Sydney.’
‘It didn’t work out.’ He carried on reading the paper for a moment and then finally elaborated a touch. ‘The professor I would be working under was taken ill and has gone on long-term sick leave—I didn’t really care for his replacement, so I’m just waiting till something I want comes up, or the professor returns. I’m here for a few more weeks.’
He sounded very austere, such a contrast to the easy conversations they had once shared. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t even read his paper, just sat and ate his roll.
Couldn’t he have done that on NICU or on the paed ward? Bridgette thought, stirring her yoghurt. If he was going to sit there all silent and brooding, couldn’t he do it somewhere else? Surely it was already awkward enough?
For Dominic, in that moment, it wasn’t awkward, not in the least. He was too busy concentrating on not closing his eyes. Fatigue seeped through him. He’d had maybe six hours’ sleep the entire weekend and he just wanted to go home and crash. Thank goodness for Rita, who had noticed his pallor and given him a spare cold patient lunch and suggested that he take five minutes before he saw the baby he had come down to examine, as well as speaking with Frank and Carla. Rebecca, his intern, came in. Bridgette recognised her from that morning, and then a couple of other colleagues too, which should have broken the tension, but instead Dominic ignored everyone and made no attempt to join in with the chitchat.
And later, he didn’t look up when she had no choice but to sit and join him at the nurses’ station to write up her notes before going home.
He told, rather than asked, Rebecca to take some further bloods on a baby born over the weekend, and then when one of the midwives asked if he’d mind taking a look at some drug orders, holding out the prescription chart to him, he didn’t take it. Rather rudely, Bridgette thought, he didn’t even look up.
‘Is it a patient of mine?’
‘No, it’s a new delivery.’
He just carried on writing his own notes. ‘Then you need to ring the doctor on call.’
The midwife rolled her eyes and left them to it, and the silence simmered uncomfortably between them, or at least it was uncomfortable for Bridgette.
‘I’m sorry this is awkward.’ She tried to broach it, to go ahead and say what was surely on both their minds, to somehow ease the tension, because the Dominic she had seen today was nothing like the man she had met, and she certainly didn’t want to cause any problems at work. ‘Had I known you were still working here, I wouldn’t have…’ Her voice trailed off—it seemed rather stupid to say that she’d never have taken the job, that she wouldn’t have come back to the unit she loved. But had she known he would be here for a little while more, there might have been a delay in her return—with Jasmine being away she was completely out of the loop as to what was going on at work.
‘Awkward?’ Dominic frowned as he carried on writing. ‘Why would it be awkward?’ And then he shook his head. ‘Are you referring to…?’ He looked over and waited till her skin was burning, till there was no question that, yes, she was referring to that night. ‘Bridgette, it was months ago.’ She swallowed, because it was actually just a few weeks; she’d counted them. ‘We shared one night together.’ How easily he dismissed it, relegated it, reduced it to a long-ago event that had meant nothing—something so trivial that it didn’t even merit a moment’s reflection. Except she was quite sure that wasn’t true.
‘Thanks for the e-mail,’ she said, to prove it had been more than that, that he had come back to her door, had later that night sent her a photo, yet he frowned as if trying to place it and then he had the nerve to give a wry laugh.
‘Oh, that!’
‘You got my e-mail address?’
‘On some stupid group one from Vince and…’ He gave a shrug, clearly couldn’t remember Jasmine’s name. ‘Just clearing out my inbox, Bridgette.’ She felt like a stalker, some mad, obsessed woman, and he clearly must be thinking the same. ‘It was one night—hardly something to base your career path on. Don’t give it another thought. There really is no problem.’
‘Good.’
‘And as for awkward, it’s not in the least. This is how I am at work.’ And then he corrected himself. ‘This is how I am—ask anyone.’ He gave a very thin smile. ‘I’m not exactly known for small talk. It has nothing to do with what took place. It really is forgotten.’
And over the next few days he proved his point. She saw that Dr Dominic Mansfield was cool and distant with everyone. He was mainly polite, sometimes dismissive, and just never particularly friendly. There was an autonomous air to him that wasn’t, Bridgette realised, solely reserved for her. Not that she should mind—nothing had shifted her heart. She was still way too raw to contemplate a relationship. And the patients, or rather their parents, didn’t seem to mind the directness of his words in the least. In fact, as Bridgette wheeled Carla up later in the week for a visit with her newborn, Carla admitted it was Dr Mansfield’s opinion she sought the most about her daughter.
‘I don’t want a doctor who tries to spare my feelings,’ Carla said as they waited for the lift. ‘He tells it like it is, which Frank and I appreciate.
‘Mind you…’ she smiled as Bridgette wheeled her in ‘…he’s not exactly chatty. Gorgeous to look at he may be, but you wouldn’t want to be stuck in a lift with him.’ Whether she agreed or not, Bridgette smiled back, pleased to see her patient’s humour returning, along with colour to her cheeks. It really had been a hellish ride for Carla. It had been four days until she had been well enough to see her baby, and there was still, for Francesca, a long road ahead.
‘Carla.’ Dominic gave a nod to the patient as Bridgette wheeled her over.
‘Is everything okay?’ Carla asked, anxious to see him standing by Francesca’s incubator.
‘She’s had a good morning, by all reports,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m just checking in.’
He gave Bridgette the briefest nod of acknowledgement then moved on to the next incubator. He wasn’t, she now realised, being rude or dismissive towards her. It was the way Dominic was to everyone.
It hurt more than she had time to allocate to it. Her days were so busy, and more and more Courtney was asking her to have Harry. It was hard trying to achieve some sort of routine and work full-time with a toddler—a toddler who worryingly didn’t toddle very much, one who seemed far happier to sit with his building blocks, happier in his own world than hers. But sometimes at night, when all she should do was close her eyes and get some much-needed sleep, it was then that Bridgette’s mind wandered. It was on those occasions that she realised not so much what she’d lost but more what she’d been privy to that night.
A side to Dominic that was rare indeed.
‘HARRY!’ Bridgette gave him a wide smile but Harry didn’t look up. He was engrossed with the pile of bricks in front of him. ‘How has he been today?’ Bridgette asked.
‘Busy building!’ Mary answered. ‘He loves his bricks.’
Bridgette saw her own fingers clench around the pen
