‘Right.’ Tom cleared his throat and decided not to pursue it. ‘Well, if she wasn’t married, maybe it just wasn’t right—’
‘We were perfect together, Tom.’
Tom muttered under his breath and leaned forward in his chair, urging his brother to see sense. ‘One night, Jed. Get a grip, man! It was the romance of it all—the mistletoe, the Christmas-tree lights, snow on the ground. It wasn’t real.’
Jed stared out into the darkness and remembered the laughter, the warmth and the passion. He remembered a girl with wild dark hair and bright sharp eyes, an intriguing mixture of fire and innocence. It had been the most amazing night of his life.
‘Oh, it was real,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m going to find her.’
‘I don’t suppose she dropped a glass slipper in your flat? You could try it on all the women in the infirmary, starting with the really ugly ones…’ Tom caught the look on his brother’s face and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘OK, OK. I’m sorry. I was just trying to cheer you up.’
‘If your wit was an indication of your brain size, your patients would be in big trouble.’ Jed strode over and stood in front of him, his dark eyes gleaming with purpose. ‘I’ve got to find her! Ask again. Ask everyone.’
‘OK.’ Tom frowned and shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s gaze. ‘I’ll do my best. Back off, will you? If you glared at her like that it’s no wonder she ran off.’
‘Sorry.’ Jed closed his eyes briefly and raked both hands through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m desperate. I won’t give up, Tom.’
‘So I see. OK, I’ll keep asking.’ He glanced at his brother, his eyes narrowed. ‘She must have been one very special lady.’
‘Oh, she was.’ Jed’s voice was soft. ‘She was.’
CHAPTER ONE
SHE was in big trouble.
Glancing at her watch with a mew of panic, Brooke careered through the pelting rain across the hospital car park, dodging puddles and pedestrians as she made a dash for the sanctuary of the hospital.
Why was her life always like this? Why? Her umbrella wavered threateningly in the strong wind and she flung a breathless apology at a pedestrian who gave her a nervous look and a wide berth. Why, for once, couldn’t things have gone smoothly? Just for one day, surely life could have been kind? What had she ever done to deserve the repeated obstacles that were delivered at her door?
First the heating, then the roof and now the car. What next?
Breathless and soaked, she shouldered her way through the revolving doors of the maternity unit, and the sudden warmth of the foyer made her pause and catch her breath.
Please, please, let the day improve, she pleaded to no one in particular as she took the lift to the third floor and attempted a first-aid job on her hair which fell in a damp, tangled mass halfway down her back. Twisting it firmly, she rummaged in her pocket for some pins and fastened it securely in a knot at the back of her head, hoping that it would hold until lunchtime.
In the sanctuary of the staffroom, she stripped off her wet clothes and changed into the comfortable blue cotton trousers and tunic top that everyone wore on the labour ward.
‘I’m really, really sorry, folks…’ Flustered and out of breath, she paused by the door of the office where everyone from the early shift was gathered. ‘I had some problems.’
‘You don’t need to explain.’ Sister Wilson’s voice was full of humour and sympathy. ‘We saw you getting off the bus and sprinting across the car park. I gather that joke of a contraption that you call a car failed you again.’
Brooke nodded and bit her lip. ‘It’s the rain, I think. It hates rain—’
‘And cold and heat,’ one of the midwives interrupted with a laugh. ‘Face it, Brooke, it’s on its last legs. You’d better ask Father Christmas for another one.’
It was only March and most of her problems were way beyond the touch of Father Christmas, Brooke thought gloomily, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
‘I’ll get an earlier bus tomorrow.’ Dropping into a vacant chair, she glanced at the board to see how busy they were and her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘We’re full again?’
‘To the point of bursting.’ Gill Wilson stood up, suddenly businesslike. ‘And Antenatal have got two in early labour as well so we’re in for a good day. Brooke, I’ve allocated Paula the lady in Room 2, but as she’s still a student she obviously can’t take full responsibility so I’d like you to supervise. The lady’s name is Alison Neal and she’s a thirty-year-old primip and very anxious. Perhaps you should have five minutes with her on your own before Paula joins you. You’re normally very good with panickers.’
‘Of course.’ A primip—an abbreviation for primigravida, someone having their first baby—often needed more support and reassurance than a woman who’d been through it all before, and was usually in labour for much longer.
‘Suzie…’ Gill Wilson turned to another midwife. ‘Can you run between 4 and 5 for me and supervise the students? Diane can sort out the admissions and Helen can take the lady in room one. Oh, and by the way, things are looking up here. The new consultant started yesterday and the new senior reg starts in a few weeks so at least the medical staff won’t be so stretched.’
‘What’s the consultant like?’ Brooke draped her stethoscope round her neck and straightened her tunic.
‘First class.’ Gill Wilson nodded with satisfaction. ‘We’re very lucky to have him.’