Fairytale on the Children's Ward

‘And this is Clare Jackson, our new perfusionist,’ Oliver heard Alex say. ‘I’m more delighted than I can tell you to welcome Clare to our team as she trained in the US at the same hospital as Theo, and the oldies on the team will know how good he was.’

Oliver battled to sort out the disbelief in his head, to actually accept that the woman who still, from time to time, haunted his dreams was right here in this room.

Impossible!

Except it wasn’t! There she was, head tilted towards Alex, so he saw her in profile, and caught the long line of her neck—the neck he’d loved to—

Clare Jackson?

He’d had the list of team members’ names for a couple of weeks, but as she’d shown up on that as C. Jackson and most perfusionists he’d worked with had been males, he hadn’t given a thought to the coincidence of surnames.

Alex was talking, but the words didn’t penetrate Oliver’s brain. Not only was Clare right here in this room, but apparently she was a team member. He’d be working with her.

She was a perfusionist?

From actress to lifesaving medical equipment expert in ten short years?

‘Clare!’ he’d managed to blurt out when they’d been introduced.

She’d nodded, lustrous dark hair swirling around her head, brown eyes half hooded, long eyelashes hiding any emotion those eyes might reveal at this unexpected reunion.

‘Oliver,’ she’d said, her voice still so familiar a tremor of excitement had shaken his body.

He tried to concentrate on Alex’s introductions to the rest of the team, but how could he? He snuck a glance at Clare, and was annoyed to see that she seemed totally unfazed by this incredible coincidence.

* * *

Clare held her body very still, glad she’d learned how to do this years ago—back when she was a drama student at university, back when she’d first met Oliver.

Besides, if she held her body very still it might not fall apart, which was what it was threatening to do any moment.

Her body and her mind!

That he should be here—on the same team—was so unbelievable she had to wonder if it was some giant conspiracy of the Fates. Of course, even ten years ago, Oliver had been headed for a paediatric specialty, but he’d never mentioned surgery.

Whatever, it was indisputably Oliver sitting on the other side of the room, ignoring her in the politest possible way. Although what could he have said?

Long time, no see?

Not for Oliver the trite phrase, nor even idle conversation. The problem was that eventually the meeting would end and they would have to leave the room and some kind of conversation would obviously have to take place!

He’d come to claim Emily!

Nausea roiled in her stomach as the thought struck like the flick of a whip, but common sense prevailed. He’d obviously been as shocked to see her as she was to see him, and if he’d wanted his child surely he’d have got in touch back when she’d told him about the pregnancy.

Or in the intervening years?

And the fact that he hadn’t—that he obviously didn’t want to know his daughter—hardened her heart against him once again.

She could handle this! She could handle anything!

Easy to think, harder to do. Fear for her daughter fluttered in her heart, fear for Em’s emotional stability.

Her mind ran wild.

Now he was here, wouldn’t he want to see his daughter—to get to know her?

And if he still refused to acknowledge her, how would that affect Em?

Thinking about her daughter opened up a void so deep and black Clare felt as if she was teetering on a precipice, about to be plunged into a bottomless abyss.

Yet how could she not think of Emily, not put her first?

She’d have to talk to Oliver, find out what he wanted and whether Emily was part of it. Then she—perhaps they—could work out how to get father and daughter together—or not—with the least possible upheaval in Emily’s life.

She sneaked another glance at the man causing such havoc in her mind, and this time felt her heart turn over. Silver threads had infiltrated his sandy hair at both temples, lending him an air of distinction, but Oliver had always been a distinguished-looking man—tall, lean, tanned, with dark brows above those startling pale green eyes. In profile slightly hawkish, the long thin nose tipped down just slightly at the end.

Pointing to his lips?

That had been a stupid fantasy of hers in her youth, for Oliver Rankin had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen, on a man or woman.

Oliver!

Huge inward sigh!

She tried to concentrate on Alex’s words, but her mind was way back in the past.

With Oliver…

How had things gone so disastrously wrong between them? How had she been stupid enough to walk out on him?

Because he didn’t want the child you yearned for, she reminded herself. Didn’t want a child at all and definitely not right then for all it would have been an ideal time as far as you were concerned. But part of the stupidity had been thinking he’d come after you, and that somehow the two of you could have patched things up.

That hadn’t happened!

She’d spent a miserable Christmas at home on the farm with her family, then the realisation had dawned that, wanted or not, she was going to have a baby.

Tentative delight…

Quickly quelled at the thought of Oliver’s reaction.

Which hadn’t come!

Unable to contact him by phone or email, she’d finally written, but when he hadn’t answered her letters—had ignored her unexpected news—she’d decided she’d have to forget all about him, which, she’d admitted to herself even then, was easier said than done. Until the diagnosis of her father’s illness had turned her family’s life upside down and concern and grief for him had swamped the pain of losing Oliver. Then, within weeks of Em’s birth, life had changed so irrevocably Oliver had been the last person she’d been thinking of.

No, that was wrong. She’d longed for him—for his presence, his support, to have him there to share her dread and fear.…

And not having him, she’d turned to the man who was there—