Knave of Hearts

Ben chuckled. ‘Yes, thank God. I never want to go through a time like that again. It took me five minutes to fall for her, and then another five weeks to persuade her to marry me—that’s when I could finally get her to listen.’

Jake gave a wry snort of amusement. ‘Is that all? You want to try courting Annie—after eleven years she still won’t marry me, even though she knows how wonderfully easy I am to live with,’ he said mournfully.

‘You jest!’ Anne retorted.

Maggie was wide-eyed. ‘You lived with him?’ she said incredulously.

‘Not precisely,’ Anne mumbled.

‘Yes, you did—precisely. You just wouldn’t marry me.’

She glared at Jake, and he shrugged and smiled.

Ben shook his head. ‘Must be something wrong with your technique, old man.’

‘After all the practice he got in? No chance,’ Anne said drily, and then blushed furiously at the others’ laughter.

She was rescued by the sudden bleeping of her pager.

‘Saved by the bell,’ Jake said with another chuckle, and, with a mumbled excuse, she fled.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3f9f7112-6d34-50f5-ad44-fd3b9109ebe5)

‘ROSS HAMILTON’S wife Lizzi has just been admitted in early labour,’ Sister told Anne as she arrived on the ward in answer to her summons. ‘I’ve put her in the first single, next to my office. I wonder if you could clerk her for me, Anne?’

‘Sure.’

She tapped on the door of the little room and entered, smiling a welcome to the slender but extremely pregnant woman perched on the bed.

‘Hello, there. I’m Anne Gabriel, Alex Carter’s SHO. I’ve just come to check you in.’

Lizzi smiled. ‘Check away.’

‘OK.’ Anne ran through the list of questions, receiving prompt, precise and intelligent answers.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she accused with a laugh.

‘Several times—I was a ward sister until maternity claimed me. That’s how I met Ross.’

Recognition dawned. ‘You were the ones with the cartoons—sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t mention them.’

Lizzi laughed. ‘They were only meant in fun. We collected them all and Ross had them framed for his study at home.’

Anne nodded as it came back. Apparently there had been a long series of hilarious cartoons following their budding romance, pinned on the bulletin board in the canteen, and by all accounts some of them had been pretty close to the knuckle. ‘It was his registrar, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right—he’s now doing freelance cartoons for medical magazines, and earning a fortune, so he tells us. Never mind, we’ll get our own back on him—he’s doing Ross’s list this afternoon!’

Anne laughed.

‘Right, let’s have a look at you and see how you’re doing—have you had an internal yet?’

‘No, we’ve only just arrived.’

Behind them the door opened and closed, and Anne glanced over her shoulder. A tall, good-looking man had come in, dressed in typical consultant’s uniform of grey suit and sober tie, but most remarkable for the shock of prematurely silver hair above his lively grey-green eyes.

‘I’ve sorted Mitch out for this afternoon. How’re you doing?’ he asked his wife, the soft Scots accent adding a gentle lilt to his concern.

‘OK. This is Dr Gabriel—I think she’s just going to do an internal. Are you staying or going?’

He laughed. ‘Staying. I’m too old to shock!’

‘Poor old man—what it is to be nearly forty,’ Lizzi teased gently.

Anne hung the chart back on the end of the bed and smiled. ‘OK, how frequent are the contractions?’

‘Every twenty minutes or so? I had one just before you came in.’

‘Still widely spaced, then. How about your waters? Have they broken yet?’

Lizzi spluttered and tried to hide her laughter.

Ross heaved a great sigh. ‘I really think she hates my car. The first time she clapped eyes on it she rammed it in the side, and now this, the final indignity!’

Lizzi pretended to be wounded. ‘I think your car hates me,’ she countered. ‘Every time I go near it it causes a row. Actually,’ she told Anne with a twinkle, ‘I think it’s jealous of me.’

Ross snorted. ‘I’m going to sell the damn thing and buy a Land Rover, I think. It’s the only vehicle tough enough to withstand Lizzi’s attention!’

Anne laughed, and turned back to Lizzi. ‘Perhaps you could slip out of your clothes and put on a gown while I go and find a midwife, and then we’ll give you a thorough check and see how you’re getting on.’

She pulled a face. ‘Do I have to wear a gown?’

‘No, I don’t suppose so. Do you have an alternative in mind?’

‘I brought one of Ross’s old shirts—Jo said something about the birthing-room, and I was hoping …’

‘OK, that’s fine. You can do whatever you want. This is your labour, after all. Just pop it on so we can have a look at you, and then you can have a shower. I’ll just go and find your notes.’

She left them with a smile, and went back to the nursing station.

Opening the notes, she flicked through them, and groaned.

Under pelvic assessment, Jo had written, ‘Possible disproportion—induce 40/40 latest, trial of labour—?android pelvis.’

So Jo had been worried enough not to want her to go past term, and by the sound of it she wasn’t confident that Lizzi would deliver normally.

She decided to call Jake—at least in his posh New York practice he would have had plenty of experience with Caesarean sections!

She picked up the phone, called the switchboard and asked them to page Mr Hunter. Seconds later she heard the sound of a bleep on the ward, and Jake appeared at her side.