Second Lover Read online

  SECOND LOVER

  GILL SANDERSON

  For Dr Lyn Webster, her move to London is exactly what she needs.

  After the traumatic death of her fiancé, Gavin, she’s ready to concentrate on her work – until her handsome boss Dr Ross McKinnon shows an interest in her. She’s devastatingly attracted to him, but he’s too similar to Gavin to let herself get close to him; Ross is an adventurer - he wants to work in foreign countries, climb mountains, and sail through rough seas. All Lyn wants is a regular job, a house in the suburbs, and a husband who comes home every night.

  They know happiness is within their reach – but will an unexpected danger tear them apart before Lyn lets herself love again?

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  Other Titles by Gill Sanderson

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was the walk that Lyn first noticed.

  It was the start of the day at Lizzie’s—St Elizabeth’s Children’s Hospital—and the glassed-in entryway was thronged with visitors, hurrying staff, ancillary workers, and parents with or without children. All were walking purposefully, minding their own business.

  But this woman’s walk was wrong.

  She walked quickly, her steps gradually increasing in speed. Then she would glance behind her and her pace would slow, as if she was forcing herself to be calm. Lyn shrugged. This was a hospital; there were a hundred reasons for people to act slightly oddly. But still she watched as the woman came towards her.

  The woman was carrying a baby—a neonate, Lyn guessed. Most mothers carried their new babies cautiously, but this one nearly tripped as she moved over the pavement and her pace didn’t slow. It was a warm September day but the woman was wearing a long mac buttoned up to the neck. There was nothing really wrong, but…

  By now the woman was almost facing her. Deliberately Lyn stood in her way and peered at the tiny pink face in the bundle the woman was grasping so tightly.

  ‘What a lovely baby,’ she said. ‘Is he—or she—?’

  ‘I haven’t time to talk,’ the woman snapped. ‘Excuse me.’ Then she was round Lyn and moving more quickly than ever.

  Lyn looked up at the grey-brick facade of Lizzie’s. This was to be her first day here, as senior house officer in the neurology department. She had felt so pleased to get the position, for she knew there had been considerable competition for it. She was anxious to do well. And how many times had she been told in her training—don’t make assumptions, don’t rush in, investigate before taking any action? Ask, wait, check and double-check. But…

  Lyn turned to watch the woman, and frowned. Under the long coat the woman was wearing some kind of light, shapeless trousers—they could be hospital scrubs, in fact.

  She made for an illegally parked red car, opened the door and, after a wild glance behind her, thrust the baby into some kind of cot on the floor behind the front seat. There was no attempt at settling the child, no signs of tucking in, making sure it was comfortable. The woman darted round to the driver’s door and seconds later the car pulled jerkily into the traffic. She hadn’t fastened her safety belt.

  Lyn thought she was probably panicking, making a fool of herself for no reason. But there was a one per cent chance that she wasn’t. She had to take a chance. She glanced at the traffic-filled main road, where a taxi had just drawn up, and a man and a baby climbed out.

  Another man with a small family was waving at the taxi, smiling as he walked towards it. Lyn ran up the pavement, got to the open door just before the man, and leaped inside. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Medical emergency, I’m a doctor, I’m sure you don’t mind.’ From his angry face she guessed he probably did mind, but she had already slammed the door.

  The cab eased out into the traffic. ‘Can you follow that red car that’s just ahead?’ Lyn asked the cabbie.

  The man turned to squint at her. ‘You’ve been watching too many films, love. What d’you think I am?’

  ‘This is a medical emergency,’ Lyn said, repeating the phrase as if it were a spell. ‘I’m a doctor. Look, here’s my badge.’ Fortunately she had been issued with the hospital identity badge some days ago.

  The cabbie turned and stared at the badge. ‘All right. But I’m going to have to report this.’

  ‘Please do. Look, she’s getting away!’

  The cab driver eyed the morning London traffic, bumper to bumper, wheel arch to wheel arch. ‘No chance of a fast car chase in this, love. We’ll just cruise along nicely behind her; she can’t get far. What’s all this about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Lyn shut the partition and sat back, trying to relax. What should she do next? Her first day at the hospital, and she was probably making an almighty fool of herself. There was only one person she could say she really knew there and that was Henry Birkinshaw: the consultant whose firm she had joined, who was even now waiting to welcome her to her new job. So be it.

  Henry would have to know. She took out her mobile phone, got through to the hospital and asked for his extension.

  ‘Extension 793.’ It wasn’t Henry who answered the phone. Henry’s voice was like Henry the man: clear, precise, pedantic. This voice was slower, almost drawling. There was perhaps a hint of a West Country accent; it was a comfortable voice. What a time to be dreaming about voices! She had to be exact, for the last thing she needed was to cause a panic.

  ‘I am Lyn Webster, Henry Birkinshaw’s new senior house officer. Who am I talking to, please?’

  The voice was amused. ‘I am Ross McKinnon, one of Henry Birkinshaw’s two specialist registrars. Henry’s sorting out a problem on the ward. I just popped in to meet you, Lyn, and help welcome you to the firm. Any problem? Going to be late?’

  His voice invited confidence; he would be good with children. Stop it! She had to be exact. ‘Dr McKinnon, I think I’m making a fool of myself. I’m in a taxi, following a woman in a car. I saw her walking out of the hospital and I wondered if she… if she had stolen the baby.’ Now she had actually said it, the very idea sounded ridiculous.

  Then something came back to her—perhaps a reason for her subconscious to be on the alert. ‘Remember that case in north London last week?’

  He did. ‘A woman was disturbed on a ward, and nearly got away with a neonate. Yes, we heard. Our security man suggested a few more precautions. It would be very hard to steal a baby from one of our wards, Lyn. There’d be alarms sounding all over the place.’

  She knew she was making a fool of herself. She should ask the taxi to turn round, and pay the cabbie extra for having to deal with an idiot. But she asked, ‘What about Outpatients?’

  Now there was steel in the calm voice. ‘Outpatients. There’s a thought—things have to be a bit more casual there. Lyn, we don’t want to start a panic. Where are you?’

  She gave him the name of the busy London street and told him how slowly they were moving down it.

  ‘Give me your phone number and I’ll make a few enquiries and ring you back. How old was the baby?’

  She gave him her number and said, ‘I only had a quick look, but I think the baby was a neonate.’

  ‘Narrows things down. I’ll be in touch.’ He rang off.

  She watched the slow-moving traffic around her and wished heartily that she’d never started on this stupid adventure. It seemed like hours before her phone rang, but it was probably no more than five minutes.

  ‘There’s a baby missing from Outpatients. The mother was given a cup of tea by a nurse in scrubs, and tol
d the baby had to be weighed. The mother was to sit there and take things easy. We’re trying to control things here; we could do without this kind of trouble. Can you tell me exactly where you are? And can you see the number of the car with the baby?’ She could tell him both.

  ‘Right, don’t do anything until it’s obvious you need to. Remember, you still might be quite wrong.’

  ‘But how will…? Nothing can catch us here.’

  ‘Just leave it to the police.’

  She should have thought. A minute later there was the dull throb of a motorbike engine and a policeman rode past on his gleaming machine. Two more threaded their way through the slow-moving traffic. Lyn watched anxiously, because this woman must be desperate. However, the policemen were clever. They stopped a van two vehicles in front of the little red car and appeared to question the driver. The traffic had to stop. Then there was a policeman on each side of the red car and a large arm reached in to take out the ignition key.

  Lyn told the cabbie to wait and then she was out of the taxi and running. The woman in the car was apparently not brazening out the situation, she knew there was no escape, was alternately screaming and sobbing, while the policeman restrained her gently. A vague recollection struck Lyn from a half-remembered psychiatry lecture that many women who stole children actually wanted to be caught.

  Another policeman lifted an arm to stop Lyn. She grabbed for her hospital badge and held it up like a talisman. ‘I’m a doctor. I want to check the baby.’

  ‘You’re the one who phoned this in? Okay, ma’am.’

  She was allowed past. Quickly she scrambled into the back of the car, and looked at the apparently happily sleeping child. It was a neonate as she had thought before, perhaps three weeks old. She made a lightning examination, but there was nothing obviously wrong.

  She rang the hospital again, and got straight through to Ross McKinnon. ‘I’ve got the baby, a little girl, she seems to be all right. Is there anything I should know?’

  The voice was calm again. ‘First, congratulations. No, there’s nothing seriously wrong with the child. She was just in for injections and a check-up. Shortly there should be a police car arriving; it’ll bring you back here with the baby. I suspect the mother is in a worse state than the child, so let’s get them reunited.’

  For some reason the scene in the middle of the crowded London street now reminded Lyn of a major surgical operation. The observers were kept well in the background and the chaos of policemen resolved itself into a set of men who knew exactly what they were doing and how best to do it. The traffic started to flow slowly around them. Somehow two police cars arrived, and the now quiet woman in the long coat was escorted firmly to one by a policewoman. ‘Do we need an ambulance for the baby, ma’am?’ Lyn was asked.

  She shook her head. ‘If you could drive me back to Lizzie’s, please? Oh!’ She foraged in her handbag, took out a twenty-pound note. ‘Could you give this to the taxi driver and say thanks?’

  ‘We’ll be taking a statement from him anyway. Now, there’s a car waiting for you if you’re happy to carry the baby with you.’

  Lyn decided to replace the baby in the cot he had travelled in, in the back of the red car. The little one would be safer there. As she lifted the cot out, she noticed that it was expensive and brand new. For a moment she wondered what personal tragedy she had touched on, what could persuade a woman to steal a baby from another woman. Surely the thief could share in the feelings of a distraught mother? Lyn shrugged. She had learned early that a doctor could not take on all the problems that her work put forward.

  She was settled in the back of the police car, with the cot and baby again in the well behind the front seats. The safest place. Then they were making remarkable speed through the traffic back to the hospital. With a wry smile she noticed how polite other drivers were when they saw the police car behind them.

  There was the crackle of the radio and the driver was announcing their arrival at the hospital. He was asked to drive straight to the outpatients department, where they would be expected.

  A little welcoming committee was waiting by the pavement edge. There was a dark, intense-looking man in his late thirties, a couple of nurses, and an older man whose cropped grey hair and general demeanour suggested the army. Lyn opened the car door and slid the cot into the waiting arms of the two nurses.

  ‘I’m Edward Burrows, Outpatients Consultant,’ the intense man said. ‘What can you tell us?’

  ‘I managed a quick examination and there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong,’ Lyn said concisely. ‘And since she got in the car I don’t think the woman had a chance to handle the baby.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned to the senior nurse. ‘Sally, take young Miss Charlotte here and reunite her with her mother. Then in five minutes we’ll give her a proper looking over.’

  The two nurses disappeared with the cot as he turned back to Lyn. His rather bleak expression relaxed when he smiled and she had to smile back, his joy was so obvious. ‘It’s Dr Webster, isn’t it? Dr Webster, can you imagine the relief we’re all feeling?’

  ‘Possibly,’ she said.

  ‘We owe you, Dr Webster. If ever the outpatients department can do anything for you, just ask.’

  ‘Careful. That kind of offer can get you into trouble. I could take advantage.’

  ‘I very much doubt you will. Look, there’s going to be no end of enquiries, meetings, and paperwork about this, so I’d better practise medicine until it gets started. But once again, thanks.’

  He strode into the department and she was left with the military-looking man who had just finished speaking to the police driver. ‘Jock MacGregor, Head of Security at St Elizabeth’s,’ he introduced himself, and squeezed the hand she offered him. ‘Rather an exciting beginning to your first day, Dr Webster. You spotted something that half a dozen of my staff missed.’

  Lyn realised that the man took the theft of the baby personally, and liked him for it.

  ‘It was sheer good luck on my part, Mr MacGregor. Now if it’s possible I’d like to get to my new department. I’m late already. Will I have to make a statement? I’d much rather not, you know.’

  ‘People will want to know what happened, Dr Webster. They’ll think you’re a heroine.’

  ‘I took a ride in a taxi and used my mobile phone, that’s all. I want to be a doctor, not a heroine. Can you keep my name out of things?’

  For the first time Mr MacGregor smiled. ‘We’ll do what we can,’ he said. ‘Now, you’ll find your way to your ward if you follow that corridor down to the main entrance hall.’

  The main entrance to Lizzie’s was through a glassed-in area. There was a mini-mall with a few busy shops: a flower and fruit shop with a grocery section; a toy and toiletries store; and a post office. Lyn passed through the hurrying crowds with an odd sense of unreality. She glanced at her watch, and couldn’t believe the time. Only half an hour had passed since she’d approached those doors for the first time.

  She remembered her apprehension, the nervousness that came with the beginning of any new job. And as she remembered it, the nerves returned. Good. The events of the past half-hour were now firmly behind her.

  Now she too walked quickly, like nearly everyone else around her. Her long legs carried her towards the corridor marked ‘Neurology Department’. Deftly she avoided a running child, then caught him as he stumbled. Children here often needed to run to keep up.

  She had dressed with care—she always did. In a children’s ward there was always a certain degree of informality. White coats and strict uniforms might reassure adults but they tended to frighten children.

  But Lyn always felt more confident if she also felt she was looking smart. She was wearing black suede flatties, dark trousers, and a grey silk sleeveless blouse. She knew there’d be a bright tabard available if she needed it, if she was going to do anything likely to be messy. Yesterday she’d had her dark hair dressed in its normal short cut. It had cost a small fortune but it made her
feel good.

  This was going to be the start of a new life. She remembered how almost exactly a year ago, in a different hospital, she had started on a ward as a completely new doctor, as a medical house officer. Then too she had thought she was starting a completely new life. She shivered. Things hadn’t worked out as she had planned. This year things would be different.

  Now she was outside the neurology department. From her bag she took the newly issued swipe card that let her through the locked doors. Then she walked to the doctors’ room.

  ‘Dr Webster—Lyn—welcome to the department. I do hope we can hang on to you. I gather Dr Burrows of Outpatients will offer you a place whenever you want one.’

  She’d met him before, of course. Dr Birkinshaw had interviewed her for this post and showed her around the department at the same time. Only when she had left had she realised just how penetrating the interview had been.

  The questions had apparently risen from the children they’d been looking at. But they’d tested her knowledge to the full. His reputation—and that of the department—was worldwide. He was the reason she wanted to work in Lizzie’s. He was a short, wiry man, dressed in a dark suit with an immaculate white shirt and college tie. Dr Birkinshaw was a doctor of the old school; he liked to look the part.

  ‘I want to work in Neurology,’ she said as she shook his hand, ‘perhaps even become a neurosurgeon. And I hope what happened this morning never happens to me again.’

  Dr Birkinshaw nodded. ‘Stealing a baby—a sign of the times, I’m afraid. When I first began medicine I never thought that I would see the day when we had to lock children’s wards. Now, you must be shaken to a certain degree—I’ll see if I can organise us some coffee. But first, this is Melissa Yates, my specialist registrar. You’ll be spending much of your time with her.’ He slipped out of the door.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Dr Webster,’ Melissa said coolly. ‘I hope you aren’t going to excite us like this every morning.’

  Her handshake wasn’t anything like as firm as Henry’s had been. Lyn put her age at about thirty: she was carefully made-up and well dressed in what Lyn thought rather an unsuitably fussy dress, and she had long, artfully curled blonde hair.