for dinner?’
‘I’d love to, but I promised Lynne I’d do the night shift in exchange for having this afternoon off.’ Her cousin walked towards the kitchen door, then stopped. ‘Gabriel Dalgleish is single.’
Maddie dropped the spoon she was holding. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘Sixty per cent of all relationships start with couples meeting at work, and you’re going to be in an office just two doors down from him. It’s perfect, Maddie.’
‘It’s insane,’ Maddie protested, bending down to retrieve the spoon. ‘Even if I was looking for somebody—and I’m not—the man’s an overbearing, arrogant jerk.’
‘I bet you could loosen him up.’
‘By doing what—putting whoopee cushions on his seat, exploding pens on his desk?’ Maddie shook her head. ‘Nell, get a grip.’
‘I’m not asking you to marry the guy—’
‘I’d have you certified if you did.’
‘But you’re good with people,’ Nell continued, ‘and if you could loosen him up, make him more approachable, you’d earn the undying gratitude of everyone at the Belfield.’
‘I’m sure that would look really good on my tombstone. Can’t I just buy him a hamster—bring out his caring side that way?’
‘Maddie, you’re not taking this seriously,’ Nell protested, and Maddie laughed.
‘Of course I’m not. Nell, you’re my cousin, and I love you dearly, but do you honestly think Gabriel Dalgleish would be any better for me than Andrew was?’
Nell appeared to give the idea some thought, then her eyes twinkled. ‘Well, he’s a lot taller. OK, OK, it’s a dumb idea,’ she continued as Maddie waved her spoon threateningly at her, ‘but I worry about you. You’re only twenty-nine and you’re letting your whole life slip by.’
‘Nell, I am fine.’
And she was fine, Maddie thought after her cousin had left. OK, so maybe sometimes she was lonely, and sometimes it would have been nice to have somebody to cuddle, but Gabriel Dalgleish…
She let out a snort of laughter. Just being civil to him for the next six months was going to be tough enough, but to go out with him, to become involved with him? She’d rather sign herself up for root-canal treatment.
GABRIEL gathered up the files on his desk, then sat back in his seat, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. ‘I think that pretty well brings you up to date on everything that happened in the unit last night, Jonah, apart from the fact that while Baby Ralston seems to be finally remembering to breathe on his own, we’ll still keep him on medication for another forty-eight hours.’
‘Do you reckon that kid’s parents are ever going to give him a first name?’ Jonah said as he made a note on his clipboard.
‘Yesterday they were considering Simon or Thomas. The day before it was Quentin or Robert. Looks like they’re working their way through the alphabet.’ Gabriel reached for his mug of coffee. ‘Oh, and Tom Brooke from Obs and Gynae is coming down to the unit later.’
‘The Scott baby?’
Gabriel nodded. ‘It’s a tricky situation because Mrs Scott isn’t technically a Belfield obs and gynae patient after the argument she had with them last year, but I told Tom he could come.’
‘I still don’t know why Mrs Scott behaved as she did,’ Jonah observed. ‘Tom wasn’t being unreasonable. He just wanted her to wait a year to see if the cornual anastomosis he’d performed to unblock her Fallopian tube was a success, and he said if she wasn’t pregnant by the end of a year, he would start her on IVF treatment.’
‘Her argument was that, at thirty-six, her time was running out.’
‘But a successful cornual anastomosis gives a woman a sixty per cent chance of conceiving naturally,’ Jonah protested. ‘Whereas the success rate for IVF is only around thirty to thirty-five per cent, not to mention being one of the most emotionally fraught treatments a woman can undergo.’
‘I know that, you know that, both Obs and Gynae and the infertility department tried to tell Mrs Scott that, but she wouldn’t listen,’ Gabriel said, rubbing his eyes wearily. ‘The person I blame is the head of the private infertility clinic she went to. He not only completely ignored her past medical history—but to implant four eggs into her when any reputable infertility expert knows you shouldn’t implant more than three…’
‘With the result that three of her babies were born stillborn last night, and the surviving baby weighs just 720 grams.’ Jonah sighed. ‘Not good.’
‘No,’ Gabriel murmured, and it wasn’t. Although advances in modern technology meant that many babies now survived who would previously have died, there was a limit to how small the baby could be, and at 720 grams little Diana Scott was very small. Perhaps too small.
He finished his coffee in one gulp but, as he reached for the cafetière on his desk to pour himself another, Jonah gazed at him severely.
‘That’ll be your third in forty-five minutes.’
‘Not that you’re counting.’
‘I’m counting,’ Jonah said. ‘Gabriel, you don’t need more caffeine. You need sleep. You’ve been at the hospital for the past seventy-two hours and nothing’s going to happen here that I can’t cope with.’
‘Even so—’
‘Damn it, Gabriel, I’m your specialist registrar, not some first-year medical student you can’t trust!’ Jonah snapped, and a half smile curved the neonatologist’s lips.
‘I agree, but you’re also not my mother, nor do I ever envisage choosing curtains with you, so quit with the advice.’
‘Gabriel—’
‘OK, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll go home after lunch.’
‘But—’
‘The first twenty-four hours are always the most critical for a preemie, and Diana’s a full sixteen weeks premature.’ Gabriel raked his fingers through his hair, making it look even more dishevelled than it already was. ‘I have to be here.’
Jonah let out a huff of exasperation. ‘Gabriel, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone any more. Three years ago this department was underachieving big time but you’ve pulled it round, and not just pulled it round but made it the best in the city. You’ve succeeded.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it,’ the specialist registrar exclaimed. ‘Hell’s bells, you were even right about Maddie Bryce. I know she’s only been with us a week but she’s efficient, on the ball—’
‘When
