‘I was about to start without you. Egg and cress or chicken salad?’
‘Either,’ she said, wondering why her office suddenly seemed so small and airless. Andrew was ripping open the packets, handing her one of each with a raised eyebrow, and she took them with a smile and tried to remember how to breathe. ‘Thanks. So how’s the kid with the fib fracture?’
‘Sore and feeling a bit silly. Apparently the idea was to jump off his trampoline onto his skateboard, only he fell off the edge of the board when he landed.’
‘Idiot! Of course he did! What is it with boys?’
Andrew winced. ‘Don’t. I can’t tell you how many close shaves I had as a child. The kid’s father was funny, though—reminded me of mine. He described it as an ill-conceived idea, poorly executed,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘Oh, dear. So no sympathy from that quarter, then,’ she said, joining in his laughter while she studied the smudges under his eyes and wondered how he kept going.
‘Not much. He’s managed to snap the fibula but it’s a nice clean break and it’ll screw back easily—better than a ligament injury long term anyway. He’ll be up on the ward in a minute, but he’d just had something to eat so I can’t take him to Theatre till later. His name’s Michael Warner,’ he added, sinking his teeth into his sandwich and nearly making her whimper again.
Good grief, he was so physical! If watching him eat was going to do this to her, how on earth was she going to get through two formal dinners without disgracing herself? She dragged her eyes away and tried to be practical. ‘Right. Where do you want him? On the ward with the other boys?’
‘Oh, yes, put him with the lads. He’s twelve, he’ll fit right in—and a bit more company might stop Lucas feeling sorry for himself.’
He attacked the sandwich again, and she gave a slightly strained laugh. ‘I doubt it. He’s sore and cross with himself and until he’s running around again like before, he’ll be wallowing in self-pity and grumpy as a grumpy thing.’
They shared a smile, and her lungs stopped working for a moment, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her and leaving her weak. He’d shaved at some point, and changed into trousers with a cut to die for and a shirt so soft she just ached to touch it. Or was it the man inside?
‘Damn—may I?’ he asked, glancing at his squalling pager, and she nodded. He spoke briefly, then sighed and put the phone down.
‘Right, I have to get on. Jacob needs a look,’ he said, draining his coffee and putting the paper cup in the bin. ‘I’ve checked my patients, they all seem fine unless you know different?’ She shook her head and he nodded briskly. ‘OK. I’ll see you later. Tell young Michael I’ll come. I’ll stick him on the end of my afternoon list, but I’ll be round before then to have a chat with him.’
‘OK. Thanks for the lunch. What do I owe you?’
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Nothing. You can get them next time.’
Next time?
He headed off to PICU, and she followed him out of the office, pulling herself together and trying not to think about next time. She was having enough trouble dealing with this time!
She went into the boys’ bay to sort the bed out, and stood there for a moment considering the situation. There were six of them—Lucas, and Rajesh, another boy of the same age who’d had an open fracture of his right forearm which had been fixed and plated that morning. He wouldn’t be there long. Then there was Joel, a boy of fifteen who’d fallen through the roof of the conservatory climbing out of the window above when he’d been grounded; he’d suffered multiple fractures and so was now well and truly grounded until the casts on both arms and the halo frame stabilising his neck could be removed.
Then there were Christopher and Jonathan, twin brothers who’d fallen out of a tree when a branch had snapped, and broken three legs and one arm between them. She’d like to keep them together for company. And Nico, with repaired ligaments in his ankle. He’d been cleared for discharge and was waiting to go, so she moved him into a chair to wait for his parents, and as she and the health care assistant finished remaking the bed, Michael arrived in a wheelchair with his long-suffering and patient father.
‘Hi, there,’ she said, going out and introducing herself with a smile. ‘I’m Libby Tate, the ward sister, and you must be Michael. We’re expecting you. Come on through, I’ll show you to your bed.’
She’d put him between Lucas and Joel, the boy who’d fallen through the conservatory roof, and by the time he was settled against the pillows the banter had started. Good. He’d be fine, and a welcome distraction for Lucas and Joel.
She put the clipboard with his charts on the end of the bed and smiled at the boy and his father. ‘Right, I’m off duty now, Michael, but the anaesthetist will be round to see you soon and Mr Langham-Jones is taking you down to Theatre in a while—he’ll be up to see you afterwards to tell you how it went, and I’ll be on in the morning so I’ll catch up with you then. The others will look after you, won’t you, boys?’ she said to them all with a smile, and as soon as she’d handed over, she grabbed her coat and went out to her car, wondering if it was her imagination or if there was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there earlier.
Yup. Definite spring, and she felt ridiculously lighthearted. Silly. It was a no-strings, pretend date. Not really a date at all. Her heart really shouldn’t be getting excited.
But it was…
CHAPTER TWO
THE dress was gorgeous, shot with navy and olive green so it looked like the sea on a stormy day, the colours changing as the light caught it, and by the time Amy had poured her into the dress, hitched up the front a little for decency and scooped her hair into a knot and put a necklace round her throat, no amount of reasoning with her pulse was going to make a blind bit of difference.
Amy stood back and stared at her, and shook her head slowly. ‘Wow.’
‘D’you think?’ Libby hitched the front up again and had her hand slapped for her pains.
‘Leave it. You’ve got gorgeous boobs, be proud of them. Stick them out and hold your head up—that’s better. Fabulous. You’ll knock them all dead.’
‘Knock them out, more like,’ she said, shuffling her bra—clearly no room for a minimiser in there with that neckline!—and biting her lip. ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’
But Amy just rolled her eyes and draped an exquisite oyster-pink silk and cashmere pashmina around her shoulders. ‘There. You can always cover your cleavage with this if it worries you. Don’t lose it, it cost a fortune and it’s my only real extravagance. And you can wear it tomorrow with the black. Let me see you in it?’
So Libby changed into her dearly loved and classic little black dress, the high scoop neck and on-the-knee hemline much more demure and discreet. The back dipped to a V just above her bra strap, and there was a tiny kick-pleat at the back to allow for movement, and she loved it. It was elegant, sophisticated and timeless—which was just as well because she’d had it for three years now and by her reckoning it still owed her a substantial amount of money. It was, however, a little more snug than it had been before Christmas, and she sucked in her stomach and sighed.
‘You’ve
