clot. Suction and irrigation,’ she said, working carefully to remove the clot. ‘Here’s the ruptured blood vessel. I’m going to clip it here.’

      When she’d finished and was sure the blood vessel had stopped leaking, she gently replaced the bone, ready to sew the membranes, muscles and skin back into position.

      ‘Want me to close?’ Jake asked.

      It wasn’t really a question. He’d assessed her; now it was time for her to see how he worked. She nodded and stood back.

      He was good. Fast, thorough and very deft. She’d never seen such neat stitching—and said so.

      ‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head slightly at the compliment, but didn’t allow anything to detract from his focus.

      That, Vicky thought, was impressive. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy working with Jake Lewis. A like mind, focused on his job. He really didn’t care what people thought about him—the patient came first. Refreshing.

      When they’d finished, he walked back to the ward with her. ‘Do you want me to talk to his parents?’

      She shook her head. ‘I’ll do it. They know me from the emergency department, and it’s better that they have continuity of care as far as possible.’

      ‘I agree. You know where I am if you need me.’

      Meaning that he trusted her. Quite why that should make her feel enveloped in a warm glow, she had no idea. She already knew she did her job properly, so it shouldn’t matter what he thought.

      She went into the relatives’ room, where the Fosters were waiting anxiously. ‘I’m pleased to say the operation was a success. Declan should be coming round in a few minutes and you’ll be able to see him straight away. We’ll need to keep him flat for the next day or two so his brain can settle down again, and gradually we’ll raise the head of the bed. We’ll be assessing him very, very frequently and he’ll have more CT scans over the next few days, so we can keep an eye on how he is and pick up on any little niggles before they turn into problems.’ She decided not to mention the fact that the CT scan would pick up extra fluid; it was perfectly routine, but would sound scary to the Fosters and they were already upset enough.

      ‘So he’s going to be all right?’ Mrs Foster asked.

      ‘He should be,’ Vicky said with a smile.

      ‘Oh, thank God. Thank you.’

      ‘And my consultant. If you have any questions, please, ask for me or Mr Lewis and we’ll do our best to reassure you.’

      ‘So that’s everyone—oh, except Vicky, but you were with her in Theatre,’ Gemma said.

      ‘Dr Radley.’

      Gemma grinned. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony. She doesn’t even use her title around here.’

      ‘Title?’ That was news to Jake. What title?

      ‘She’s an Hon.—the Honourable Victoria Radley,’ Gemma explained. ‘Though she’s always made it very clear she’s a doctor first.’ She smiled. ‘You’ve probably heard of her brother, Charlie. Baron Radley.’

      The name rang a bell, though Jake wasn’t sure why. He never bothered with celebrity magazines or gossip pages in the paper.

      ‘But don’t go thinking she’s a snob or anything like that. I mean, she doesn’t tend to go on ward nights out, but it’s not because she thinks she’s too good for us. It’s because she’s writing a paper or she’s got the chance to shadow someone on a particularly interesting case.’ Gemma sighed. ‘She works too hard.’

      ‘Nothing wrong with being dedicated,’ Jake said. He’d had that accusation thrown at him a few times, too. And if Vicky was dedicated, that explained why she’d been so confident during the craniotomy.

      But an Hon….

      It was only then that Jake realised he had been thinking about acting on his attraction to Vicky. Asking her out for a drink, perhaps. He already knew she wasn’t married so he didn’t think he’d be treading on anyone’s toes. But being an Honourable put her miles out of his league socially. Someone who was used to mixing with the likes of royalty wouldn’t want to go out with a boy who’d grown up on a council estate.

      Better to know now before he made a fool of himself. And that would teach him for thinking about breaking his personal rules. Vicky was a colleague, so she was off limits. For good.

       CHAPTER THREE

      AFTER a fortnight at the Albert Memorial Hospital in Chelsea, Jake felt as if he’d been there for years. He’d been accepted as part of the team and he’d been included in invites to drinks to celebrate a staff nurse’s twenty-fifth birthday, as well as the team night out at the local Indian restaurant. He’d gone to both and had had a great time—though he’d noted that Vicky hadn’t been to either event. Technically, she’d been on duty, covering for other staff—but after a couple of glasses of wine Gemma had let it slip that Vicky always covered staff nights out. Vicky worked on bank holidays, Christmas and Easter, too, so staff with children could spend time with their families. And when she did take time off, she was booked onto a course or had arranged to shadow someone and get more experience.

      And he still hadn’t apologised to her, he remembered, feeling guilty. Not that he’d had the chance. She’d kept all conversation to a minimum, and what she’d said had focused entirely on their patients. But he didn’t think she was a snob: her manner with patients was too good for that. So was she just avoiding him? And was that because he’d been rude to her the very first time they’d met—despite the fact he’d given her a genuine compliment on her surgical skills since?

      He’d do something about it today, he decided, and did the last five reps on the lateral raise machine before leaving the weights room for the pool. Twenty lengths, and he’d hit the shower. Then a bacon sandwich and a strong, sweet cup of coffee in the staff canteen, and he’d be ready to start the day on the ward.

      And he’d talk to Vicky. Today.

      There were already three or four people in the pool. But only one of them arrested his attention. She was doing lengths—but the front crawl she used was a precise and neat stroke, rather than flashy.

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