and sweet was not just a concept, more like a mantra for his life, because emotion was best left out of it. That way nobody got hurt.
The lift doors opened and he stepped out on the maternity floor. His eyes narrowed as he noted the arrival of his registrar at the nurses’ station just ahead of him. If he wasn’t mistaken, Simon had got dressed in a hurry, because his shirt showed the inside seams and the shadow of a pocket.
He guessed he should be thankful the majority of his own nights were left undisturbed at this stage of his career, so he smiled, and cleared his mind of everything but his work. The familiar focus settled over him and his shoulders relaxed as he zeroed in on his junior.
‘So, Simon. Tell me what’s happening this morning.’ He paused, looked him up and down and smiled. ‘Then perhaps you could retire into the staffroom and turn your shirt the other way?’
Eight thirty-five a.m. In the past fifteen minutes Lucy had decided Sophie would definitely have her baby today. Around eight-fifteen the contractions had become strong and regular and Lucy had slipped out and rung the registrar because the eight a.m. arrival of the consultant hadn’t occurred.
Neither had the arrival of the registrar, Lucy fumed, and twenty minutes’ time lag wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t happy as she looked for Flora May again to let her know her patient still hadn’t been seen.
Instead, she saw a tall, very athletic-looking man arrive at the desk, his immaculate suit dark like his short wavy hair, but it was his air of command that convinced Lucy he could be the person she expected. She diligently ignored the fact he was probably the most handsome man she’d ever seen and that maybe the horrible night midwife hadn’t been far off.
‘Dr Kefes?’
Both men turned to face her but she went straight for the one who obviously held the power.
‘Yes?’ His voice was low with a husky trace of an accent that was delightfully melodious, Mediterranean most likely, but she’d think about that later when she had a chance.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m the midwife looking after Sally Hill. She’s seventeen years old and thirty-three weeks gestation in prem labour. I believe she’s establishing active labour as we speak and you need to see her now.’ She handed him the notes and said over her shoulder, ‘This way, please.’
As he opened the notes and followed, Nikolai wondered briefly why he had allowed himself to be steered so determinedly when he usually had handover by his registrar and then did his rounds.
Of course, the young midwife seemed concerned, so that was a good reason, and she had made it difficult for him to refuse, he thought with an internal smile as he watched her reddish-brown ponytail swing in front of him.
He was more used to deference and suggestion than downright direction, but this day had started unusually, and it seemed it was going to proceed that way.
Ten minutes later Lucy stood beside the bed as she watched Dr Kefes and the respectful way he talked to Sally, and she could feel the ease of the tension in her own shoulders.
Thankfully, he was totally opposite from the way the night midwife had been. This tall man with the accent seemed genuinely empathetic with the young mum’s concerns and symptoms. Even the tricky business of the physical examination was conducted with delicacy and tact.
Afterwards Nikolai removed his gloves and washed his hands then came back to the bed, where Lucy had helped Sally to sit up more comfortably. The two young women watched his face anxiously.
Dr Kefes smiled. ‘It seems your baby has decided to have a birthday today. You are more than half-dilated and we will let the special care nursery know to expect a new arrival.’
Sally’s face whitened and the first real fear showed in her eyes. He sat down on Lucy’s stool and smiled gently at the young mum. ‘This is a shock to you?’
Sally nodded but didn’t speak. Lucy could see her lip trembling and she reached across and put her hand out. To her relief Sally grabbed her fingers and clung on while the doctor addressed her fears.
‘You are in a safe place. Your baby is in a safe place. If you are worried, listen to your midwife.’ He gestured at Lucy. ‘This one, who was so determined I would see you first she practically dragged me in here before my round began.’
He smiled at Lucy and she could feel her cheeks warm with embarrassment, and something else, like pleasure that this gorgeous man had complimented her on her advocacy. But the best result was that Sally smiled as well.
He went on. ‘We will all work towards this being a very special day for you and your baby.’ He stood up. ‘Okay?’
Sally nodded, and Lucy could tell she wasn’t the only person in the room who had decided Nikolai Kefes was a man to put your faith in.
And Sally’s birthing was special. Her baby was born three hours later. Dr Kefes was gentle and patient, and Sally was focused and determined to remain in control.
Lucy had borrowed the ward camera and captured some beautifully touching shots soon after the birth, because the neonatal staff were there for the baby, Dr Kefes managed the actual delivery, Flora May unobtrusively supervised, and she didn’t have much to do herself.
The stylish bob of the neonatal specialist, Dr Callie Richards, swung as she paused and spoke to Sally while her staff wheeled tiny Zac out the door on the open crib towards the NICU. ‘I think he’ll be promoted to the special care nursery very quickly, but we’ll check him out first in the NICU.’
Her eyes softened. ‘You come and visit him as soon as you’re up to it or I’ll come to see you if he misbehaves before then.’ Her gentle voice was warm and compassionate and Sally nodded mutely. Her eyes met Lucy’s as her baby was wheeled away.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Lucy whispered. ‘He looks little but very strong.’
Sally sniffed and nodded and Lucy squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s get you sorted so you can go and see what he’s up to.’
Afterwards, when Sally had showered and the two young women had had a chance to look at the photos, Lucy was very glad she’d taken them.
The luminous joy on Sally’s face as she gazed at her tiny son—a close-up of a starfish hand, a tiny foot lying on his mother’s fingers, and one of him snuggled against his mother’s breasts before he’d been whisked away to the neonatal nursery, were all a comfort to a new mother whose baby had been taken for care somewhere else.
Even on the poor-quality prints in black and white that Lucy printed out on the ward computer Sally looked a beautiful mum.
As she waited in the wheelchair, Sally’s finger traced the distinguishing features of her tiny son’s face and body on the images.
‘I’m glad I had you looking after me.’
Lucy squeezed Sally’s shoulder. ‘I’m glad I was here. Thank you for letting me share your birth.’
Her first birth as a proper midwife had been as empowering for Sally as she could make it. And she could tell that the young mum was pretty chuffed at how she’d managed everything that had been asked of her.
Lucy had never felt so proud of anyone as she was of Sally. She glanced around
