A Surgeon, A Midwife - A Family Read online

  'Good. I agree. I can't stay, I have a list waiting for me, but if Chloe here is still crying in five minutes, find an SHO and suggest to him that he contacts the duty registrar. Tell him that it was my suggestion.'

  He turned to go. Quickly, Miranda asked, 'Um, how did you know that I was a competent and experienced children's nurse? I introduced myself as a midwife.'

  She had graduated as a midwife and then spent a further two years gaining the additional children's nurse qualification.

  He looked at her, his expression unreadable. 'I phoned and asked Jenny Donovan about you.' Then he left, leaving Miranda in a state of confusion.

  It happened entirely by accident.

  Miranda was visiting the Landmoss Clinic, part of the Dell Owen Hospital outreach programme. The clinic was in a brand-new building six miles from the main hospital and catered for simple obs and gynae cases, as well as having a couple of children's wards. Serious cases were, of course, referred to the main hospital, but the Landmoss had a growing reputation among the local population.

  She wasn't even there to work, well, not properly. She had just finished an early shift, ending it in Jenny Donovan's office, talking about future work. Jenny had picked up a packet from her desk and let out a sigh of dismay. 'These X-rays should have gone to Landmoss. And they'll be needed this afternoon.'

  Miranda, having finished work, had the afternoon free and had offered to take the package. 'It'll be good for me to go,' she had said to Jenny. 'I fancy a look round the clinic.'

  'Thanks, Miranda, you're an angel.' Jenny smiled gratefully. 'I'll phone and say that you're on your way.'

  So here she was at the Landmoss. It looked a happy, cared-for building. And the minute she entered reception she heard shrieks of childish laughter. Quite a few children were obviously having a lot of fun.

  She was met by Dr Tom Ramsey, who beamed at her, said he was very grateful, grabbed the packet of X-rays and said that he was busy at the moment but that Molly Jowett, the receptionist, would show her around. Miranda liked the friendly staff at once.

  Molly, a cheerful, slim brunette, smiled. 'First come and have a peek in Kingfisher Ward,' she said. 'We're having a bit of a party. One of our patients is seven— so that's our excuse.'

  So Miranda went to peek into Kingfisher Ward. This was where the howls of laughter were coming from.

  She thought there was something wonderfully appealing about the sound of children laughing, the complete unselfconsciousness of it. And these were ill children. Just for a moment sadness overwhelmed her— but then she thrust it back. She was a professional.

  'No need to let them know we're here,' Molly whispered. 'You can meet them all later.' So the pair of them peered through the half-open door.

  There were children and a handful of mothers. Some kind of game was going on. Each child in turn had to creep near a bed. And when he or she got too close, a roaring but friendly looking lion would leap from under the bed. Afterwards, it promptly collapsed on the floor. Then, greatly daring, the child had to climb onto the back of the lion—which promptly woke up and was forced to canter round the ward.

  'That man's going to be tired when he finishes,' Molly said. 'But the kids are really enjoying themselves. I wish I'd brought my camera, I'd love a picture or two.'

  'There's a camera in my car,' said Miranda. 'I'll get it.'

  She fetched the camera, took a good dozen pictures. No one noticed them at the door as everyone was too busy enjoying themselves.

  'This nearly didn't happen,' Molly said. 'We organised the outfit and one of the dads was coming to be our lion but he had to cry off only just an hour ago. Work wouldn't let him go. Tom has a list of appointments, he just couldn't cancel them. And then...'

  But Miranda had noticed something. From under the lion's mane, a lock of black hair had escaped. And she caught a glimpse of grey eyes—now circled by bright red make-up. But she recognised those eyes.

  It couldn't be! 'That's Jack Sinclair, isn't it?' she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. 'He's a surgeon at the Dell Owen?'

  'I believe so. Came here earlier to look at a baby he operated on six months ago, just a check-up. Bit hard for the mum to get to hospital. Then he found out we had no one to play the lion and said he thought he had a couple of hours to spare. Not like any other surgeon I've ever met.'

  'He seems to be enjoying himself.'

  'Doesn't he just.' Molly chuckled.

  Miranda was having difficulty in believing her eyes. Was this the aloof surgeon who kept everyone at a distance? Cavorting on a ward floor dressed as a lion? And, what was more, apparently thoroughly enjoying himself?

  'There's another ward next door,' Molly said. 'Cases are a bit more serious there. But the lion's already made a tour. No rides on the back, just a friendly growl or two. Do you want to go into this ward? Have a look around?'

  'I wouldn't want to spoil the fun,' Miranda said faintly.

  'Well, come this way and I'll show you the maternity section. You might find yourself working here one day.'

  Still shocked, Miranda accompanied Molly down a corridor and behind her the sounds of merriment faded. Jack Sinclair? The friendly lion? She couldn't get her mind around it.

  Of course, they had to meet. And, either fortunately or unfortunately, they were alone at the time.

  After the tour of the clinic Molly took Miranda into the staff lounge to have a coffee together. But Molly was called back to reception and Miranda was left on her own for a while. And into the lounge walked Jack.

  Somewhere he had changed out of his lion costume. Now he was dressed just in a white shirt and the black suit trousers; tie and jacket were both over his arm. And he looked...tousled. His hair needed combing, his newly washed face was brighter than she remembered. The cool, aloof consultant had gone. Here was a totally different man.

  Miranda grinned. She was going to enjoy herself. 'You make a wonderful lion, Mr Sinclair,' she said.

  He looked at her, horrified. 'Miranda. What are you doing here?'

  'Just a passing visit. It's not impossible that I could work here some time. I must say, the atmosphere here is much less formal than in hospital. Consultants dressed as lions hiding under beds?'

  He threw his jacket over a chair, walked to the quietly bubbling coffee-machine and poured himself a cup. He was recovering now. 'Since you have me at a disadvantage, you can call me Jack,' he said.

  'Jack it is. Do you often get to play a lion—Jack?'

  'Seldom. In fact, I've never done it before.'

  'Did you enjoy it?'

  He came to sit opposite her, coffee-mug in his hand. So far she had seen him dressed in scrubs and in his immaculate black suit. On each occasion he had looked, the perfect professional. Now he looked casual. Now she saw Jack the man, not a professional hiding behind a kind of uniform. And with a sudden lurch inside her, she realised he was very attractive. Not craggy at all.

  He smiled, the unexpected change making Miranda's stomach flip. 'I thoroughly enjoyed it. But it was a one-off occasion. I doubt it'll ever happen again.'

  'You don't often play with children? You don't like it.'

  'I like it,' he admitted, 'and, yes, sometimes I do get to play with them. But never in the main hospital, of course.'

  'A pity. But this occasion will be different. We'll have the photographs to remember it by.'

  His face changed. 'Photographs, Miranda?'

  Suddenly somewhat nervous, she took out her digital camera. 'I was just outside the door when you were doing your act. Molly said it would be great if we had some pictures. I had my camera in the car so I fetched it and took a few shots.'

  She handed the camera to him. 'Look in that little screen, flick that button and you can see the pictures I took.'

  He peered at the shots she had taken. His face had taken on that closed expression she had now seen so often. An expression that told her nothing of his thoughts. Then he held the camera in one hand, touched it reflectively with a finger. 'I
didn't know I was being photographed,' he said.

  She watched him anxiously as he turned her camera over, looking at the controls. 'I hope you're not going to try to wipe the pictures out,' she said. 'Quite a few children—and mothers—will be disappointed if you do.'

  He handed the camera to her. 'I wouldn't want to disappoint any children,' he said. 'And I wouldn't dream of interfering with what is not my property. I take it that the photographs will only be available here in Landmoss?'

  She held the camera up to her eye, flicked through the shots she had taken. There was one of the lion raising a paw, gathering itself ready to leap. Even under the make-up, the face was clearly recognisable. Jack Sinclair, the surgeon. Miranda showed the shot to him.

  'I like this one best,' she said casually. 'I thought of having a big print made—about twelve by eighteen— and pinning it to our notice-board.'

  The silence was deafening. 'I don't think I'd care for that,' he said eventually. 'It makes me look a fool.'

  'It doesn't make you look a fool! It just shows a side of you that you try to hide. It shows you love children, you like being with them. And you volunteered to do this. It shows that you're willing to join in, let your hair down, relax.'

  'Perhaps.'

  Miranda took the camera from him. 'I certainly wouldn't put up your picture if you didn't want me to. So I won't. But in return will you do something for me?'

  'Blackmail, Miranda? Are you trying to make me do something you suspect I wouldn't want to do?'

  She heard the undercurrent of humour in his voice and smiled, but her tone was serious. 'When you talked to me first of all, when I tripped in the theatre, I wouldn't have minded if you'd got mad at me. I deserved it. But you did something perhaps worse. You were cold and distant—didn't seem to recognise that I was a human being. And apparently you treat everyone that way. You're always polite, but you're always...sort of... detached. And I think you should be more friendly.'

  His voice was mild. 'It's the way I am, Miranda, the way I like to be. If you're always professional with people, things can't go wrong.'

  'What sort of things can go wrong?'

  His face was expressionless. 'Personal feelings have no place in a professional relationship.'

  'You were having a professional relationship with those children? They seemed to think you were there because you liked them.'

  'I did. I do. Miranda, we've only met twice before. You don't know me, I don't know you. So how come I'm feeling I have to justify myself to you?' There was a reluctant smile on his lips as he spoke.

  Miranda was wondering the same herself, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She said, 'You're trying to justify yourself to yourself, not me. You won't lose respect, you know. Everyone I've talked to seems to think that you're the best neonatal surgeon in the north of England. Now, are you going to try to be just a bit less forbidding? A bit more open?'

  'I suppose the choice is either that or be known throughout the hospital as Jack the lion man,' he muttered. 'Yes, I'll try. I'd prefer not have people talking about me'

  They looked at each other in silence. Then Miranda went to the sink in the corner of the room and ran warm water onto a cloth. She came back to face Jack and said, 'You didn't get rid of all your lion make-up. There's a patch of red on your hair, where you can't see it. Would you like me to wipe it away?'

  'Please,' he said, after a pause.

  He sat still as she dabbed at the red make-up, caught a dribble of water as it ran towards his neck, patted him dry. She was close to him. There was the faint smell of human warmth mixed with some kind of citrusy aftershave. It was incredibly exciting. She could hear, feel his breathing, marked the rise and fall of the powerful chest muscles.

  'All done,' she said, after either half a minute or half a day. She didn't want to but she stepped away from him.

  'Miranda, meeting you has been quite an experience,' he said.

  'So has meeting you, Jack.'

  Molly bustled back into the room. 'Sorry to have left you alone so long,' she said. 'Have you two kept yourselves amused?'

  'Oh, yes,' said Jack, with a wry smile.

  Jack sat in his office and gazed out of the window. Winter was coming. The trees in the hospital grounds were bare of leaves, black branches a stark outline against a washed blue sky. He shivered and spun his chair round. Gloomily, he realised his room wasn't much more hospitable.

  In most offices he visited there was some attempt at softening the harsh impression made by the basic hospital furniture. Other consultants tried to impress a little of their personality on their rooms. There were flowers or potplants, perhaps pictures on the wall, a set of family photographs.

  Jack had none of these. For him his office was an extension of the hospital. There was a desk, kept as bare of papers as possible, bookcases and filing cabinets, two chairs drawn up opposite his desk. The only personal touch was the coffee-percolator in the corner.

  The impersonality of the room was a deliberate decision. He hadn't wanted people in here thinking about him, wondering about who he was. He had wanted them solely to think of his work. Now he was wondering if that was a good idea.

  Yesterday he had left the Landmoss clinic intending to think about Miranda Gale, to consider what he had half promised her. She had said he was detached and distant, had suggested that he try to be more.. .friendly? He hadn't told her that keeping his distance from people had at first been a deliberate decision, that had then changed into a habit. He didn't know how easy it would be to change back. He didn't know if he really wanted to.

  But last night there had been a paper to write. This morning he had had a full list. He had had no time for anything but work. But now...just for a moment...he could think about her.

  He thought he was too intelligent, too mature to be over-influenced by mere physical appearance. Even so, he had to admit that Miranda was absolutely gorgeous. Slightly taller than average, with a figure a little more full than was usual. Very different from the women he occasionally took out. A face to die for, with sparkling sapphire blue eyes that betrayed everything she was thinking. If Miranda was angry with you, there was no way she could hide it. Quite different from his own habit of keeping all feelings masked.

  This was foolish! No time to sit here dreaming like an adolescent, he had work to do. But before he tore his thoughts away he remembered Miranda's lips. Too often he'd seen them tight with anger or frustration. And when she was puzzled, white teeth tended to bite the bottom lip.

  They were lips he— What was he thinking of! Then, coolly and deliberately, he let himself think it. They were lips he would very much like to kiss.

  Quite impossible, of course. She worked at the hospital. There was no way he'd ever get involved with someone from work again. He wasn't looking for a time-consuming affair either. And now he'd faced his feelings, acknowledged to himself how he felt, he could get on with his work. Keeping Miranda at a distance would hurt, of course. But he could stand pain.

  He glanced at his watch. He had asked SHO Annie Arnold to come and speak to him. And, punctual to the minute, there was a knock on his door. 'Come in,' he called.

  Annie entered. 'You wanted to see me, Jack?' She was obviously a little nervous, her green eyes apprehensive.

  'I do. Annie, I arranged shift patterns for the SHOs before I went to America. When I'd gone you negotiated a change—you swapped a couple of daytime shifts for a couple of nights. Right?'

  Annie coloured. 'It didn't seem to do any harm,' she said.

  'Perhaps not. But because you didn't arrange things quite properly, two sets of patient notes went astray and I had to spend an hour yesterday chasing them.'

  'I'm very sorry,' Annie said, now red-faced.

  Jack looked at her. He liked Annie, thought she was a good SHO. And he remembered what he had promised Miranda.

  'OK, it's not the end of the world,' he said gently. 'Let's remember that we're both doctors and that everyone makes mistakes sometimes. In the past
I've swapped shifts so I could be with someone who I—'

  'You have?' Annie asked incredulously.

  'I have. Just not recently. Now, let me pour you a cup of coffee. I'll have one, too.'

  She was obviously amazed at this small act of kindness and it hurt a little to see her amazement. Then he wondered if he would have felt like this before he had talked to Miranda.

  He poured two coffees. Annie took hers, then dropped her spoon on the floor. 'Oh, what next?' she groaned as she leaned over and scrabbled under his desk.

  Jack surprised her—and himself—by laughing. 'Leave it! Just so long as you don't go dropping scalpels inside patients. Now, while you're here, I may as well go over your progress over the past couple of months. I've been pleased with you. I think you have the makings of a surgeon…'

  It was an interesting few minutes he spent with her and he found himself getting to know Annie the person behind the very efficient doctor. Just before she left he asked casually, 'Who was that nurse you brought into Theatre the other day?'

  'Miranda Gale? She's just started. In fact, we share a flat together. Oh, Jack, she's so sorry that she fell and...'

  He raised a hand. 'It doesn't matter. Just an accident. The head of midwifery thinks very highly of her, feels we are lucky to have her. But the beginning of November—it's an odd time to start work.'

  'I think something happened to her some time ago and she wanted to...' Annie started, and then obviously decided to say no more. Instead she said, 'Look, it's not for me to say...'

  'That's understandable. Don't worry, Annie.'

  Annie stood and moved towards the door. Then she turned. 'Er, Jack. Could I ask you to do something for me?'

  'I will if I can.'

  Annie coloured again, very slightly. 'Don't say anything to anyone about swapping shifts to anyone. I organised it and now I want it forgotten.'

  'OK, Annie, I'll say nothing. It's over and done with.'

  Annie left and Jack thought about the meeting. He had tried to be pleasant. He thought he had succeeded— and he quite liked it.