been able to have Libby with the help of IVF, and it was only one step further to imagine the anguish of a fertile mother who, due to a physical anomaly, was unable to carry her own child.
She couldn’t have done it except as a host, but neither of the two children she’d carried had been genetically hers. They’d both been implanted embryos, so handing them over hadn’t been like handing over her own child. That would have been too big a wrench.
Handing Jack over and knowing she wouldn’t see him again had been bad enough. It had taken her years to get over the pain, and she realised now that she had never truly recovered. If he’d been her own child, it would have destroyed her. It had nearly destroyed her anyway, but now, by some miraculous stroke of fate, he was back in her life, and she didn’t intend to let him out of it ever again.
The fact that Sam would also, by definition, be part of her life as well was something she would have to deal with—and so would he.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU’RE needed in A and E, Mr Gregory.’
He frowned. He was covering one of the other firms because the consultant was on holiday and the registrar was off sick, and, frankly, being on take again for the second day running was the last thing Sam and his registrar Robert needed. He hadn’t got round to any of that paperwork yesterday afternoon, and he’d hoped to get some done this morning before his afternoon clinic. There were urgent letters…
‘Can’t Robert do it?’ he asked, but the ward clerk shook her head.
‘Sorry, he’s already in Theatre, and it sounded quite urgent. The girl you saw yesterday—the one in the car who was unconscious and discharged herself?’
He was already on his way to the lift by the time she finished speaking. That girl had been a crisis brewing, and he’d been mulling her case over in his mind all night—in between remembering the look on Molly’s face when she’d seen Jack, and when the little tyke had kissed her goodbye. It had haunted him all night, racked him with guilt. He should have contacted her when Crystal died—should have insisted, even earlier, that they kept in touch.
Don’t go there, he told himself firmly, striding down the corridor to A and E. He palmed open the door and went through to the work station, where he was directed to Resus.
‘So what’s the story today?’ he asked, going in.
‘The same, except this time she was picked up in the street,’ Matt Jordan said tersely. ‘Drugs, possibly, or some bizarre form of epilepsy, but we’re getting some pretty confusing results. Positive pregnancy test, though, and we picked up a heartbeat for the baby, but it was pretty erratic. We’re getting a portable ultrasound down here now, and the neurologist is on his way.’
‘Still no ID?’
Matt shook his head. ‘No, nothing, but the car she was found in yesterday was stolen, and she hasn’t washed or changed her clothes since then, so I would guess she lives in a squat. That makes the drugs more likely, but I’m almost certain there’s something else as well.’
Sam nodded. That made sense. If only he could know what was making her black out, he could make a better assessment of the baby’s needs. Just then the portable ultrasound machine arrived, and within moments the baby’s existence was confirmed.
‘Well, she’s pregnant with a single foetus, and there’s a heartbeat, although it’s rather weak,’ the sonographer said to them. ‘I can’t tell you any more without the big machine.’
Just then the alarm on the heart monitor went off, and Matt swore softly under his breath.
‘Damn, she’s arrested.’
The team moved smoothly in to start CPR, but Sam was unhappy. After two minutes of frenzied activity, she was still showing no signs of recovery, and the baby was bound to be suffering from lack of oxygen by now, even with their best attempts to support her circulation.
‘How’s it looking?’ he asked tersely.
‘Lousy. I can’t worry about the baby, I’m going to have to shock her,’ Matt said. ‘There’s still a chance we can get her back, and if this is drugs, the baby’s chances are pretty slight anyway.’
Sam nodded agreement and stood back, watching grimly as they fought—and failed—to save her.
He checked the clock on the wall and sighed. They’d been working on her for nearly half an hour, and there was no way the baby was still viable, he didn’t think.
He took the business end of the portable ultrasound and ran it over her abdomen, but the heartbeat they’d detected before was gone, just a shadow remaining to show the position of the heart. The baby itself was motionless.
‘Damn,’ he said under his breath, then straightened up. ‘OK, forget the baby. We’ve lost it.’
And not only the baby. Despite the continuous external cardiac massage, shocking her, ventilating her, injecting her heart with adrenaline, still they were unable to get her back.
With a muttered oath Matt Jordan stripped off his gloves and looked up at the clock. ‘OK, everybody. That’s enough. Agreed?’
They nodded. ‘Time of death ten thirty-eight,’ he said, and scrubbed a tired hand through his hair. ‘If only she’d stayed in yesterday, given us a chance to assess her.’
‘She didn’t. You can’t hold people against their will,’ Sam pointed out. ‘There are too many damned if onlys in this job.’
He stripped off his gloves and gown, and after attending to the necessary paperwork he headed back towards Maternity, sick with the tragic waste of two young lives. Maybe the post-mortem would reveal why she’d died, but in the meantime he needed to get back to the paperwork on his other patients, finish those letters off.
Then maybe he’d have time for coffee with Molly, if she was free.
He growled under his breath. Molly. She was all he could think about, all he could focus on. It was going to drive him mad, if he wasn’t there already.
‘Mr Gregory?’
He paused and turned, and there behind him was a man of his own age, the badge on his white coat declaring him to be Mr Nick Baker, Accident and Emergency Consultant. He’d seen him in Resus a few minutes ago, dealing with another patient. Now he’d followed him, for whatever reason.
‘Mr Baker—what can I do for you?’
‘It’s Nick.’
‘Sam.’ He shook the man’s hand, his eyes making a rapid inventory while he waited for him to come to the point. Slightly shorter than Sam, his hair was rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it, and he had laughter lines bracketing extraordinary blue eyes, but there was no laughter in evidence now. His smile was taut, and didn’t reach his eyes.
‘It’s about my wife—she’s a patient of yours. She was under Will Parry, but he moved away, so you’ve inherited her. I don’t know if you’ve seen her notes, but I just wanted to fill you in.’
‘Sure—of course. Is there something
