growing older, his mother’s stoic calm and his daughter’s laughter had made it into a home again.
The luxury in which he lived was a far cry from Annabel Swain’s living quarters, he thought as he put his key in the lock. What was a woman like her doing in hospital accommodation, for heaven’s sake?
His mother was in bed but not asleep, and the moment she heard his step on the landing she came out to ask about Lucy.
‘So far so good,’ he told her. ‘She’s rational, as you saw when she awoke, and the surgery that Annabel Swain performed was spot on from the looks of it.’
Mary nodded.
‘We owe that lady a lot, Aaron. I know that she was only doing the job she’s paid to do, but I liked her the moment I saw her. She’d barely had time to get her foot over the doorstep at Barnaby’s and she was operating on our precious girl. When Lucy comes home, why don’t we invite her over for a meal?’
‘I agree with all you say,’ he told her, ‘but she might think an invitation to dinner a bit over the top.’
‘Nonsense!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘Annabel Swain looks as if she could do with some tender loving care herself. She’s too thin and pale.’
Aaron was smiling. ‘And you’d like to turn her into a buxom wench?’
‘Not exactly. I wouldn’t have thought that ‘‘buxom wenches’’ were quite your type.’
‘What has it got to do with me?’ he asked with dark brows rising. ‘You’re not going to try and marry me off again, are you? Because it won’t work.’
‘You can’t mourn Eloise for ever,’ she said gently.
‘It has nothing to do with that. I accepted long ago that she’s gone and won’t be coming back. But if and when I decide to marry again, I’ll do the choosing.’
She laughed. ‘All right. I get the message, but I’m not getting any younger, you know. Lucy needs a younger woman in her life.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he agreed, ‘and when the time is right I’ll do something about it.’
He felt vaguely irritated that his mother was taking such an interest in a woman that he’d only just met. Yet he had to admit that he’d been drawn to her for some reason and there hadn’t been many women he could say that about since he’d lost Eloise.
But reason said it was because she’d saved his daughter’s life. It certainly wasn’t because he’d been bowled over by her looks. Like a lot of other overworked doctors he’d met, she was white-faced, with dark smudges beneath those striking hazel eyes, and weary.
After he’d showered and changed Aaron unloaded his luggage from his mother’s car and took out the gift he’d brought for Lucy. Mary was on the verge of sleep again, so he crept in and put the box that held a gold bracelet from one of New York’s top stores on the bedside table.
He’d brought his daughter a doll, a miniature version of a pretty cheer-leader, and hoped that it might help to take her mind off the aches and pains that were the aftermath of surgery. Patti-Faye, she was called, and he thought whimsically that with her pouting red lips and glossy blonde bob she was an overstated version of the opposite sex, while the woman who had been in his thoughts was understated to say the least.
CHAPTER TWO
IN THE days that followed Lucy continued to make a good recovery. There had been no worrying after-effects from the surgery and every time Aaron looked at his daughter he rejoiced.
She was home now. She would soon be back at primary school and in the meantime was once more under her grandmother’s wing while Aaron was working.
He was back in harness now. On the wards and in Outpatients. He also supervised paediatric care in local clinics, referring problems to a consultant at Barnaby’s.
Aaron’s own speciality was neonatal problems and on a cold Monday morning he was due to see a baby boy who had been born flawless but now had an unsightly birthmark on his face.
The child had been referred from the Infirmary where the birth had taken place, and the distressed parents would be hoping he was going to wave a magic wand...
But before that he’d seen Annabel Swain coming from the direction of the accommodation blocks as he was parking his car and had sat watching her approach.
As Lucy had recovered their brief affinity had dwindled. Almost as if it had been born only of the crisis and now that it was over they’d taken stock of each other and stepped back.
It wasn’t exactly that on his part, but he had to admit that he might have given Annabel the impression that she’d served her purpose as far as he was concerned and that they were back on a footing of senior paediatrician and surgeon. It wasn’t the case, but now that his anxiety over Lucy was abating he was conscious that he had done nothing to further their acquaintance and she had saved his daughter’s life.
And now here she was, hurrying along with a chill wind nipping at her ankles, snuggled inside a long winter coat, and still with the pallor that had concerned him when they’d first met.
On the occasions they’d been together during Lucy’s stay in hospital he’d sensed melancholy in her and would have liked to have asked what was wrong, but had felt that he would be rebuffed if he did. After all they were strangers. Maybe if they’d met in the usual way of hospital staff, in a situation of a new member meeting a senior colleague and taking it from there, they would be easier with each other.
But they had been thrown together on an October morning with himself in a state of great anxiety and Annabel having spent her first hours at Barnaby’s operating on his daughter. Consequently she now knew all about him, while he knew nothing of her, except that she was a cool and very competent surgeon.
She was almost level and when she saw him getting out of the car she stopped and said, ‘Hello there. How’s little Lucy?’
‘Fine,’ he said smilingly. ‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes...you. How are you? It seems we haven’t spoken of anything other than hospital business.’
‘I’m all right, thank you.’
He didn’t believe that, but now he saw an opportunity to get her out of that dreadful flat for a few hours.
‘We wondered if you’d like to come round for a meal one night,’ he said casually, and watched her eyes widen. ‘My mother thought it would be one way of saying thank you for what you did for Lucy.’
So it wasn’t his idea, she thought as her pleasure at the invitation began to evaporate.
‘Thank you. That would be very nice,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t seem to have seen anything other than the flat, the operating theatre and the hospital grounds since I got here, but now that Mr Drury is back from his prolonged holiday and Mark Lafferty has also surfaced, I’m beginning to feel a little less pressured.’
‘Would
