Книга - The Midwife’s One-Night Fling: The Midwife’s One-Night Fling / Baby Miracle in the ER

The Midwife's One-Night Fling: The Midwife's One-Night Fling / Baby Miracle in the ER
CAROL MARINELLI

Sue MacKay






About the Authors (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

SUE MACKAY lives with her husband in New Zealand’s beautiful Marlborough Sounds, with the water on her doorstep and the birds and the trees at her back door. It is the perfect setting to indulge her passions of entertaining friends by cooking them sumptuous meals, drinking fabulous wine, going for hill walks or kayaking around the bay—and, of course, writing stories.


Also By Carol Marinelli

Seduced by the Sheikh Surgeon

Playboy on Her Christmas List

Their Secret Royal Baby

Their One Night Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Also By Sue MacKay

Midwife…to Mum!

Reunited…in Paris!

A December to Remember

Breaking All Their Rules

Dr White’s Baby Wish

The Army Doc’s Baby Bombshell

Resisting Her Army Doc Rival

Pregnant with the Boss’s Baby

Falling for Her Fake Fiancé

Her New Year Baby Surprise

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The Midwife’s One-Night Fling/Baby Miracle in the ER

The Midwife’s One-Night Fling

Carol Marinelli

Baby Miracle in the ER

Sue MacKay






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09575-4

THE MIDWIFE’S ONE-NIGHT FLING/BABY MIRACLE IN THE ER

The Midwife’s One-Night Fling © 2018 Carol Marinelli Baby Miracle in the ER © 2018 Sue MacKay

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#uadbebda9-1a57-5abc-b1a8-d3bbc30ecce1)

About the Authors (#u8cdb0ba6-b540-5cd6-a5c3-e9ad8610877d)

Booklist (#u4057b680-a52a-5ddc-925a-38e2ed656229)

Title Page (#ue7a84098-ba56-5102-a9b7-54393fe87ee2)

Copyright (#u888ed2b7-a336-533c-8300-9624c0475371)

The Midwife’s One-Night Fling (#u5f5abeae-abca-55ea-9692-b44aea36282a)

Back Cover Text (#uf14da580-266e-5665-9f1c-bb7912ea63f1)

Dedication (#ubed43666-2732-549d-9185-8c5bf7342d71)

PROLOGUE (#ud148d0a0-0914-5b74-afc0-3b2446ca8326)

CHAPTER ONE (#ubd1a914f-187b-59a6-9ac4-7cf5ddc3f770)

CHAPTER TWO (#u47e693e9-5902-5dcf-8e2f-e38bd21a0364)

CHAPTER THREE (#u3a8fc660-fc45-5f0c-a55b-858d736bb504)

CHAPTER FOUR (#uc2e04a70-c0f5-5807-9dbf-c878716f86be)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ubbc3fc09-f8a3-5472-b956-95acdd65aa4b)

CHAPTER SIX (#ub24c1284-79d0-555e-81ca-923a1df7c749)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ua2f8379f-7d5c-5e46-a6d6-cd80a08a5c20)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u3377ec4b-bbe6-53cd-b695-1f6ce88b7be5)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Baby Miracle in the ER (#litres_trial_promo)

Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


The Midwife’s One-Night Fling (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

Carol Marinelli


Is one night with Dr. Off-Limits...

The best mistake of her life?

Escaping her rural Scottish hometown, midwife Freya has a new job in busy London...and a new crush on sexy consultant Richard Lewis! Charismatic yet commitment-phobic bachelor Richard comes with warning signs, but Freya knows one night would be worth the risk. And when she ends up in Richard’s bed, it feels like a red-hot dream—one Freya doesn’t want to wake up from...


Dear Lucinda

Love you more xxxx


PROLOGUE (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘YOU MUST BE getting excited about the big move to London?’

It was a question Freya Ross had heard many times in recent weeks, and although the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of what lay ahead she smiled.

‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’

As a midwife at the birthing centre attached to Cromayr Bay Hospital, Freya was examining Mrs Roberts while her three little boys ran amok in the rather small cubicle. Most patients preferred to be called by their first name, but not Mrs Roberts.

‘Jamie!’ Mrs Roberts scolded as her boisterous three-year-old climbed on a chair.

Freya was more than used to working with toddlers underfoot, and she was also very used to holding in her thoughts.

She had told no one of her misgivings about moving to London. Not her parents, nor her best friend, nor her colleagues. Certainly she would not burden a patient with her worries.

No one could possibly guess that now her leaving date was almost here Freya was dreading making the move from the small Scottish town of Cromayr Bay to London.

The news of her leaving had come as a complete surprise to everyone. No one had known she’d gone to London for an interview. This was no mean feat in Cromayr Bay! Even swapping her off-duty days had been complicated—Freya hadn’t been able to lie and say that she was visiting the dentist, given that the dentist was the husband of Betty, her senior midwife. And, had she called in sick—well someone would either have mentioned that her car had been seen at Cromayr Bay station, or they’d have dropped in to check that she was okay.

In the end Freya had said that she was catching up with a friend with whom she had trained.

‘Oh? Who?’ Betty had asked...

Feeling as if her nose must surely be an inch longer after such a complex lie, Freya had taken the train to Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and from there had travelled down to London to the Primary, a large, modern hospital.

Freya’s general nursing training had taken place in Cowdenbeath, and she had done some placements in Edinburgh during her midwifery training, so she wasn’t unfamiliar with busy hospitals. The Primary was incredibly large, though, and the interview had been very thorough.

Her training had been excellent, and Freya had kept her skills up to date with regular shifts in the main Cromayr Bay hospital, which the birthing centre was attached to.

She had been offered a six-month contract by the London hospital, commencing in the middle of July, and Freya was starting to get nervous.

Not that she showed it.

Instead of revealing her feelings now, she made small talk with Mrs Roberts as she palpated the baby. ‘We’ve got my leaving do tonight, over at the Tavern,’ Freya said. ‘You’re actually the last patient that I’ll see before I go.’

‘I’m sorry that you shan’t be here for the birth.’

‘I am too, Mrs Roberts,’ Freya agreed. ‘Although I know you are going to do just fine.’

‘I expect Alison is feeling the same as I do about your leaving?’

Freya’s hands paused mid-examination. Alison had made it clear that she didn’t want the news about her pregnancy getting out just yet.

‘We’re best friends.’ Freya decided to give a non-committal answer, just in case she had misinterpreted the question. ‘So, yes, she was a bit upset when I told her that I was moving—but I’ll be coming home regularly.’

‘I meant about the baby,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘It’s okay, I’m not asking you to break any confidences. I just heard the other day that she’s expecting again. It’s lovely news.’

‘It is,’ Freya agreed, though inwardly she sighed for her friend at the fact that the news had got out. Very few people knew. And, even though Alison was past her first trimester, she had wanted to keep it to herself for a while yet.

But nothing stayed a secret for very long here.

‘I just hope...’ Mrs Roberts voice trailed off. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I hope that things go better for her this time.’

Freya gave a small nod, but refused to be drawn into a discussion about the loss of Andrew.

Last year had been a hard one.

Following an uneventful pregnancy, Alison had arrived at the birthing centre in active labour. But while checking the foetal heart-rate Freya had realised something was terribly wrong.

Alison had been transferred to the attached hospital and a crash Caesarean had been performed. The little boy had been resuscitated and then transferred to Edinburgh, where there had been a NICU cot available.

He’d been beautiful and utterly perfect. A chunky baby, with long, dark lashes, big cheeks and pudgy hands. But the lack of oxygen from cord compression and subsequent meconium aspiration had left him severely brain damaged.

Despite best efforts Andrew had died two days later, leaving Alison, her husband Callum and their families shattered.

Freya had been his godmother and proxy aunt, and she still woke regularly from nightmares, with the ominous sound of the CTG bleeping seeming to fill her bedroom. It felt as if her chest was being crushed whenever she recalled the devastation on Alison’s face when it had become clear that things were going terribly wrong.

‘Freya?’ Alison had pleaded.

The fear in Alison’s voice was something that Freya would never be able to erase from her memory.

Alison had never blamed Freya. In fact she had drawn on her friend, and Freya had stayed strong for Alison even through a serious relationship break-up.

And now, not by a flicker did she reveal her own heartache as she focussed on her patient and the little life beneath her hands.

‘Everything’s looking grand,’ Freya said as she felt the baby’s position. ‘The head is down and baby is a good size.’

‘Aye.’

For Freya, the real beauty of working at Cromayr Bay was the chance to really get to know her patients and their families, and now, after being more than willing to chat about Alison’s pregnancy, Mrs Roberts’s short response when discussing her own, concerned Freya.

It wasn’t just that, though. Over the months Freya had been trying to gauge Mrs Roberts’s feelings.

This pregnancy had come close after the birth of twins, but Mrs Roberts insisted it was all part of the plan as she wanted her children to be near each other in age.

Freya was quite certain that Mrs Roberts was struggling, but she was a very proud and private woman. Earlier, though, she’d seemed more talkative, and Freya wondered if she actually wanted to speak to her.

Jamie, the eldest, was getting restless, and the twins were going through their mother’s handbag. Freya was in no doubt that Mrs Roberts would want to dash off as soon as her appointment was done.

As she went to the desk to write up her findings Mrs Roberts dressed and then came over and took a seat.

‘Jamie!’ She scolded her son, who had pulled over a jar of cotton balls. ‘I’m so sorry, Freya.’

‘It’s not a problem. I shouldn’t have left them at a three-year-old’s level.’ As Mrs Roberts went to retrieve them Freya stopped her. ‘He might as well play with them,’ she said—not just because the cotton balls would now have to be discarded, but also because it might keep Jamie amused for a few minutes.

‘He’s into everything,’ Mrs Roberts explained. ‘I need eyes in the back of my head.’

‘You’re certainly going to be busy when the new baby comes,’ Freya agreed. ‘Is there anyone who might be able to help once the baby is here?

‘Och, I’ll not be bothering others. I just have to get on with things.’ Mrs Roberts straightened herself in the chair.

Freya felt for her. She too was very private.

With two younger brothers, Freya had always been ‘the sensible one’. Her mother, Jean, had relied on her to look out for the boys and soothe their hurts rather than her own.

As Freya wrote up her notes she thought how she came across to her patient. Her long dark curls were pulled back into a ponytail and she knew that her green eyes could sometimes come across as guarded rather than shy. She was a quiet person, and that generally suited her patients just fine.

However, like Mrs Roberts, Freya could appear a touch aloof at times—abrupt, even—although not, she hoped, with her patients. And, while she tended not to chat too much about herself, that wasn’t an issue in Cromayr Bay, where everyone knew everyone else’s business anyway.

But Freya wanted to reach her patient and to be sure that she was coping, so she decided to open up a little to Mrs Roberts in the hope that the woman would reciprocate.

‘Actually,’ Freya said, ‘although I’m telling everyone that I’m excited about moving to London, I’m really quite nervous. It’s a big hospital and I shan’t know anyone.’

‘You’ll be fine...’ Mrs Roberts started, and then paused as Freya gently spoke on.

‘I expect everyone is asking if you’re excited now that the baby will soon be here?’

Mrs Roberts nodded. ‘“Not long now!”’ She mimicked the regular phrases being thrown daily her way. ‘“You’ll be hoping for a girl after three boys.”’

‘Are you?’ Freya asked. She knew the sex of the baby.

‘Of course not. I didn’t get pregnant to try for a girl. In fact, I didn’t...’ It was the closest Mrs Roberts had come to admitting the pregnancy had been an accident, but she quickly rallied. ‘Healthy will suit me just fine.’

‘Of course,’ Freya agreed, and Mrs Roberts changed the subject.

‘So you’re nervous about leaving?’

‘Terrified,’ Freya now admitted. ‘And I’m wondering how I’m going to fit in.’

‘You’ll fit in just fine.’

‘I hope so,’ Freya replied. ‘But I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake.’

‘Well, I know that feeling.’

Freya watched as Mrs Roberts closed her eyes and finally admitted the truth. ‘It’s not that I don’t want it—well, I’m sure I will once the baby’s here. I just honestly don’t know how I’m going to cope. The twins are into everything and Jamie runs wild. Davey’s no help. Och, he tries—but he’s out the door for work at seven, then not back until six and wanting his supper. I’m trying to freeze a few meals for when the baby comes...’

‘That’s good.’

‘It’ll take more than a few frozen dinners to see us through, though.’

Freya saw the flash of tears in Mrs Roberts’s eyes and then watched as she buried her face in her hands and started to weep.

‘Mam!’ Jamie toddled over and pulled at her skirt. ‘Mam!’

‘Mummy’s just a little tired,’ Freya said as she gave Mrs Roberts some tissues.

When his inquisitive eyes fell on her stethoscope, Freya took it from her neck and played with it on him, to give Mrs Roberts time to cry by herself.

‘Do you want to have a play with it now?’

Delighted with his new toy, Jamie wandered off.

‘I’m sorry, Freya.’ Mrs Roberts sniffed into the tissue that Freya had pressed into her hand. ‘How on earth am I going to manage with another one? I don’t get a moment to myself as it is.’

‘Have you thought about asking your sister to come and stay with you for a wee while once the baby arrives?’ Freya knew that the two women were close.

‘I have,’ Mrs Roberts nodded, ‘but it’s a huge imposition.’

‘Did she say that?’

‘No, no—she offered to come. But I think it’s asking too much from her.’

‘You’ll need help at the start, Mrs Roberts. It’s better to take it than to do too much and find yourself overwhelmed and exhausted. If you talk about it with her now she can start to make plans.’

And making plans was what Freya and Mrs Roberts did next.

Her sister Norma would come, and also there was a small crèche that Mrs Roberts occasionally used.

‘I might see if they can go there—just one afternoon a week, maybe two—so I can have some time with the new baby.’

‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Freya said. ‘Did you know, once I’ve moved, I’ve got Mrs Hunt coming in to service my cottage between tenants?’

‘I dinnae need a cleaner.’

‘Well, I’m only mentioning it in case you might. She’s very thorough and her prices are reasonable.’

The appointment went well over time, but it was worth every minute because Mrs Roberts was actually smiling as she retrieved the contents of her bag from the floor.

‘You wee monkeys,’ she said to the twins. ‘Jamie, give Freya back her stethoscope.’

Before the cubicle door was opened Freya had a final word. ‘If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed when the baby is here—’

Mrs Roberts broke in. ‘Then I’ll speak to Betty. I honestly will. I feel so much better for talking with you.’

Mrs Roberts rounded up her three sons and Freya saw them to the desk. There she pulled up the appointments on the computer screen and made one for the next Thursday.

‘Thanks so much, Freya.’

‘You’re welcome, Mrs Roberts.’

‘Leah, please.’

Freya smiled, for it was high praise indeed to be invited to call Mrs Roberts by her first name.

‘I wish you all the very best in London.’

‘Thank you.’

Once Mrs Roberts had left Betty came over, and Freya explained a little of what had happened.

‘It would have taken a lot for her to admit she’s struggling,’ Betty agreed. ‘Well done, Freya. And don’t worry—I’ll be keeping a very close eye on her.’

Freya took in Betty’s knowing eyes and kind face and knew Mrs Roberts was in the very best of hands. Betty had been a midwife here for nearly forty years. She had, in fact, delivered Freya herself. Right now, though, she was just trying to get the clinic closed somewhat on time.

‘I’ll shut down the computers and you go and tidy up the cubicles,’ Betty said. ‘You’re going to be late for your own leaving party.’

Goodness, Freya thought when she saw the chaos of the cubicle. It looked as if it had been snowing!

Yet not for a second did she regret that the check-up had spilled more than an hour over time.

Freya tidied up and as she came out saw the waiting room was in semi-darkness.

‘Everything’s done,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll lock up.’

And then it was finally here—the end of her time at the Cromayr Bay birthing centre.

Freya looked around the waiting room and beyond the desk, thinking of the two birthing suites behind. Then she walked out through the familiar room and into the office to collect her coat before a dash home to get changed for her leaving do.

She hoped her ex wouldn’t show up.

Alison would be there. She had cried when Freya had told her that she was moving to London,

‘I’ll be back all the time,’ Freya had reassured her.

‘It won’t be the same.’

No, it wouldn’t be. But then, things hadn’t been the same between them since Andrew had died.

Freya had always been private. The only person she really opened up to was Alison—but of course the loss was Alison’s, so Freya had tried to remain stoic and strong for her friend, not burdening her with her own grief.

She said goodbye to Betty, who promised she would join them all at the Tavern shortly, and then drove the short distance home in her little purple car.

It was July. The holidaymakers were back and the town was busy.

She parked outside her tiny fisherman’s cottage which, although a bit of a renovator’s nightmare, was certainly a home.

Each of the houses along the foreshore was a different colour, and Freya’s little cottage was a duck-egg-blue with a dark wooden door. Opening it, she stepped into the surprisingly large lounge with its open fireplace, seeing on the mantelpiece her favourite pictures and little mementoes.

Freya headed into the tiny alcove kitchen. It needed a complete overhaul, but everything worked—and anyway, Freya wasn’t much of a cook. In pride of place was a coffee machine that Freya was having to leave behind in the move, as there really wasn’t that much room in her father’s car.

It would be nice for the tenants, Freya thought as she made a very quick coffee.

Freya had the house rented out over the summer, but in October it was going on the market to be sold.

In the cellar she had boxed up some of her belongings. The tiny spare bedroom looked a little bare, but it was ready for its new occupant with a pretty wrought-iron bed and a small chest of drawers.

Freya headed into the main bedroom to change out of her uniform and get ready for her leaving do, but for a moment she paused.

The unobstructed view of The Firth had sold the place to her on sight. Often at night she simply lay there in bed, looking out, and she had watched the new Queensferry crossing being built. It was a spectacular cable-stayed bridge, and Freya had watched the huge structure unfold from either side until finally the two sides had met.

It was her favourite view on earth, and as she gazed out to it Freya asked herself again what the hell she was doing leaving. Here, she had a job she loved and friends she had grown up with as well as her family, to whom she was very close.

Yet, the very things she loved about Cromayr Bay, were the very reasons she felt she had to leave.

The loss of Alison’s baby had hit everyone.

After it had happened Freya had often walked into a shop or a café, and on too many occasions the conversation would suddenly stop.

Everyone knew everyone’s business—which wasn’t always a good thing. Take tonight—there was a fair chance that her ex, Malcolm, would be at the Tavern. Not that she really thought of him much, but it was always awkward to run into him and see the hurt, angry expression in his eyes before he turned his back on her.

It wasn’t just about Malcolm, though. Freya wanted more experience and a fresh start.

She would be thirty soon, she reasoned. If she didn’t make the move now then she never would.

Deep down, though, she knew she was running away.

It was going to be hard to leave, but for Freya it was simply too hard to stay.


CHAPTER ONE (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘IS ANYONE...?’

Freya looked up and quickly realised that the woman in theatre scrubs wasn’t asking if she might join Freya at her table in the hospital canteen. Instead all she wanted was one of the spare chairs at Freya’s table.

People, Freya thought, didn’t even bother to speak in full sentences down here.

‘Help yourself.’ Freya nodded.

And so the lady did.

It was orientation day at the Primary Hospital, and apart from being asked her name and shown where to go Freya really hadn’t spoken to anyone. She had tried during the coffee break, but Rita, the woman she had sat next to during the lectures, had gone off to call her husband.

The schedule had been a full one. First there had been an introduction to the Primary—a large general hospital with a major trauma centre. The volume of patients seen in Casualty per annum was, to Freya, staggering, as was the number of deliveries in Maternity, which had reached seven thousand last year.

There was no such thing as orientation day at Cromayr Bay—a new staff member would be shown around and introduced and made welcome. Here, though, Freya sat with approximately fifty fellow nurses, admin staff and ancillary workers who were commencing, or had just commenced work at the Primary this month alone.

Freya felt like a very small fish in a very large and rather cold sea.

On Friday she had been in to collect her uniforms and her lanyard and had got rather lost on her way out of the huge building. Today, though, sitting in the lecture theatre, she had found out that the red strip painted on the corridor wall led to Casualty and the main exit. So that was good to know. The yellow strip, she had then been told, led to Maternity and the blue to Outpatients.

‘It helps not just the staff and the patients,’ the admin manager had said, ‘but it is also far easier to give directions to visitors. We shall soon be adding a green strip for the Imaging Department. Any more than that and the walls will start to look like rainbows!’

After a morning of lectures and films they had been told to head off for lunch and to be back at one.

There was no coloured strip that led to the canteen, but by following the overhead signs Freya had found it quite easily.

The place had been packed, and Freya had rather wished she had thought to bring her own lunch, as most of her fellow orientation candidates seemed to have done. Perhaps that was why she sat alone.

She hadn’t brought any change for the vending machines, so she’d queued up and selected a salad wrap, a packet of cheese and biscuits and a coffee, and then scanned the busy canteen for a table.

They’d all been rather full, but there had been a couple of seats that had seemed free on a table for four.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Freya had asked.

‘We’re just leaving,’ the man there had said.

They had also left their plates, glasses and cups.

She had to stop comparing things to Cromayr Bay, but all this was just so unlike anything she was used to.

Since her father had left her at her one-bedroom flat, four days ago, Freya hadn’t really spoken to anyone. Well, apart from a couple of shop assistants and a worker on the Underground who had helped Freya to buy a travel pass.

She had rung her mother and assured her that everything was fantastic.

‘Your dad said the flat’s a bit grim.’

It was rather grim, but Freya had reassured her mum that it was nothing a few rugs and pictures wouldn’t pretty up, and reminded her that it was a brilliant location—just a ten-minute walk to the Underground.

‘Is anyone...?’

Freya looked up as another unfinished question was asked by an elderly man in a porter’s uniform.

‘No,’ Freya said, and gestured to an empty seat. ‘Help yourself.’

He said nothing in response, just took a seat at the table and opened up some sandwiches, then pulled out a newspaper and started to read.

There was no conversation.

Having finished her wrap, Freya peeled open the foil on her cheese and crackers. But she really wasn’t hungry so she put them down and pushed away her plate.

Glancing at her phone, she saw that there were still another fifteen minutes left until she was due back.

‘Is this seat...?’ asked a snooty, deep, but far from unpleasant male voice.

Freya was suddenly sick to the back teeth of unfinished questions.

‘Is this seat what?’ she asked, but as she looked up her indignation took a rapid back seat as she was momentarily sideswiped by six feet plus of good looks dressed in blue theatre scrubs.

He had straight brown hair that was messy, and was so crumpled-looking that, despite the hour, he appeared to have just got out of bed. A stethoscope hung around his neck, and in his hands was a very laden tray.

Freya regretted her brusque response, but consoled herself that he probably hadn’t understood a word she had said.

Oh, but he had!

‘Is this seat taken?’ he enquired, more politely, though the smile he wore had a tart edge.

‘Please,’ Freya said. ‘Help yourself.’

He put down the tray, and Freya assumed when he looked around and then wandered off that he must be locating a spare chair for his companion. On his tray there were two mugs of tea, a carton of milk and six little boxes of cereal—the type that her mother had used to get when the family had gone camping, or in the holidays as a treat, when she and her brothers would fight over who got what.

But instead of a chair and a companion he returned with a spoon.

‘Len,’ he said to the porter by way of greeting. He got a ‘humph’ in return, but the good-looking stranger didn’t seem in the least bothered by the less than friendly response.

As Freya drank her coffee she tried not to look at him, and pretended not to notice when he opened each box of cereal in turn and poured them into the one bowl with all the flavours combined. It was a heap of cornflakes and chocolate puffs and coloured circles, and then he added to his concoction the small carton of milk.

No, there was no companion about to arrive, for next he added sugar to both cups of tea and made light work of the first.

And still Freya tried not to notice.

A domestic came round with a trolley and started to pick up the collection of cereal boxes, as well as the mess that the previous occupants had left in their wake.

‘Done?’ she asked Freya as she reached for her plate.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and then blinked as the porter—Len—actually spoke.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Sorry?’ Freya asked as he pointed to her plate.

‘You’re not going to eat those?’ he asked, pointing to the open cheese and crackers that Freya hadn’t touched.

‘No.’

‘Do you mind if I have them?’

‘Go ahead,’ Freya agreed—because, really, what else could she do?

‘Ta very much,’ Len said, and took out a piece of kitchen paper from his pocket and wrapped the cheese and biscuits in them.

The domestic didn’t seem in the least perturbed by this odd exchange, and cleared up the boxes and plates. Then as she wheeled her trolley off, The Man Who Liked His Breakfast Cereal, spoke.

‘Here you go, Len.’ He pushed a granola bar across the table to him.

‘Cheers!’ Len pocketed his bounty as he stood up and then walked out of the canteen.

Goodness, Freya thought, people here were so odd. She simply couldn’t imagine asking a complete stranger for the leftover food on their plate.

But then that deep, snooty voice spoke again and attempted to clarify things a little.

‘He only talks to the animals.’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Len,’ he explained. ‘He’s miserable around people, but he visits an animal shelter in his free time and he’s always after treats for them.’

‘Oh!’ Freya let out a little laugh.

‘You’re new,’ he said, glancing at her lanyard.

He had realised she was staff, but was quite certain he would have noticed her before if she wasn’t new.

She wore a dark shift dress that accentuated her pale bare arms, and her black curly hair was loose and down to her shoulders. From the little he had heard, he guessed she was far from home.

‘I’m here for my orientation day,’ Freya said.

He grimaced. ‘I’ve done a few of those in my time. The fire lecture, the union rep...’

‘We haven’t had a fire lecture yet,’ Freya said. ‘That’s this afternoon. I think it’s a film, followed by a demonstration.’

‘Fun,’ he drawled as he rolled his eyes. ‘Mind you, I did have a patient who tried to set fire to the ward once...’

She waited for more, but he’d gone back to his cereal.

‘Breakfast?’ Freya asked.

‘And lunch.’ He moved on to his second mug of tea. ‘Are you new to London as well as the hospital?’

Freya nodded. ‘I got here last week.’

‘I worked in Glasgow for a while.’

‘For how long?’

‘A year. I couldn’t understand a word anybody said. “Pardon” became my most-used word.’

‘I’m having the same problem—although in reverse,’ Freya admitted. ‘I have to keep repeating myself.’

‘I can understand you.’

‘Then you’re the first.’

‘You’re not from Glasgow, though?’

She was far too soft spoken for that, he thought. But not soft. He had liked the edge to her tone when he’d asked if the seat was taken. Richard loved the challenge of a sullen woman.

‘No, I’m from Cromayr Bay.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘Fife,’ Freya said. ‘Overlooking the Firth.’

‘Never heard of it,’ he said again.

But this time he smiled just a smidge and she couldn’t tell if he was teasing.

‘How are you finding London?’

‘It’s early days.’ Freya gave a small shrug.

‘Ah, after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’

It was then that she noticed his eyes—or rather, it was then that she properly noticed them.

In his good-looking face there were several stand-outs. If she’d been describing him to Alison, his sculpted cheekbones and attractive full mouth were two features she might easily have named, and that his hazel eyes were just so much more than hazel. They were the colour of burnt amber, with a smatter of golden flecks, and they made Freya feel as if she were gazing upon an open fire.

Or was that more from the way he absolutely held her gaze as she replayed his words in her mind?

‘Ah, but after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’

Those words had sounded like an invitation.

As Freya held their eye contact steady, she wasn’t quite sure how, but he made her his sole focus.

And he was hers.

Gone was the canteen, and gone too was the noise.

But then he spoke, and Freya found herself blinking at the intrusion of words.

‘So, where will you be working?

‘Maternity. I’m a midwife. The name’s Freya,’ she added, and she was not just being polite. His stethoscope was hanging over his lanyard and she wanted to know his name and just who this delectable stranger was.

She would have to wait to find out, though. His pager was trilling. As he looked at it he scooped the last of his cereal into his mouth and then gulped down the remaining tea as he stood.

‘I expect you to be fully versed in the operating of a fire extinguisher the next time we meet.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Freya said, but he had already gone, his large frame moving swiftly through the tables as people made way to let him past.

She watched.

And not idly.

The overhead chimes started then, and Freya heard that the Cardiac Arrest Team was needed in Casualty.

Through the glass windows of the canteen Freya watched as he ran down the corridor, and then she turned her head and surveyed his empty cereal bowl and the two empty cups of tea.

Freya didn’t know his name, just that he was gorgeous. Effortlessly so. And way more gorgeous than she could handle.

She hadn’t been born yesterday. In fact, Freya’s thirtieth birthday was fast approaching. And there was something about him that told her he had learnt to flirt from the cradle. There had certainly been a tease and a flirt in his eyes when they spoke—especially with that little quip about late nights.

Well, there would be no late nights spent with him! She was far too guarded and sensible for that.

With her lunch break over, Freya headed back to the lecture theatre for the afternoon session of her orientation day. Sure enough it was the fire lecture. She watched the film and tried not to smile when they were given a demonstration on how to use the various fire extinguishers.

And even as she watched and listened Freya wanted to know more about the time her lunch companion’s patient had tried to set fire to the ward.

And she wanted to know his name.

Fully versed in the fire policy at the Primary, as well as in the various codes used for emergencies of different natures, and how to report safety hazards, Freya found that it was time for coffee—and, she guessed, another fifteen minutes of standing alone.

‘There’s a lot to take in, isn’t there?’ said Rita, the woman who had earlier been sitting next to her.

‘There is,’ Freya agreed. ‘Where will you be working?’

‘I used to be a domestic on Maternity. I’m hoping they’ll send me back there, but I haven’t been told where I’m going yet. You?’

‘I’m a midwife, so I’m certainly hoping that they’ll be sending me there!’ Freya joked.

‘Pardon?’

‘Maternity,’ Freya said instead.

‘Well, I hope to see you there.’

They headed back for their final lectures about the pay office and superannuation. Rita took furtive notes and Freya did her level best not to tune out completely.

Finally orientation day was concluded, and the fifty or so new Primary Hospital workers all headed for home.

Freya followed the red line, and sure enough was soon approaching Casualty.

And there he was.

The man who had understood her when she spoke.

He must be hungry again, Freya thought, watching him feed coins into a vending machine.

Gosh, he really was good-looking—and just so tall and broad. Even side-on there was a presence to him. She wondered if she could come up with a witty line about fire extinguishers in the few seconds she’d have before their paths crossed again.

Except she didn’t come up with any witty lines, and neither was one needed—because he collected a bottle of water and a bar of chocolate and headed back into Casualty without noticing her at all.

Freya headed towards the Underground, as did seemingly fifty million other people, and stood squashed between them for the four stops to her flat. And surely those same fifty million people were getting off at the same stop, for they all seemed to be herding towards the escalator with her.

She thought of her little purple car at home. The one that would never have survived the motorway—which was the reason her father had driven her here. And she thought of the short drive from the hospital to her home and the gorgeous view that awaited her there.

‘Cheer up love!’ called out a man working at a flower stall. ‘It might never happen.’

Freya jolted as she realised he was calling out to her.

She walked into her dingy flat and let out a sigh.

The place looked no better for her efforts over the past four days. She had washed down the walls, but really they needed several coats of paint. The curtains she had washed had shrunk, Freya had realised when she’d put them back, and now they didn’t properly close, falling a foot short of the floor. And there was an awful picture of a horse and cart that had to come down!

Tomorrow, Freya decided. When she would also get a rug to cover the mustard-coloured carpet, she thought as she headed into the kitchen.

It was even worse than her kitchen at Cromayr Bay.

But it wasn’t just the flat that was upsetting her. Apart from that gorgeous guy at lunchtime she had barely spoken to a soul since she’d arrived here.

It would be better soon, Freya told herself. Once she got to the maternity unit she would start to make friends.

Wouldn’t she?

She was starting to think the flower seller had picked up on her mood correctly. ‘It’ had indeed happened.

Moving here, Freya was sure, had been a mistake.


CHAPTER TWO (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘FIONA, CAN YOU go to Labour and Delivery? I mean Freya.’

Freya nodded. She was getting rather used to being called the wrong name by Stella, the associate unit manager.

‘Sure.’

‘And can you buddy with Kelly?’

Freya had been working there for a fortnight now, and today she was to go to the labour and delivery unit. ‘Buddying’ meant that she and Kelly would check each other’s CTG readings to ensure that two sets of skilled eyes overlooked the tracings. Even after two weeks it was no less daunting than it had been on her first day.

She had spent the first week in the antenatal clinic and the past few days on the maternity ward, and now she was on her second day in L&D.

There were so many staff, and each day there seemed to be new faces. Freya had really clicked with one midwife yesterday, but as it had turned out she’d just been doing an agency shift, so Freya had no idea if she would see her again.

Everyone was so busy, and though they were all professional and nice, there just wasn’t the same vibe from her colleagues that Freya was used to.

As she walked to L&D Freya rolled over the top of her trousers as they were way too loose. Her uniform consisted of dark blue trousers and a pale blue top and it was less than flattering. She couldn’t care less, but the sizing must be off because it hung off her. Although she had lost a bit of weight since she’d arrived, due to the constant busy pace and the lack of time to do a proper shop.

As she pressed the green button and the doors to L&D parted she saw a woman pushing an IV, walking the corridor with her support person. Freya gave them a smile.

She checked the board and saw that Dr Mina was the obstetrician in charge today. In the short while she had been at the Primary, Freya had worked with her several times, and found her incredibly efficient as well as a calming presence to the patients.

The hand-over was in depth, so that everyone was well-versed on all the patients—both those present now and those expected to arrive over the course of the shift.

‘Freya, can you take over from Angela in D5?’ asked Pat, the midwife in charge of L&D today. ‘She’s awaiting an epidural, but finding an anaesthetist this morning is proving a rather hard ask.’

‘Has the second-on been paged?’ Freya asked, and that earnt her a wry smile from her colleague.

‘Everyone’s been paged, but there’s been a five-car pile-up on the M25 and there was already a dissecting triple A being rushed to Theatre, along with a collapse on the paediatric ward. Then we had to call the Crash Caesarean Team out half an hour ago. Right now Anaesthetics are snowed under, and it’s a case of if a patient’s screaming then at least they’re breathing.’

Freya took a breath of her own. That patient-load sounded like a full week’s work in Cromayr Bay at the height of summer, but it was just another morning at the Primary.

Or not. Because then Pat explained that it had been an exceptionally busy night in Casualty too.

‘Just remind Kathy in D5 that she hasn’t been forgotten. Her husband, Ben, is getting upset.’

Freya checked her patient’s details and then went into the delivery suite. The lights were low and the suite was dim, and Kathy was kneeling up and holding on to the head of the delivery bed as Angela pressed a hot pack into her back.

‘Hi, there,’ Freya said as she approached. ‘I’m Freya. I’m—’

‘Are you an anaesthetist?’ Kathy’s husband snapped.

‘No, I’m a midwife,’

‘Not good enough! My wife has been waiting for two hours for an epidural.’

‘Please, Ben,’ Kathy implored, but then her face screwed up and she leant on her forearm as a contraction came.

Angela helped her through it as Freya checked all the equipment. Angela brought her up to speed with Kathy’s progress, but then gestured with her head to the door. Freya followed her out.

‘The husband is getting really tense and it’s upsetting Kathy,’ Angela said.

‘I can see that.’ Freya nodded.

‘He’s a great guy—he’s just terrified. But Kathy has still got a good way to go. I’ve called down to Casualty but two of their patients are currently being transferred to ICU, so they’re very tied up. The anaesthetist in our theatre is aware, though he’s probably half an hour or so away.’

‘Okay...’

‘You could try calling Switch and asking—’

‘No need.’

A voice she recognised, though she hadn’t heard it since her orientation day, caused Freya to turn around.

‘Oh, Richard!’ Angela sighed in relief. ‘Am I pleased to see you.’

‘Not as pleased as your patients will be. What room?’

‘D5 is first,’ Angela said. ‘It’s all set up for you.’

‘Thanks, Angela,’ he said. ‘Freya.’

She gave him a smile. ‘Richard.’

Finally she knew his name.

And, more than that, he was still stunning.

He had been wearing scrubs when they’d met, but this morning he wore a dark suit and a crisp white shirt with a silver-grey tie. His straight hair was damp, and rather more in need of a cut than the last time she’d seen him, and he was unshaven.

In seconds she took in every delicious detail, and the last few didn’t quite fit. He was so well turned out that the unshaven jaw stood out for Freya.

Instead of heading to the suite, he took the patient’s notes and walked over to the desk. The sharp, fresh scent of his cologne lingered. Freya saw him removing his jacket as she followed Angela back into D5.

‘Good news,’ Angela said. ‘The anaesthetist is here.’

‘Well, where is he, then?’ Ben demanded.

‘Dr Lewis is just reading up on the notes.’ Angela gave Kathy a lovely smile. ‘I shall leave you in Freya’s hands. You’ve been amazing, Kathy.’

Kathy nodded and tried to say goodbye, but was overwhelmed by another contraction. Freya took over, rubbing Kathy’s back and trying to establish a rapid bond with the woman, and also with her husband.

‘Would you like to come and rub her back?’ Freya suggested, but Ben stood against the wall and gave a tense shake of his head.

Yes, it was all terribly different from anything she was used to. Usually Freya would have seen her patients at antenatal clinic, and often their partners too.

‘Well done, Kathy,’ Freya said as the contraction faded. Knowing that the anaesthetist was here, Freya suggested that Kathy empty her bladder and walked with her, pushing the IV pole, to the en suite bathroom attached to the delivery room.

‘He’s nervous,’ Kathy said, explaining Ben’s behaviour.

‘Of course he is,’ Freya said. ‘It’s hard work for the women but it’s hell on the men.’

That made Kathy laugh a little.

Freya waited outside, and when Kathy came out after washing her hands, she asked Freya a question. ‘Do you have children?’

‘No.’ Freya said. ‘I’ve got nieces and nephews, and my best friend’s expecting, but I’d definitely like my own someday.’

She was actually enjoying getting to know the women here, and opening up to people who didn’t know her at all, Freya realised. At home, had she said that, it would have been all around town that she and Malcolm were trying for a baby.

‘We tried for ages...’ Kathy sighed. ‘I thought it would never happen.’

‘Well, it clearly is.’

‘Thanks, Freya,’ Kathy said as Freya pushed the IV pole. But as they got to the door she paused. ‘Please...’ she said. ‘Don’t mind Ben. His bark is far worse than his bite.’

‘I know that. You’ll be feeling a lot more comfortable soon, and I’m sure he will too.’

She was just helping Kathy back onto the delivery bed when the door opened and she saw the beautiful man she now knew was called Richard come in.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Ben said by way of greeting.

‘I’m Dr Lewis,’ he responded. ‘Consultant anaesthetist.’ Then he smiled at his patient. ‘Hello, Mrs Hudson.’

But Ben wasn’t finished yet. ‘She was booked to have an epidural hours ago, but she’s been left screaming in pain.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Hudson, and I agree that it’s unfortunate, but I’m here now.’

‘It’s more than unfortunate, it’s not good enough,’ he retorted.

‘Ben, please...’ Kathy pleaded, but her husband still wasn’t done.

‘Where were you?’

‘Actually,’ Richard said as he rolled up his sleeves, ‘I was in bed when I was called to see if I could come in. I’m not supposed to be here until eight.’

It was only just after seven. And Freya understood now why he hadn’t shaved.

‘Now...’ He looked over to his patient as he tied on a plastic apron. ‘Would you prefer me to call you Mrs Hudson or Kathy?’

‘Kathy.’

‘Well, Kathy, we’ll have you feeling a lot more comfortable soon.’

He was very meticulous. As Freya helped Kathy to sit on the edge of the bed for the procedure Richard Lewis went through all that had been set up. He made no small talk as he checked and rechecked everything.

‘Right,’ he said, as if to himself, and then he addressed Kathy. ‘You’re going to feel a sting from the local anaesthetic and then a bit of pressure. I’ll need you to stay as still as you can—do you understand that?’

‘I do—but what if I get a contraction.’

‘It’s fine. I’m used to them. I’ll work around it.’

He went through everything that she could expect to feel, and as the next contraction came he put on gloves, waiting for the pain to diminish before the procedure commenced.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ben said suddenly.

‘It’s fine,’ Richard responded. ‘It’s awful to see someone you love in pain. However, by all accounts your partner has been doing marvellously. Let’s try and make this last bit a whole lot easier for her, shall we?’

Whoa! Freya thought as she held on to Kathy. He had somehow accepted the apology while reminding the husband just who this day was about.

‘Why don’t you come this side?’ Freya suggested to Ben. She knew he was really just terribly anxious. ‘You can hold Kathy’s hand.’

This time he didn’t shake his head and came and took his wife’s hand.

Richard worked quietly and soon the epidural was in. Kathy lay back on the delivery bed.

‘You’ll need to stay in bed now,’ Richard reminded her as he disposed of his sharps and then removed his gloves. ‘Thank you, Freya. Can I leave my mess to you? I believe I’m wanted in D3.’

‘Sure.’

Freya checked Kathy’s obs, and those of the baby, and by the time she had tidied up Kathy was indeed starting to feel the benefits of the epidural.

‘You should try and get a little rest now,’ Freya suggested. ‘I’ll be in and out, and there’s the call bell if you have any concerns at all.’

‘Freya!’

Her name was called the second she stepped out of the room. ‘Can you go and take the baby in D7?’

Freya nodded and headed to delivery suite number seven. ‘Taking’ a baby was wonderful indeed. It combined all the joy with barely a hint of the pain.

Stepping in to the delivery suite, she found the atmosphere was lovely and peaceful. Kelly, one of the other midwives was there, along with the soon-to-be father, who had his arms wrapped around his wife’s shoulders.

In fact Kelly was so calm that even when she told Freya that Dr Mina and the anaesthetist had been paged she did it in such an open way that there was no jolt of alarm from the mother.

‘The baby is small for the dates and the head is smaller than expected,’ she said, and Freya checked all the equipment was ready.

Despite the unexpectedly small head, everything seemed to be under control.

‘Try not to push, Sita,’ Kelly said. ‘Just pant.’

‘Okay,’ Sita said, and fought against the urge.

‘Good girl,’ said Kelly. Her focus was totally on the delivery, and she didn’t look over when the door opened.

‘Hello, there,’ Richard said quietly, and Kelly calmly told him the reason for him being paged.

‘Thirty-seven weeks and small for dates,’ Kelly explained.

The room was getting crowded. Stella had come in after Richard, followed by Dr Mina just as the head was delivered. And now there was Guy Masters, the paediatrician on call, whom Freya had already met.

‘Well done, Sita,’ Dr Mina said. ‘Just breathe and do as Kelly says. Dr Masters is a paediatrician and he’s here to check your baby.’

The head really was tiny, and Freya found she was holding her breath as the body slithered out. But even as she accepted him he started to cry. His huge eyes were blinking at the light and his little face was wrinkled.

He was utterly gorgeous, Freya thought as she held this tiny piece of the future in her hands. Tiny, but perfect. And as she rubbed him down Guy was already examining him.

‘One that is better out than in,’ Guy said.

The baby had clearly not been getting sufficient nutrition in-utero, but he was angry and defiant and utterly perfect.

‘I don’t think we need you, Richard,’ he said as loud cries pierced the room and the baby pinked up beautifully.

‘Not with those lungs,’ Richard agreed. And it was just as well he wasn’t needed because his pager was going off.

He left unnoticed by all, Freya thought. All except her.

‘I think he’s ready to meet his mum,’ Guy said, and Freya popped a little hat on the baby to keep him warm, wrapped him, then carried him over to his waiting parents.

She smiled as she watched a family being born. Freya loved delivering babies, but taking them was special too. They always tried to deliver them straight to the mother, but sometimes, as with this unexpected small size, the baby needed a proper examination. Apart from his size this one was doing just fine. Another perfect new life.

* * *

The day seemed to be running away from her. Busy, a bit crazy, and after her hectic morning she could only take a coffee break on the run at the desk.

There, Dr Mina was speaking with Richard and Kelly was chatting with Stella about a film they were going to see at the weekend.

‘It’s supposed to be really good,’ Freya commented, subtly fishing to be asked to go with them, but Kelly just nodded her head.

Freya took her lunch in the staff room, and just as she returned she was told that Kathy was ready to push.

When she got to the delivery room Ben was white with fear and Freya gave him a smile.

‘I thought you’d gone home,’ Ben said.

‘And miss out on this?’ Freya asked.

Ben proved to be a champion when it came to coaxing Kathy to push. It was clearly an excellent epidural, because she could feel the sensation and some pressure but had no pain.

‘Another big push,’ Freya encouraged. ‘Come on—a really big one, right down into your bottom.’

This time it was Kelly who arrived to take the baby and soon Freya delivered a chunky baby boy. He was gorgeous, and there were tears from both Ben and Kathy as he lay on her stomach, blinking at the world.

‘Are you going to cut the cord, Dad?’ Kelly asked, and Ben came over with tears in his eyes to have that special moment with his son.

Baby Hudson didn’t have a name yet, but by the time Freya was ready for home he’d had his first feed and Kathy had had a well-earned cup of tea.

It hadn’t been a particularly busy day, or so Freya had been told, and yet she was exhausted.

The high of Baby Hudson’s birth lasted right through the Tube journey, but faded as she began the walk for home.

Freya had never been surrounded by more people, and yet she had never felt more alone.

There was a social club at the hospital, but she was hardly going to walk in on her own, and making friends was proving a lot more difficult than she had anticipated.

However, later, rather than sit alone with her noodles, Freya reminded herself that she did indeed have friends and called Alison.

‘How are things?’ Alison asked.

‘Busy,’ Freya said. ‘Well, work is—the social life, not so much.’

‘But you’re in London!’ Alison said.

‘I know...’ Freya sighed, because Alison’s observation just made it worse. ‘I am trying,’ she admitted. ‘I sort of hinted to a couple of girls at work that there was a film I’d like to see, but I felt like a bent coin in a vending machine.’

‘Rejected?’ Alison laughed.

‘Exactly.’

‘Keep at it. Just say yes to anything you’re invited to.’

‘I’ll have to be invited somewhere first.’

‘You will be.’

‘How are you?’ Freya asked. She felt her throat clamp tight, but she swallowed and pushed through, trying to keep her voice casual and light. ‘How’s the baby.’

‘All good. I’m fifteen weeks now, and I swear I’ve got a bump, although Callum says it’s too early.’

Freya hesitated, because women sometimes showed more quickly with a second pregnancy, but she couldn’t gauge whether or not that was the right thing to say to Alison now.

Freya dealt with pregnant woman every working day, and she dealt with loss too. And, what was more, she prided herself on dealing with it well. Yet when it came to her friend she felt like an absolute novice, and simply didn’t know how to be around the subject of Alison’s pregnancy.

Freya was terrified she might break down, and Alison didn’t need that. Of course they had both cried together in the days following Andrew’s birth, and then his death, but right now Freya was sure it was time to be strong.

‘When’s your ultrasound?’ Freya asked.

‘In two weeks’ time. I’ll believe it’s really happening once I’ve heard its little heart.’

Alison’s voice broke then, and Freya closed her eyes when she heard it. ‘It will be okay,’ she offered.

‘You don’t know that, Freya,’ Alison snapped.

‘I know, but...’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Sorry,’ Alison said.

‘Don’t be.’

And then Freya turned on her midwife voice and said all the right things, just as she would to a patient.

But Alison was her best friend. It was awkward and it was difficult and things were different between them.

There was no escaping that.


CHAPTER THREE (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

RICHARD LEWIS REALLY was stunning.

Even asleep he managed to bring a little skip to Freya’s heart when she walked in and saw him, lying across several chairs in the staff room.

Pat and Kelly were deep in conversation there, and didn’t seem bothered in the least by the sight of Richard sprawled out.

It bothered Freya—or rather it bothered her senses. She tried not to peek as she stirred her soup, but she didn’t try very hard because her eyes kept wandering over.

He hadn’t shaved again, and Freya knew he must have been working all night. It was now late morning.

She had been at the Primary for a month now, and he was no less intriguing and no less gorgeous.

During the course of her working week Freya saw him regularly. He had a new registrar, who wasn’t yet able to do epidurals unsupervised, so Richard was in L&D quite often to oversee his work. And he was always called if there was a difficulty with a delivery or a Caesarean.

There was rarely time for conversation, though.

Freya considered the Maternity Unit here extremely busy, but his workload was incredible. He rushed to emergencies all over the hospital—and that was aside from Theatre and patients in the ICU.

Of course there were many anaesthetists in such a busy hospital, but Freya, despite her warnings to herself, was only interested in one!

Her instincts had been right. He was a heartbreaker, indeed. She had found that out from the other midwives. Not that they’d actually confided in her! No—she was still struggling to fit in. But she had overheard a couple of conversations, and apparently he’d just ended a brief fling with a nurse in Casualty. And Von, one of the other midwives, was still hoping that she and Richard might get back together.

She looked over at him. He needed a shave and a haircut. Or rather he might think that if he looked in the mirror, but to Freya he looked just fine.

Better than fine!

He was like a bear, Freya thought. Not a fat bear, more like a bear just out of hibernation, all slender and restless and hungry.

And then she smiled at her mad thoughts.

Pat was chatting to Kelly about the film that Freya still hadn’t seen. ‘I was thinking I might go this weekend,’ Pat said.

‘You have to,’ said Kelly. ‘It’s amazing.’

Freya again tried to be brave. ‘I’m dying to see it,’ she admitted.

‘You should.’ Kelly looked over and nodded, and then she stood. ‘Come on, Pat. We’d better get back.’

Once they’d gone Freya let out a sigh. Over and over she’d been mentioning that she’d love to go and see the film, but there had been no takers. How much more of a hint was she supposed to give?

She sat staring at the television and took a sip of her revolting packet soup. And then a voice—one she had really come to like—chimed deep and low.

‘I’ll take you to the bloody film.’

She looked over.

‘I can take a hint.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You keep suggesting it every time I’m near. All you have to do ask.’

‘I wasn’t hinting for you to take me!’ Freya said, and actually found herself going red. ‘I was waiting for one of them to ask me along.’

‘You’re too subtle,’ he said, and lay there smiling at her. ‘Poor Freya-no-Friends.’

‘Don’t!’ she said, but she was smiling.

‘You have to invite yourself—or just go along with them.’

‘What? Just turn up? Like a stalker?’

‘Well, maybe not.’

‘I’ve always had friends,’ Freya said, for she had been giving it some considerable thought. ‘But I’ve realised that’s because we all grew up together. I’ve never actually had to make any.’

‘Rubbish,’ he scoffed. ‘You’re saying that because you grew up in a village you all get along?’

‘It’s not a village.’

‘Well, town or whatever,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure there are people you don’t like there. You’re not automatically friends with everyone you grew up with. God, I loathed Derek next door, and we had to play together all the time.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s for another time.’

He stretched and yawned and sat up, more bear-like than ever as he gave himself a sort of shake.

‘I’m starving,’ he said.

‘I’ve got some soup.’

‘No, thanks.’ Richard pulled a face. ‘I’m going to head down to the canteen. What time do you finish?’

She’d thought he must have been joking about going out. ‘Not until nine.’

‘Well, I’m covering for Simon until eight, so I doubt I’ll get away much before then. I’ll meet you at the entrance to Casualty.’

‘I don’t even know if the film’s on,’ Freya said. ‘Or the session time.’

‘Times,’ he corrected. ‘It’s on everywhere. You’re not in Cromayr Bay now, where they have to come and change the reels...’

He was teasing, yet it made her laugh. ‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Give me your number and if I can I’ll text you if I’m not going to make it. But if I’m not there by a quarter past, just head for home. It’ll mean I’m stuck somewhere—nothing else. I won’t be avoiding you!’

He even turned the subject of her being a little lonely into a smile.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Freya said, and recited her number. ‘And, no, I won’t be upset if...’ she started, but her voice trailed off as Stella came in.

‘Freya, I know you’re not due back yet, but we’ve got a bit of a rush on.’

‘Of course,’ Freya said, and she stood and finished the last of her soup, a little surprised when Richard spoke again.

‘I’ll see you around nine, then?’

Freya felt her cheeks were a little warm as she walked back round to the unit—because he had made it clear in front of Stella that they were meeting up tonight.

It meant nothing, she told herself. It was just two colleagues going out. If it had been Kelly or Pat or anyone else she wouldn’t be giving it too much thought and Stella was surely the same.

‘See Rose?’ Stella said, and pointed over to Rita, the domestic who had done her orientation with Freya on her first day.

‘Rita,’ Freya corrected as they walked.

‘Rita, then.’ Stella nodded. ‘See how it looks like she’s emptying the rubbish...?’

‘Er...yes,’ Freya answered.

‘Well, she’s not—she’s actually collecting all the discarded hearts...’

Freya pressed her lips together as she realised what Stella meant, and even managed a wry smile as Stella spoke on.

‘Oh, look, she’s going under the bed. Must have found another one. You know how he dashes from one emergency to another?’ She didn’t await Freya’s response. ‘Well, he’s the same with women.’

‘Stella.’ Freya stopped walking and gave her senior a wide smile—because she knew his reputation and because Stella had made her smile. ‘We’re going to the cinema. No more, no less.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

* * *

It was a slow evening by Primary Hospital standards, which would have meant a chaotic one back home! But by nine Freya was in the changing room. She took her phone from her locker, as she chose not to have it on her at work, and found herself letting out a breath of relief that there was no text from Richard to say he couldn’t make it.

And then she swallowed, because relief possibly wasn’t the right word.

Freya was nervous about tonight.

She so wanted to make friends.

Only this didn’t feel like any friendship Freya had ever known!

She pulled off her horrible uniform, changed into the grey linen dress and ballet pumps she had worn into work and let her hair down, pulling her curls out with her fingers.

In the end it was actually Freya who was a little late, and when she arrived at the entrance to Casualty he was checking his phone.

He was out of scrubs and in a suit, although minus a tie, and beside him Freya felt rather drab.

She looked far from drab, though. In fact, Richard thought as she walked towards him, she was wearing the same dress she had been on the day they had met.

And that was concerning, because usually he couldn’t recall what any woman had worn the previous night, let alone in previous weeks. He’d even joked to a friend that he’d be hell at reporting a missing person because he’d be unable to tell the police what the missing person was wearing.

He didn’t really notice such things, other than thinking, Oh, she looks nice.

With Freya though he’d be able to describe in detail to any police officer that the dress was grey linen, and it was a touch looser than it had been on the day they had met.

Yes, Officer, she had on black pumps and no stockings, just pale slender legs. And her hair was worn down. It didn’t actually sit on her shoulders since it’s too curly for that, it just holds its wild shape there. And she has green eyes, Officer, and soft full lips.

Anything else? the officer would ask.

Well, she’s been a bit lonely since she arrived here, he would say. I didn’t give it too much thought at the time...

But he was giving it some serious thought now.

Not that he showed his concern. Richard, thanks to his job, was incredibly good at that.

‘Right,’ he said as they headed out onto the street. ‘The film is on at ten, so if we skip all the trailers we’ll have time to go and get something decent to eat. I am sick of eating on the run.’

‘That sounds brilliant.’

‘Are you on in the morning?’ he asked.

Freya nodded.

‘And me.’

And then Freya was delivered another thinly veiled warning as Stella dashed past them to a car in which presumably her husband had come to meet her. ‘Enjoy the film, Freya!’

‘I will,’ Freya called back.

‘Has she been telling tales about me?’ Richard asked as they walked out onto the street.

‘No!’

The street was busy enough that it could have been a Saturday during the day back home, and she was glad it was dark enough that he’d hopefully missed her blush as she lied.

‘Of course she has,’ Richard said. ‘And they’re all true.’

‘Then it’s a good job we’re just heading out to see a film,’ Freya said.

‘Indeed.’

But first they would eat...

‘Is Italian okay?’ he checked, and she nodded as he led them to a very lovely casual-looking restaurant, tucked away from the main street.

Freya only realised just how hungry she was as the gorgeous scents inside hit her, and they were guided to a table looking out onto the street.

‘Can I get you some drinks to start?’ the waiter offered.

‘Freya?’ Richard asked.

‘Just water.’

‘And me,’ Richard said. ‘Sparkling?’

‘Lovely,’ Freya agreed.

The menu was delectable, and she decided on a creamy carbonara, while Richard settled for osso bucco.

‘So,’ he said when their order was in, ‘how are you finding it at the Primary?’

‘It’s fine,’ Freya said, and she saw his eyes narrow. ‘Well, it’s a bit overwhelming. I expected it to be busy, of course, but I didn’t realise it would be quite so full-on.’

‘What was it like where you worked before?’

‘I was in a birthing centre attached to a hospital. We saw the mothers for all their antenatal care, then right up to the postnatal check.’

‘How many deliveries at the centre?’ Richard asked.

‘About a hundred a year. So it’s been a big change for me to come somewhere that averages more than that in a week. Still, I wanted the experience.’

‘You could have got that more locally,’ Richard said, tearing open a bread roll. ‘The Women’s Hospital in Edinburgh surely delivers a similar amount?’

‘Yes,’ Freya agreed. ‘I did a stint there during my training. But I wanted something completely different, and it was sort of now or never.’

‘Are your parents back home?’

‘And my brothers.’ Freya nodded.

‘Do you all get on?’ he asked, because despite himself he wanted to know more. Surely there must be more of a reason she had left—not just in her work, but her home, friends and family too?

‘Oh, yes. I’ve got my own place, but I see plenty of them. The older brother, though they’re both younger than me, has got two children. I delivered the younger one.’

‘I can’t imagine having a sister-in-law, let alone being that close to her.’

‘Don’t you have siblings?’ Freya asked.

‘No, there’s just me.’

‘And are you from London?’

‘Kent.’

‘Do you get back there much?’

‘Now and then,’ Richard said, and then he hesitated.

He rarely spoke about his family, but he felt no sense of her probing beyond what he was comfortable with, and actually he found it was nice to sit and chat.

‘I see my father sometimes, and my mother’s here in London. She’s just got engaged.’ He rolled his eyes, just as their meals were delivered. ‘Again.’

Then came the pepper grinder, and the parmesan cheese, and he thought certainly they would speak about the food now, or the film they were about to see—or even, as Richard usually would, get on with flirting. And yet he was still curious to hear more about her.

‘Do you miss your old job?’

‘Yes and no,’ Freya said. ‘I was often delivering the babies of people I’d been to school with, or their wives. And I know a lot of people around town. And while it’s nice knowing your patients...’

He nodded. ‘My father’s a GP. I know only too well the downside. He was never off duty—even going out for a meal like this he’d be interrupted. The only time I remember him getting away from work was if we went on holiday, and even then patients would call him for advice.’

‘I don’t mind that so much,’ Freya admitted.

Her dismissal of the intrusion aspect of things surprised him.

‘It’s more the fact of everyone knowing everyone else’s business,’ she explained. ‘And of course when a pregnancy goes wrong it’s much harder.’

‘It’s just part of the job,’ Richard said.

‘Yes, but it’s more difficult when you know the patient.’

‘Perhaps...’

To Freya, he didn’t sound as if he necessarily agreed. ‘There’s no perhaps about it.’

He opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind. It had been a very long day, and they were here to relax after all.

Still, there was something he really would like to know. ‘Was there a break-up involved?’ he asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Is that the reason you left—is there an ex-Mr Freya back home...’

‘No!’ She laughed. ‘I’ve never been married, but I did break up with someone earlier in the year. It really didn’t have anything to do with my decision to leave, though.’

‘Are you sure?’ Richard frowned through disbelieving eyes.

She was very guarded and, although they were chatting easily, he sensed she was being prudent in her responses.

For once he wanted to dig for the truth from a woman.

‘Well, it might have had some influence on it,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘There’s nothing much worse than going into a pub or a restaurant and knowing there’s a pretty good chance that your ex will be there. It was a bit messy, I guess.’

‘Who ended it?’

‘Me,’ Freya said. ‘We’d been together for ages and I just...’ She didn’t want to talk about Alison’s baby and the pregnancy that had gone wrong. But it had been that which had heralded the end for her and Malcolm. ‘I was going through a bit of a tough time and he didn’t help matters...’ She gave a thin smile. ‘And so, before even the very curl of his hair started to irk me, I ended it. I guess he wasn’t the love of my life.’

‘There’s no such thing,’ Richard declared. ‘Work is the only love of my life and I intend to remain faithful to that.’

‘How do you do it?’ Freya asked. ‘I know how wrung out I feel after an emergency, and yet you deal with them each day.’

‘It’s my oxygen,’ Richard said. ‘There’s nothing I’d rather be doing. Although,’ he admitted, ‘I don’t want to end up like my father. There has to be a balance. I go away a lot on my days off —try to get well away from the hospital.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I have some choices that need to be made.’

‘Such as...?’

He gave a small shake of his head that told her not to go there. And when she didn’t push for more information Richard could have reached over and kissed her there and then.

He didn’t, of course, but the thought was there as their eyes locked.

Freya felt the heat spread over her cheeks as their eyes held, and yet she did not tear her gaze away.

God, he was good, Freya thought, for he turned her on without so much as a touch.

And despite her insistence that tonight was about nothing more than seeing a film, she was now heeding Stella’s warnings.

It had been lust at first sight, she knew.

And she would not be acting on it.

Freya wasn’t like that. One boyfriend at the end of school and throughout her nursing training. A gap of two years and then Malcolm.

A fling with a sexy anaesthetist was so not something Freya would do. And it would be a fling, for he’d warned her—was warning her right now—that everything she’d heard about him was true.

So she reached for her water and tried to think of something to say as she peeled her mind away from sex.

Because that was all it would be.

Sex.

Ah, but it would be sex with him.

‘So your mother’s engaged?’ Freya asked. ‘Again?’

He knew she was changing the subject.

Although they were speaking about his family, their minds had just been on sex. He wanted to feel her hair...he wanted to delve into those mixed message eyes.

She almost scalded him with a look, and behind the walls she’d put up there lurked desire.

And he liked her odd sullen moments, interspersed by the brightness of her smile.

But, no, this was not what she needed.

He might have a well-deserved reputation, but he wasn’t an utter bastard.

Freya was by her own admission a little lonely, a touch overwhelmed, and he would not be meddling with that pretty head.

So, back to her question. He had to think for a moment what it was. Ah, yes, the many loves of his mother’s life.

‘My mother is about to enter into her fourth marriage. My father isn’t quite so bad. He’s only been married and divorced twice. I doubt he’ll be taking that step again.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘Thank God! It really is hard coming up with a new speech each time.’

‘Her fourth!’

He nodded. ‘She left us when I was fifteen, and I’m now thirty-three, so it’s not quite as bad as it sounds.’ He saw her wide eyes. ‘Well, maybe it is. My mother is high-end drama and she just wasn’t cut out to be the wife of a country GP. She loathed it. And since she broke up with my father—’

He went quiet, for the first time since they had met. And then...

‘Freya?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘We’ve missed the film.’

‘Oh!’

She looked around the restaurant and noticed the other diners were thinning out, and then she glanced at her phone. It was coming up for eleven.

‘Do you want dessert or coffee?’ he offered.

‘No, no...’ She shook her head.

He walked her to the Underground station and there, she assumed, they would go their separate ways.

‘I’ll see you home,’ he said, when she told him where it was.

‘It’s only four stops,’ Freya protested—but not too much. She still wasn’t quite used to the Tube, and she did feel a bit nervous at night. It would be nice to have company.

Or rather it would be nice to have his company.

‘We’re here,’ Freya said as they arrived at her flat.

‘Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get to see your film.’

Freya wasn’t sorry.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, toying with whether or not to ask him in and deciding that it would be foolish at best. There was a kiss in the air—she could feel it—and as she looked up at him she wondered how that gorgeous unshaven jaw would feel pressed hard against hers.

‘Well, another time, then,’ Richard said, resisting the urge to kiss her against the wall.

She wanted a friend, he reminded himself. No more than that.

‘Thanks for a nice night. It was good to...’ She gave a shrug. ‘Well, it was nice not to be talking about babies.’

‘All work and no play?’ Richard said.

‘Something like that.’

She took out her key and he watched as she put it into the lock. That was the difference with Freya—she didn’t stand there awaiting his kiss. She didn’t seem to want the complication of them either.

And yet there was want.

It was a sultry summer night that deserved to end in bed, but Richard was behaving himself.

‘Night, Freya.’

‘Night, Richard.’

She walked inside, closed the door behind her and leant against it, taking a long breath in.

Had there been a double-lock she would have turned it. Instead she made do with the security chain.

But only to keep herself in.

There was a kiss waiting on the other side of that door—she was sure of it.

And not just a kiss.

Who was she kidding?

It hadn’t been a kiss in the air out there—it had been sex.

But a fling with Richard Lewis would be foolish at best. Freya didn’t do that type of thing. And it would be a fling—she knew that. He’d as good as told her so himself.

She told herself that she could never regret a sensible decision. That in the morning she would wake up and be delighted that she’d avoided the awkwardness that would have surely followed.

Except in the morning Freya didn’t feel delighted.

She only felt regret.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘HOW WAS THE FILM?’ Stella asked as Freya walked with her from the changing room.

‘Great,’ Freya answered. ‘It’s well worth seeing.’

She was saved from further questioning as the overhead chimes went off, summoning the Trauma Team to Casualty.

She certainly wasn’t about to tell Stella that they’d never actually made it to the cinema, as she knew Stella would just read more into it than there had been.

It was unusually quiet, so Freya took the lull in proceedings as a chance to check stock. She had just pulled out the suction catheters and was ticking the order form when the overhead chimes went off again.

They were a common occurrence in a busy hospital such as this, but the summons that came was one that Freya hadn’t yet heard.

‘Obstetrics Squad to Casualty.’

Freya wasn’t a part of the Obstetrics Squad. She had been told about it during her interview, though. Each Maternity shift, a senior midwife carried a pager and would attend to any obstetric emergency elsewhere in the hospital, along with an obstetrician and anaesthetist.

New staff had to attend at least three off-unit emergencies as an observer, and then Dr Mina had to approve them before they were made a part of that team. But just because she wasn’t part of the team it didn’t mean that there was nothing for Freya to do.

She ran down to the equipment room and opened up the door, and was pulling out the emergency trolley as Stella and Kelly came running from opposite directions.

‘Dr Mina’s already down there,’ Stella informed Kelly, who held the pager for the Obstetrics Squad today. ‘Freya, go and observe.’

Freya nodded. She was nervous about this role, yet keen for the experience.

The chimes were pinging again.

‘Here...’

It was Len the porter, who had caught up and took over the other side of the trolley, allowing Kelly to run on ahead.

There was everything that might be required, including a neonatal cot, even though there would be one in Emergency. The trolley was set up for any eventuality.

As she swept into Casualty, Freya acknowledged that she was nervous but consoled herself that she was just there to observe. Even if she never made the team it would be good experience for when she went back to Cromayr Bay.

When.

There was no time to dwell on that word, though it jolted her.

Richard was at the head of one of the resuscitation beds and only briefly glanced up when she came in.

‘Next bed,’ he said, clearly knowing that she wouldn’t have been down there before. He gestured with his head to a curtained area beside him, from behind which came the sound of equipment and people, and above all that the screams of a woman.

They were terrified screams and the woman sounded in pain.

‘Thanks.’ Freya stepped in and saw there was organised chaos taking place.

Dominic, his registrar, was at the head of the bed and the trauma team were around the woman. So too was Dr Mina, tiny in green scrubs and yet authoritative all the same.

She had a Doppler on the woman’s stomach and there was the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

‘Stay back and observe,’ Kelly said. ‘You’ll be doing this yourself soon.’

There wasn’t actually room for her to do anything but observe.

An older woman dressed in scrubs was talking to the patient. ‘You’re okay, Louise,’ she said in an Irish brogue. ‘We’re taking care of you now...’

Louise had on a hard collar, and from what Freya could make out she had been involved in a high-impact motor vehicle accident. There was blunt trauma to her chest and abdomen as well as a head injury.

And she was twenty-six weeks pregnant.

‘Louise.’ Kelly moved near the head of the bed. ‘Your baby has a strong heartbeat...’

But nothing would calm the woman. Louise Eames was absolutely terrified and perhaps, after her head injury, confused too.

There were also concerns that she had abdominal bleeding.

‘I’m May, the Unit Manager in this madhouse.’ The Irish woman stepped back and spoke to Freya as Kelly took over reassuring the patient. ‘I’m a midwife myself. All looks well but, as you know, pregnant women can mask symptoms. I’m worried that she’s worse than her observations are showing.’

It was nice to be talked through it all. Most of it Freya knew, but she hadn’t actually seen the Obstetrics Squad in action.

‘I’ve told NICU to hold a cot, in case she has to be delivered.’ May said. ‘Here’s Richard now.’

Richard spoke for a moment with Dominic, and then Dominic stepped out—Freya guessed to take over the patient in the next bed.

‘Hello, Louise.’

He spoke as if they had already met, Freya thought. There was just something so reassuring about his voice.

‘I’m Dr Lewis, Consultant Anaesthetist.’

Louise screamed again.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No screaming. Save that oxygen for your baby. Now, I want to have another listen to your chest.’

‘That’s a good girl,’ Kelly said to Louise, who was quietening down—though that wasn’t necessarily a good sign.

‘We’re going to get her round for a CT,’ Dr Mina said. She and Richard discussed sedation, but Louise seemed a lot calmer now.

The CT was swift, and showed a small tear on Louise’s spleen, but everything looked fine with the baby.

‘Louise.’ Dr Mina spoke to her. ‘The hard collar can come off now and you’ll be more comfortable. The baby is doing well, but we’re going to move you now to the Intensive Care Unit, so that we can keep a close eye on both of you.’

‘Will my baby be okay?’ It was all Louise wanted to know.

‘Everything is looking fine for now,’ Dr Mina said. ‘But, Louise, if we need to deliver you, then we will.’

ICU was all ready and waiting, and absolutely the right place for Louise to be.

Freya listened as May gave a detailed hand-over to the Critical Care Nurse. It was scary for Louise to be there, no doubt, but after the noise of Emergency it was certainly a lot calmer here.

‘Thank you,’ Dr Mina said to the midwifery staff as they gathered up their equipment to leave.

Richard didn’t look up as he was already with another patient and completely focussed.

God, what a job he had, Freya thought as they headed out.

‘Poor thing,’ Kelly said, as they made their way back, but then she moved straight on to business. ‘We’ll have to check the trolley as soon as we get back,’ she told Freya. ‘Just in case we’re called again.’

‘I hope we’re not,’ Freya said.

But hope didn’t work.

Just after three the chimes went off again. Freya was taking a baby for Pat when she heard them, and they didn’t even share a glance—instead they focussed on the little life coming into the world.

Working at The Primary was, Freya thought as she came out of the delivery suite, just all so intense.

‘Were the chimes for Louise?’ Freya asked Stella, who was writing up the board against a background of screams from a woman in the bathroom.

‘Yes.’ Stella nodded. ‘Maternal compromise.’

And then there was paperwork—so much paperwork—only today Freya used it as an excuse and a reason for lingering at the nursing station until well after four, when Kelly came back.

She was wearing a pink theatre cap and still somehow brimming with energy as she and Stella commenced restocking the emergency trolley.

‘Mum dropped her blood pressure. Thankfully they were straight onto her. The baby’s out.’

He was doing well for dates, but it was Louise that was the main concern. The small tear on her spleen had extended and, as Dr Mina had explained, the signs of hypovolemia were more subtle in pregnancy.

Freya was utterly exhausted as she made her way home.

‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen,’ said the flower seller, and Freya managed not to shoot him a look.

She stepped into her flat and just flopped onto the couch—lay there staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling, feeling utterly wrung out. Every second at work she felt as if she were on a roller coaster that didn’t allow time for catching her breath, or time to reflect.

Poor Louise... She’d been incredibly well taken care of—Freya knew that—but it was all so different from everything she was used to.

Which was what she had wanted, of course. And she was certainly getting experience. But it was draining her.

Stella had told her there would be a case follow-up for Louise, in which Dr Mina would go into greater detail, and Freya was truly grateful that she’d been sent down to Casualty to observe. She really was gaining experience, and if ever a mother came into Cromayr Bay with blunt force trauma...

Freya halted herself there, but it was too late. She knew in that moment that she was imagining herself back at home, just as she had this morning.

But she wasn’t just here to gain experience. If she’d wanted that, as Richard had pointed out, she could have gained it rather more locally.

No, she had moved to London.

Freya hauled herself to the shower and then, having pulled on a robe, surveyed the contents of her fridge.

There wasn’t much. She had meant to stop and pick up a few things on her way home. Now she had neither the energy nor the enthusiasm to go out again.

A knock on the door had her padding down the hall—she guessed it would be her neighbour, as their post got muddled on occasion.

Instead it was an unexpected sight for sore eyes.

Richard.

He’d had a haircut and was clean-shaven. And he was wearing a suit, but no tie, and he looked incredibly tired but still breathtakingly handsome.

‘What are you doing here?’ Freya asked.

He tried not to notice that she wore only a robe and that her hair was wet as he answered. ‘We have a film to see.’


CHAPTER FIVE (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘STELLA ASKED ME earlier if I’d enjoyed it...’ said Richard.

‘She asked me too.’ Freya smiled. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said it was very good, and then I had the awful feeling I was going to be questioned further, but thankfully she had to rush off...’

‘Yes, it’s been one helluva day,’ Freya said. ‘How’s Louise?’

‘Critical.’

‘I’m not a reporter, Richard. You can tell me how she really is.’

‘She’s very unstable. She’s had a splenectomy and a Caesarean and has been given a lot of blood. It’s going to be a very long night for her.’

‘Poor thing.’ She was about to let him in, but then she shook her head. ‘To be honest, I’m not really in the mood to go out.’

‘Fair enough.’ Few women refused him, but he found it was rather refreshing. Richard liked her ways.

‘We’ll do the film another time, maybe?’

‘Sure.’

Freya looked at him. He was a man she could never keep, but that didn’t matter now. For in her heart Freya knew she would be leaving London soon.

‘You can come in,’ Freya said. ‘If you want to.’

And Richard did want to.

He came through the door and Freya could feel his eyes on her bottom as she led him down the hallway.

His eyes were on her bottom—for a moment—but then he looked at the trail of moisture her hair had left on her robe, and then he looked down to her long, bare legs.

He didn’t notice the mustard carpet, nor the curtains hanging too short, he simply noticed her. As he had from the very first day they had met.

They faced each other, and the want that had been there for a long time, certainly on the doorstep last night, seemed to have followed them into her flat.

‘I’ll go and get dressed.’

Please don’t, Richard thought, but didn’t say.

As if she could hear him Freya looked up into his eyes.

‘If you disappear on me, at least I’ll know what to tell the police,’ he said.

‘Sorry?’

‘She was wearing a pale robe...’

‘Oh.’

Freya didn’t really understand, but there was a smoky edge to his voice, and as he further explained their eyes locked.

‘I don’t usually notice what women wear—well, not to the extent that I do with you.’

This morning Freya had regretted her sensible decision last night not to invite him in. Now she wanted to be reckless.

Richard felt as if he could see the barriers between them tumbling down before his eyes. And, yes, desire did reside behind her green gaze.

‘What else was this woman in a pale robe wearing?’ Freya asked. ‘Slippers?’

‘No,’ Richard said, his eyes never leaving hers. For he had already seen her painted toes. ‘Her feet were bare and her hair was damp...’ His hand came up and he picked up a heavy coil of black hair, as he had ached to do from day one. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I’m quite sure she didn’t have any underwear on...’

He watched her mouth part in a smile and lust punched like a fist as they teased and flirted and turned each other on.

‘I wish you hadn’t shaved,’ she whispered as his mouth came to hers.

And then she changed her mind, because instead of rough kisses she got the tang of cologne and Richard’s clean-shaven cheek against hers.

‘Smooth can be good,’ he told her as his hand slid behind her neck.

Her skin flared beneath his fingers and the feel of his cheek had her mouth searching for his.

But then he spoke. ‘Freya...’

She frowned at the slight hesitation in his voice, for it was unfamiliar. He was always, always so confident and direct.

Freya pulled back her head and those gorgeous eyes of his awaited her.

Richard was not one to spoil the moment, but his conscience niggled and he wanted to make things absolutely clear to Freya. People could trust him with their lives, but not with their hearts, and he wanted to be sure she understood that before things went further.

‘Don’t rely on me.’

It was the oddest thing to say, perhaps, and yet the kindest.

‘I get it, Richard.’

He wasn’t going to be the cure for her loneliness. Richard Lewis wasn’t going to be the love of her life.

Yesterday it might have mattered. But now she knew it didn’t have to last for ever, or even for more than this night, because her time in London was finite. And she wanted this night with him.

It was Freya who moved to close the gap between their mouths. But it was definitely Richard who kissed her, softly at first, but warmly and thoroughly. Freya’s mouth felt so exquisitely tender that even the gentlest of his kisses felt bruising.

The moan as his tongue slipped inside came from her. And then, for the first time since she’d arrived, London fell silent. Save for the sound of them.

His breathing was ragged and their mouths were frenzied. And surely he’d kissed the oxygen from her because he made her dizzy, and his tongue was so expert and thorough that it made her crave more of him.

His hands undid the belt of her robe. He freed one arm, then the other, and as it slid to the floor she felt cool air on the back of her body—a contrast to the warm rough fabric of his suit and the press of metal and buttons on her naked front.

Freya had never known such raw passion. Their tongues jostled and then she was pressing herself into him, her hands clutching his hair as his hands spanned her waist.

He guided them so that they moved to the wall as if as one. His kisses were certainly not smooth now—they were indecent and delicious and Freya was lost in them. Their chins bumped, their teeth clashed. She wanted to climb him and wrap her body around him.

Freya was tackling his belt, to free him, and then she felt his hard warmth leap towards her hand.

Richard reached into his jacket pocket for a condom, and it was an impatient pause for them both as he sheathed himself. She ached to have him inside her, and he ached to be there too.

And so he rectified things, thrusting in and taking her against the wall.

Freya had never been so thoroughly taken, and it felt sublime. He lifted her so that her legs could wrap around him and she knew she had never moved so seductively. He exposed a side to her that she did not recognise, because she had always been a touch reticent in bed.

Not now.

His fingers dug into her buttocks as she ground against him, and instead of feeling herself holding back, she was more herself with him.

She was so light that he could put one hand against the wall and hold her round her waist with the other. And then he changed the pace...

There was a scream building in her throat, which was clamped closed, so it waited there, trying to burst free. And then there came a breathless shout from him, followed by a rush of energy along her spine as he came deep within her. Finally her scream found its release, but it came out in staccato sobs as she throbbed to his beat.

His hands soothed now, rather than inflamed, and he seemed to know that this wasn’t a Freya she knew.

And it wasn’t.

Her head came to his shoulder and she felt the fabric of his jacket. He was completely dressed, and she was utterly naked. And now there was a smidgen of shame creeping in for Freya—just a curl of guilt as he lowered her down to the floor, yet still held her tightly.

He buried his head in her damp hair and then she felt his lips near her ear. ‘I only wanted a cup of tea.’

Richard made her laugh. He just did.

Having sorted out his clothes, he picked up her robe and helped her into it, then did up the very same belt she had so readily allowed him to open.

They were both still a touch breathless, still trying to find their balance again—but, God, they felt better.

She went and sat on the sofa, where she’d been lying earlier. Richard looked utterly normal—not even particularly dishevelled. His hair fell into perfect shape, whereas Freya was quite sure hers was in knots.

But she didn’t care.

He came and joined her on the sofa, and though they didn’t speak it wasn’t awkward. It was nice to lie down with her head on his lap, looking up at him as he played with her hair. It was relaxing not to speak.

He looked around at her flat and saw for the first time the mustard carpet and odd curtains. Even odder, though, was the fact that there was nothing that spoke of her.

Well, there were some books and magazines on a shelf, but there was a large picture on the wall of a horse and carriage, and he was certain it hadn’t been wrapped in a blanket and lovingly moved down from Scotland.

‘Do you like horses, Freya?’ he asked.

‘Not particularly. Why?’

‘There’s a picture of one on your wall.’

She looked over to where his gaze fell. ‘I know. I can’t get it down.’

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Freya had a little step ladder, which she’d used when she’d re-hung the curtains, but she simply hadn’t got around to taking the horse and cart picture down. It wasn’t as if she had anything to replace it with. It would do for now.

And, anyway, there were far better things to look at. Gosh, it was nice to lie there, Freya thought, looking up at Richard.

And for Richard it was nice too—nice to feel her hair, because it had entranced him.

He looked down, but not into her eyes. Her robe was hanging open a little, and he could see the curve of her breast and the edge of a pink areola beckoning. He wanted to slip his hand in...

But sustenance first.

‘I’m starving.’

He wasn’t asking her to cook for him—a bowl of cereal was his usual choice when in a rush, and he was in a rush. To resume proceedings!

He hauled her off his lap and walked through to her tiny kitchen, where he opened up the cupboards while Freya lay there, liking it that he hadn’t asked if he could do so.

Usually that would have made her tense. She recalled well how she had sucked in a breath when she had bought her little cottage and Malcolm had opened her fridge. But now she lay smiling as Richard opened and closed her cupboards.

‘You have absolutely nothing to eat,’ Richard said when he came back. ‘Not even cereal.’

‘I meant to stop at the shops on the way home from work. I think there’s some soup...’

‘That’s not going to cut it. Come on,’ he said. ‘Get dressed.’

‘We could always ring for pizza,’ Freya suggested.

He was tempted. There was a huge appeal in the thought of having pizza delivered and then moving straight to bed. And he had seen from his search of the fridge that there was a bottle of wine there.

A perfect evening.

Except—rarely for him—the pleasure was laced with guilt.

Did she fully get that he didn’t do the dating thing?

He wasn’t that bad—it wasn’t all bed. Just...mostly.

He had come here tonight fully intending to take Freya to that damned film—which was actually quite a concession for him. Richard couldn’t remember the last time he had been to the cinema.

But now he had to be clear. Richard wanted to make sure that she didn’t think this might lead to anything more than a few casual dates and a whole lot of bed.

While he hoped he had spelled things out yesterday—and although getting pizza and going straight to bed would be easier and far more pleasant—Richard knew that he needed to tell her that this night wouldn’t change anything.

Yet clearly it was going to.

For they were soon back at the Italian restaurant—but as lovers this time.


CHAPTER SIX (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

TONIGHT IT WAS Richard who had the carbonara.

Freya chose spaghetti, and it came with a rich, meaty tomato sauce.

‘You did it again,’ Richard said.

‘What?’

‘When I saw your carbonara last night I regretted my choice...’ And then he stopped, because he’d been about to say that next time they came here the spaghetti with the rich, meaty tomato sauce was what he’d want.

But he didn’t.

Instead he remembered he was off work tomorrow and ordered a bottle of red.

‘I don’t like drinking if I’m working the next day,’ he explained. ‘But I’ve got a few days off now.’

‘And me.’ Freya smiled.

He wondered if she was waiting for him to suggest they do something together.

Ah yes, The Talk, Richard reminded himself.

Except Freya got there first.

‘I’m going home for a couple of days before a stint on nights,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a new lot of tenants arriving at my cottage next week.’

‘Holidaymakers?’ Richard said.

‘Yes, they’re there for two weeks and then I’ve another lot coming in. I’ve arranged for someone to come in and clean, and change the sheets and things, but I just need to sort a few things out.’

‘Don’t you hate having people staying at your house?’

‘I’ve put a lot of stuff in the cellar,’ Freya said. ‘And that’s locked. It doesn’t bother me.’

‘But isn’t it a hassle?’

‘Not really.’ Freya shrugged. ‘And even if it is at times, then it’s worth it. It helps a lot with the mortgage, though in a couple of months it’s going on the market...’ Freya halted.

Or was it?

She recalled that just before Richard had arrived her plans had started to change. She needed to be alone to think about that, to decide what she was going to do, and so she asked about him instead.

‘What about you? Do you have plans?’

‘I have an interview.’

‘Ah, that explains the haircut,’ Freya said as she twirled spaghetti around her fork.

‘Not really. I was well overdue for that. It’s not an interview as such—more an informal lunch to suss things out...’

He let out a sigh and promptly forgot the reason he had brought her here. Instead he told her what tomorrow was about. No-one else knew.

‘There’s a role coming up.’

‘I thought you loved what you do?’

‘And I do, but it is consuming. I’m actually heading to the airport after the lunch. I’m going to Moscow tomorrow for a few nights, to get away completely.’

‘Moscow?’

‘It’s a bit drastic, I know, but I love getting away. I don’t put my phone on, so the hospital can’t call me to come in—or if they do I don’t hear it.’

‘Well, you don’t need to go all the way to Moscow for that. There are more than a few places in Scotland where you can’t get a signal.’

‘Please...’ He grinned. ‘I was teasing about changing the movie reels.’

‘I know you were,’ Freya agreed. ‘But, trust me, there really are plenty of places you can’t get a signal. I went away for Christmas with my family last year and we all had to keep going for walks just so we could make a call, or check emails and things. And in summer, depending on what provider they have, the tourists often can’t get a good signal. We have a wee laugh, watching them walking around with their phones in the air.’

‘Well, I’ll bear that in mind,’ Richard said.

‘So, are you keen for this job?’

‘I’m curious, certainly.’

He told her the name of a very exclusive private hospital which made her look up from her pasta.

‘I’ve a friend, Marcus, who’s director of anaesthetics there, and there’s a position coming up—a very attractive one...’ He didn’t get to finish, for Freya had a question.

‘But won’t you miss the adrenaline?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But there are days when I think no, I won’t miss it at all. It’s a big decision—but you’d know all about that, given you’ve just made a big move yourself.’

Freya gave a shrug. ‘I just knew that I wanted to get away.’

He looked at her through slightly narrowed, assessing eyes. ‘Why?’

‘Lots of reasons,’ Freya said. ‘I had a bit of a rough year. Well, not myself, exactly...’ She didn’t know why it was so hard simply to say it. ‘My best friend lost a baby last year... Andrew.’

‘Were you present at the birth?’ Richard asked.

‘Not at the actual birth, but I was there on admission,’ Freya said. ‘Alison ended up having a crash Caesarean. She came in a week before her due date, everything about the pregnancy had been fine, and then I went to check the foetal heart-rate...’ She paused a moment as she recalled it. ‘At first I thought I had picked up Alison’s...’

She didn’t, of course, need to explain to him that the mother’s heart-rate was usually a lot slower than the baby’s.

‘But then I knew the heart-rate was the baby’s...’

‘Not good.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘My senior, Betty, was there, and a doctor was there within a minute, and everything was set in motion. We got her straight upstairs to Theatre. I didn’t go in. Betty knew I was too involved. He was born flat and was resuscitated but died two days later. Cord compression and meconium aspiration...’ Freya screwed her eyes closed for just a second but then opened them and gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘Anyway, it was a difficult time.’

‘Did she blame you?’

‘Oh, no—nothing like that. It was more...’ Freya didn’t know how to describe how she’d felt when she didn’t really know herself.

‘You blamed yourself?’

‘A bit,’ Freya said. ‘Well, I questioned myself. It made me realise that being so involved with my patients isn’t always ideal.’

‘So you came to nice, anonymous London?’

‘It wasn’t just because of that,’ Freya said, ‘but it is nice to be not so involved with the patients.’

‘I’m sorry—you don’t get to do a job like yours and not get involved.’

‘It’s not that easy...’

‘I never said anything about easy.’

That annoyed her. Richard was too brusque, too direct, and he had hit a nerve.

‘You don’t know me.’

‘I’m trying to.’

It was a rare admission for him, because while he might be talking about getting involved professionally, he certainly did his best not to on the personal front.

‘You cannot do this job, Freya, and not care. Or rather, you cannot do this job in the way you want to do it and not care.’

He signalled for the bill and then remembered that they still hadn’t had The Talk.

It didn’t seem so important now. Freya was off to Scotland tomorrow and he to Moscow. And she certainly wasn’t jumping up and down demanding to know when they would see each other again as they headed to the Underground.

‘You really don’t have to see me home,’ Freya said.

‘I’m not,’ Richard said. ‘I believe in equality—it’s your turn to see me to my door.’


CHAPTER SEVEN (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

UH-OH!

Freya woke to a very un-lumpy mattress—in fact, she felt as if she was wrapped in cotton wool. And then she heard Richard speaking into the phone.

Her one and only one-night stand was over.

And, instead of regretting it, she smiled as she lay there, recalling last night.

They had arrived back at his gorgeous apartment and he’d poured them a drink and headed off for a shower.

She’d ended up in there with him.

And then they’d taken their drinks to bed.

Oh, it had been bliss.

She lay there listening to his lovely deep voice.

‘No, I’m away until Tuesday, so I can’t,’ he said. ‘How is Mrs Eames?’

As soon as the call ended, his phone went again.

‘No,’ he said, very brusquely. ‘You cannot come and stay.’

Freya wondered if it was an ex, trying to get her toes back past the bedroom door, but she blinked when he spoke again.

‘Mother, I have a friend staying at the flat while I’m away.’ Pause. ‘I do. Currently she’s living in a terrible rental and I’ve loaned her the place for a few days. So, no, you can’t come and stay. If you need a break from your fiancé then I suggest that perhaps you actually speak to him about that fact, rather than go away.’

Another pause and Freya rolled over and looked at him, not even politely attempting to pretend she was asleep.

‘What do you mean, you don’t believe me?’ he said. ‘Freya, would you tell my mother that my place is yours for a few days?’

Gosh, what a way to meet the parents, Freya thought as he handed her his phone.

‘Hello, Mrs...’ Freya didn’t know what to call her, given she had divorced Mr Lewis three husbands ago.

‘Amanda,’ the woman said for her. ‘So you’re staying at Richard’s?’

‘Just for a wee while,’ Freya said. ‘While my landlord’s sorting...’

‘Pardon?’ his mother said.

Richard took back the phone.

‘So you see there is no spare room at the inn. I’ll talk to you when I’m back from Moscow.’

He ended the call and his phone rang yet again.

‘Work,’ he muttered, and Freya didn’t blame him a bit when he turned it off.

‘Thanks for that!’ Freya said with an edge, more than a little annoyed to have been put in that position and at his jab about her home.

‘I never said you were my lover,’ he pointed out, ‘just that my apartment wasn’t free. Anyway, she can afford a hotel.’

‘Fair enough.’ Freya said, but she was still sulking a little.

‘I am so tired of her dramas.’

Freya said nothing.

‘Can you see why I’ve been put off relationships for life?’

‘I think so.’ Freya nodded. He was almost forgiven. ‘How’s Louise?’ she asked.

‘Mrs Eames?’ he checked. ‘She’s made it through the night and is holding her own. She’s a lot better than yesterday at least.’ He looked over. ‘Do you want some breakfast or are you still cross?’

‘Still cross,’ Freya said and told him why. ‘My flat isn’t terrible.’

‘I just said that as an excuse to my mother. She’s hardly going to drop in and see it.’

‘I guess...’

She let it go, and she decided he was completely forgiven when he got out of bed and returned with coffee, and toast topped with grapefruit marmalade.

Or was it the fact that she simply had to know more about this man?

‘Were she and your father ever happy?’ Freya asked as they ate their breakfast and got crumbs in his gorgeous bed.

‘I think so. But she wanted a livelier social life and he is rather wedded to his job. She gave him an ultimatum and it backfired, I fear, because he chose work.’

‘Your father married again?’

‘Yes—his housekeeper. Or rather the woman who had been their housekeeper, so you can imagine how well that went down. My mother was convinced there had been something going on all along...’ He rolled his eyes and then, putting his plate down, moved to take her mug. ‘Can we talk about our sex-life instead, please?’

‘But your parents’ sex-life is so much more interesting!’

‘Then I must be losing my touch.’

They made each other laugh and then, to Freya’s surprise, and seemingly to Richard’s, instead of taking her mug he lay back on the pillows and told her some more.

‘She walked out when I was fifteen—a couple of days after their twentieth wedding anniversary. My father wasn’t giving her the attention she felt she deserved. He had a terminally ill patient and had had to cancel their anniversary trip. I felt terrible for my father after the break-up—he just moped around. Then, just when I was starting my “A” Levels, he announced he was marrying Vera.’

‘The housekeeper?’

‘Yes. And the following summer my mother married an old friend of my father’s. A more glamorous version of him, really.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘She left him after five years, and after that I kind of tuned out. Now all I know is that she’s engaged to Roger.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘Yes—a couple of dinners. He’s a cosmetic dentist.’ He pulled a face.

‘What’s wrong with being a cosmetic dentist?’

‘Nothing. I just feel his eyes on my mouth every time we speak. I think he’s trying to work out if I’ve got crowns. In my line of work we just ask!’

He looked over to Freya and gave her a very nice smile that showed stunningly even teeth.

‘And do you have crowns?’

‘Two—thanks to rugby.’

She looked right back at him, and as she did so she thought about him asking his patients about their dental work before he put them under. She looked into his eyes and Freya understood why patients so clearly trusted him.

Because she trusted him.

Of course she didn’t know him very well yet, but that much she knew. And, Freya thought as they stared at each other, if she were terrified and scared for her life, or her baby’s, his would be the eyes she would want to see.

No, she would never regret this. In the twelve hours since their lips had first met she had come alive to her body in a way she never had before.

She wanted to put down her mug and reach for his kiss. Or at the very least to ask him what day he’d get back from his trip, in the hope that she could see him. But then she recalled their rules, and peeled back the sheet rather than leaning in to his embrace.

‘I’d better go. I have a train to catch.’

‘What time?’

‘Ten.’

‘Then there’s plenty of time.’

‘No, I need to get back to mine to pack.’

‘Fair enough,’ Richard said.

He lay there with his hands behind his head as she dressed. He kept his mouth firmly closed.

It was deliberate, because a long weekend in Scotland with Freya sounded tempting—rather than flying to Moscow by himself and cramming in some sightseeing.

‘Have a great trip,’ Freya said.

‘I will.’ He put out his hand and she came and sat down on the bed.

‘And good luck with your lunch,’ she added.

‘Thanks.’

It wasn’t awkward when she left. More, it felt...unfinished.

* * *

Freya thought about him more than she ought as her train slid its way northwards.

It was packed, and there were no seats in the quiet carriage, so Freya put in her earbuds and tried to listen to music—but every song sounded as if it had been written about them. So she gave up with the music and chatted to the woman in the seat beside her.

She was a fellow Scot, so neither had to say sorry, or I beg your pardon once, and Freya found out from her that on weekends and public holidays you could sometimes get a cheap upgrade to First Class.

‘I’ll remember that,’ Freya said, and then gazed out of the window and watched the rolling countryside. The clouds gathered and right on cue, as they crossed the border at Berwick-upon-Tweed, she saw grey skies and rain,

It made her smile.

The train travelled the rugged Scottish coastline, eating up the miles until they reached Edinburgh Castle. It was dark and powerful and towering over them, and her first glimpse of it in what felt like a long time caused Freya’s heart to swell.

The train pulled into Waverley Station and it felt very good to be home. The station was busy as she checked the board for the next train to Cromayr Bay and saw that she had half an hour to kill.

Freya decided to buy some flowers for her little cottage, to brighten things up. As she was paying she could hear her phone beeping, and assumed it was Alison, or her mother, checking on what time her train would get in.

She nearly dropped the phone when she saw that it was Richard.

Lunch went well. I’ll have my phone off for a few days now, but just wanted to say that I hope you have a nice break.

No kisses or fun little emojis. No clues to anything, really—but even getting a text was more than she had expected.

Freya hadn’t expected anything. She’d hoped that she might see him again—of course she had—but this simple text... Well, it confused her. This didn’t fit with how he had said it would be.

She honestly didn’t know how to respond.

A part of her wanted to fire back smiley faces and pictures of tartan berets and Russian hats—just to keep it all light and breezy. Yet light and breezy wasn’t how she felt when it came to Richard.

And so, when most women would be firing off a rapid response to a text from Richard Lewis, Freya—because she didn’t know how to respond—instead sent the promised text to Alison, and then stuffed her phone back in her bag.

Freya had no intention of telling people about Richard. Certainly she wouldn’t be telling her parents. While Freya adored them, her mother Jean loved ‘a wee natter’, and—as Freya well knew—nothing stayed a secret in Cromayr Bay for very long.

Alison was a different matter. And she was there waiting when Freya got out at Cromayr Bay.

The clouds had parted and the sky was high and blue, and Alison was smiling widely as she waved to her.

‘Look at you!’ Freya smiled, because in the weeks that Freya had been away Alison had changed and was now sporting a lovely little bump.

‘I know!’ Her friend smiled back. ‘Betty said that you can sometimes show a lot more quickly the second time around.’

Betty had clearly said easily what Freya hadn’t been able to. And still Freya did not know why.

She had been dwelling on it for months now, and had even discussed it with Richard, but still she had a huge block when it came to speaking about the loss with her friend.

‘I booked us a table at the Tavern for tonight,’ Alison said as she drove her home.

‘In the restaurant?’ Freya checked, because usually they went for a curry, or just to the Tavern’s bar. The restaurant was pricey, and rather grand, but she had heard right.

‘Yes, it’s closing for renovations next week. They’re going to put a function room in at the top, and they’re refurbishing the restaurant.’

Freya didn’t like the sound of that—she loved it as it was.

‘The bar’s staying open, as well as the hotel, but I thought you might want to see the restaurant as it is one more time.’

Oh, she really did.

They took the hilly street approach and, rarely for summer, there was a parking spot close to Freya’s cottage. They pulled in behind her little purple car.

‘Do you want to come in?’ Freya offered, but Alison shook her head.

‘I’ve got to go and do a shop—I’ll meet you in the Tavern bar at seven.’

‘I’ll see you there, then.’

‘It’s good to have you home, Freya.’

It was good to be here, Freya thought as she pushed open the door.

The drapes had been closed by Mrs Hunt after the last tenants, and Freya went around opening them up and letting in the late-afternoon sun. Then she turned on the hot water and caught up on her mail while she waited for it to warm.

And she did all she could not to think too much of Richard and what had happened last night.

She wouldn’t be telling Alison. At least she didn’t know whether or not to tell her.

Alison and Callum had been childhood sweethearts. And Freya wasn’t sure her friend would understand.

Freya herself didn’t understand.

She liked it that there was no risk of getting overly involved with Richard.

The break-up with Malcolm had been tricky. He’d kept messaging and coming round, turning up wherever she went, wanting to talk, to see if they could give it another go.

Well, she wouldn’t be having that problem with Richard!

It was rather freeing.

* * *

It was nice to dress up and go out. She hadn’t brought much with her, but she had a nice copper-coloured dress, and with heels it was dressy enough. Her hair was still rather wild from going to bed with it damp last night, so Freya wore it up and then added a dash of lipstick.

She glanced at her phone as she put the lipstick back in her bag, and then decided she’d do well to leave the phone at home, to prevent herself from replying to Richard.

She had no idea what she would say anyway.

Freya headed to the Tavern bar, and she felt herself tense a little as she walked inside. It was Friday night in Cromayr Bay, and that meant there was a fair chance Malcolm would be there. But thankfully there was no sign of him, and a moment or two later Alison arrived.

The Tavern really was gorgeous—a boutique hotel just off the main street, it was set high on a hill and offered a stunning version of Freya’s favourite view of the Firth.

They climbed the steps to the restaurant and were shown to their seats by a waitress. Then Gordon, the owner, came over.

‘Are you two here for a last trip down memory lane?’

‘Something like that.’ Freya smiled.

‘I remember you coming here when you passed your midwifery exams—och, and for your eighteenth too...’

‘I’m going to miss the old place.’ Alison sighed.

‘Well, hopefully you’ll love the new one just as much,’ Gordon said, and then he talked them through the menu.

They made their choices—which was tough, because there was lobster brought in from the pots just that afternoon, and there was Dornoch lamb, as well as Freya’s favourite, game pie. But she’d had that the last time she was here...

‘I’m going to have the lamb, please,’ Freya said.

‘And I’ll have the spelt and mushroom risotto,’ Alison said.

Freya had wine, and Alison a mocktail, and they chatted about Freya’s move to London.

‘So, have you made any friends there yet?’ Alison asked.

‘Not really,’ Freya admitted. ‘They’re very cliquey...’ she started. Only that wasn’t quite right. They were all very nice. ‘I don’t know what it is. I try, I just don’t seem to fit in. Richard says I’m too subtle.’

‘Richard?’

‘A friend,’ Freya said.

‘So you have made one.’

‘A temporary one.’ Freya said. ‘He’s being interviewed for a plum new job in a private hospital.’

‘In London?’ Alison checked.

Freya nodded. ‘And he’ll get it—he’s brilliant.’

‘Well, if it’s in London that doesn’t have to stop you from being friends. So you do have one.’

‘I guess...’

Alison smirked, because she knew Freya well, and from the little flush on her cheeks it was clear to her he was more than just a friend.

‘It’s just a temporary thing,’ said Freya.

‘Why?’

‘Because temporary is all he does.’

‘But that’s not like you.’ Alison frowned.

‘Well, maybe it is. Look, we’ve been out a couple of times, and both of us know that it won’t be going any further, and that actually suits me just fine.’

‘Why?’ Alison asked again.

‘It just does,’ Freya said, and gave an uncomfortable shrug.

She wasn’t ready to tell Alison she was thinking of coming home for good once her contract was up, but thankfully then their meals arrived.

The lamb was delectable and the conversation became easier. Alison chatted about her and Callum’s tenth wedding anniversary, which was soon coming up.

‘Can you believe it?’

‘Not really.’ Freya laughed. ‘It feels like just a couple of years ago that I was your bridesmaid.’

‘Are you coming home for your thirtieth?’ Alison asked.

‘I think so,’ Freya said. ‘Though I’m doing all I can not to think about that.’

They had a wonderful night catching up. Although not about the things that hurt.

As Freya walked down the hill for home the air was salty, and despite the late hour the sky was still dusky. It was so much lighter here than in London. But autumn would soon close in.

It was one of the reasons she’d come home.

Tomorrow she had to speak to the estate agent about house prices and things, as soon the families renting for summer breaks would fade away and her little slice of potential heaven would be going on the market.

It would be a relief, Freya told herself. The rentals covered the mortgage, but there was a lot of work to be done on her home.

A lot.

She let herself in and smiled at the pretty flowers she’d set by the window. Then she made herself a hot chocolate, frothing the milk in her coffee machine, and took herself to bed.

Freya rarely closed the curtains. There was nothing between her little cottage and the water, and the sight of the bridges always had her in awe. They were miles away, of course, but it looked as if fairy lights had been expertly strung in the sky, and the new Queensferry Crossing was magnificent.

Tomorrow she was catching up with a few friends, and then there was a huge Sunday dinner at her parents’ house to look forward to.

And then she thought about Alison and what she’d said about ‘temporary’ not usually suiting her. Perhaps now it did.

She took out her phone and read again the text he had sent.

Freya liked Richard.

A lot.

From the moment she had first seen him he had captivated her.

Yet she wanted to keep things breezy and light.

Or rather, she had to.

And not just because Richard Lewis had told her that it was the only way they could be. It was also because this place was home. Not London.

Freya had made up her mind now—she would not be selling her home.

* * *

He’d noticed her lack of response to his text.

Of course he had.

Richard had been moving through Security at Heathrow when he’d fired it off, and had regretted the simple message the second after he’d hit ‘send’.

He did not report in to anyone—certainly not about things like interviews—and, furthermore, he loathed the cascade of texts that all too often came when he was seeing someone.

When he’d collected his phone on the other side of Security he’d seen that she hadn’t responded.

Good, he’d told himself. A mistake had been made, but a lesson had been learnt, he’d decided as he had boarded the plane.

‘Phones to be turned off now, please,’ the steward said, but Richard had checked his again before he did so.

Four hours later, as he stood at Moscow airport, even though the very reason for his trip was to get away from the constant buzz of pagers and phones, he found himself turning it on.

No, she had not replied.

Freya could not have known the effect on him.

It made him want her more.

And that did not sit well with Richard.


CHAPTER EIGHT (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

‘HOW WAS MOSCOW?’

This time it was Freya who put her tray down at his table in the canteen. It was morning—just after seven—and he was eating cereal.

Unlike her, though, he was starting his day rather than at the tail-end of a shift.

They hadn’t really spoken since she had got back. Freya was just finishing a two-week stint on nights and their rosters hadn’t crossed.

‘Beautiful,’ Richard said. ‘But far from relaxing. All the signs are in Russian.’

‘I wonder why!’

‘Still, it was nice to get away. How was Scotland?’

‘I had a great time. It flew by, though.’

‘Have you finished on nights?’ He frowned, because it was odd to see her down here at this time of the morning.

‘Officially I have.’ Freya nodded. ‘But there’s a twin pregnancy to deliver soon.’

Freya was lacking in experience there, as the birthing centre at home didn’t accept multiple pregnancies. So she was more than happy to stay back—especially as through the night she had got to know Jeanette and her partner.

‘Stella just came on, and she suggested I go and get something to eat. Then she and Dr Mina are going to hold my hand, so to speak.’

Neither mentioned catching up with each other again. Some things were best left, Richard had decided.

He liked her a lot—perhaps because he couldn’t quite read her. She was private, and he liked that. And her eyes could be sullen at times, but then she punched out a smile...

All Richard knew was that he liked her a whole lot more than he was comfortable with.

‘Your interview went well?’ Freya checked, alluding to the text she hadn’t responded to.

‘It was just lunch.’

He offered no more, for he had already told her more than he should. Yet deep down he knew she wouldn’t have told anyone his potential news. He’d never have shared it with her otherwise.

Richard hadn’t expected to be as impressed as he was by the private hospital set-up. The hours were far fewer, though he could take on more if he chose, and he would have considerably more annual leave.

‘It would be a step up—a big one.’

‘A step back too,’ Freya said. ‘From the pace here.’

It wasn’t a criticism. She looked at him and could see his exhaustion, and then she looked down at the pile of cereal with which he fuelled his day.

She looked up again, at the closed look on his face, and knew she should not have come over. It wasn’t just their rosters that had kept them apart. He was politely avoiding her.





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