In The Venetian's Bed

‘My name is Dottore Luca Barbaro.’

The man had moved on smoothly to introductions, Nell realised. It was as if she were watching a horror film in slow motion, a film that had no connection with her life. ‘Dr Barbaro,’ she repeated distractedly.

‘That’s right.’

He sounded as though he expected her to fall on her knees and give thanks.

‘Well, now that you’ve made your call, Dr Barbaro, you can give my daughter back to me!’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ His brow furrowed.

‘Trust you? Why should I trust you?’

‘You’re in shock,’ he said, sounding irritable. ‘It’s better if I hold her.’

Better? What could be better than for a child to be held by its own mother? ‘I’m not in shock. Give her to me.’ The urge to rip Molly from his arms was growing every moment, but she couldn’t risk manhandling Molly, not when there was something so obviously wrong.

Nell’s mind darted about, trying to land on a sensible course of action, but nothing made sense—especially this man appearing out of the blue to take charge of their lives. ‘Have you been following us?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Following you?’ His eyes mirrored his impatience.

‘Oh, so you just happened along. And you tell me you’re a doctor. Quite convenient, don’t you think?’

‘Why should I lie to you? I am a doctor. I live just over there.’ He jutted out his chin to indicate some building.

She didn’t look. She had no intention of staring at a place she had no wish to see. ‘And you were standing by your window when our gondola floated past?’

‘Your gondolier rang to warn me you were on your way.’

That seemed so incongruous, it had to be impossible. Then Nell remembered the gondolier had made a call. It was so easy to be seduced by ravishingly beautiful and apparently unchanged Venice, and forget how easily the modern world coexisted with the old.

‘Luck was smiling on you,’ he remarked.

‘Luck?’ It was Nell’s turn to snap.

‘Lucky for you your gondolier knew me and where I live. Marco only had to ring to check that I was in, and then he brought you straight here.’

‘He brought us here intentionally?’

‘He was trying to help you.’

A fact that seemed lost on the child’s mother, Luca thought. He eased his neck. His head was thumping. Sleep deprivation had finally claimed him. This was supposed to be his day off, but when the call came suggesting a worrying case, his time on duty had slipped into its third day. That didn’t matter. The patient came first. The patient always came first.

‘The gondolier brought you here as quickly as he could.’ His tolerance levels, thin at the best of times when dealing with civilians, were at an all-time low. While one part of his brain knew it was routine for the mother to be concerned and emotional, the other, more forceful side resented her interference. The result? He was spitting out words to drive his message home. And the message was: Leave me to deal with this. I don’t need to be here, I don’t want your thanks, just don’t expect me to be your emotional support when I have a job to do.

But there was no nurse here to take the woman away. Grinding his jaw, Luca attempted to calm her down. Human decency demanded that much of him. ‘Marco could see you needed a doctor, so he brought you to me. Didn’t you tell him you needed help?’

‘I didn’t think he understood.’

‘He didn’t. Lucky for you he used his initiative.’

Oh, forget human decency. He was just too damn tired, and the child needed all his attention. Besides, there was something else nagging at him—something that meant he had to be harsh. Feelings, thoughts, all of them inappropriate, were swimming round his head, pulling his eyes to her body when they should be on the patient.

He didn’t need this. A particularly harrowing shift had left him tired and susceptible—how else could he explain the way he was reacting to her?

Luca turned back to the patient in his arms before he had chance to lock eyes with her mother.

‘What are you doing now?’ Nell tensed as he inspected Molly’s fingernails.

‘You’re going to have to put your mistrust of doctors on hold while I check my patient.’

His patient? Her baby. Her life. Nell gritted her teeth. And as for putting her mistrust on hold…! Didn’t this just underline everything she felt about doctors? Didn’t this man’s detached manner justify all the ugly emotion welling inside her now—emotion so close to hatred it was impossible to tell the difference?

‘So, what exactly are you checking, Doctor?’

‘Oxygen levels.’

‘And you can do that just from staring at my daughter’s hand?’

‘I can see if the nails are pink and healthy, or if they are tinged with blue.’

‘Blue? Let me see!’ Fear welled in Nell’s throat. She had no medical training to draw on. She didn’t know if Molly’s nails were pink enough. What kind of mother didn’t know the colour of her own daughter’s nails? Why hadn’t she noticed the colour of Molly’s nails when she was well so she had something to compare them with now?

‘You can’t be expected to know everything.’

And now he could read minds? She doubted he was trying to placate her. In any case, she didn’t want his understanding: she wanted facts. ‘How can I help if you don’t tell me what’s going on?’

‘You can’t help,’ he said flatly.

‘So a mother’s care is worth nothing?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he said wearily.

‘Then give her to me.’ Nell’s tone sharpened.

He levelled a gaze on her face. ‘If you want me to assess her medical condition you’ll leave her where she is.’

‘You’re a doctor and you don’t know what’s wrong with her yet?’

‘I can’t be certain—’

‘But you must have some idea.’

‘Stop pressing me for answers. You should try to relax—’

‘Relax?’

‘All right, then, how about trusting me?’