‘The only other option,’ Eliot said tonelessly, ‘is for me to be in the same position as Ryan’s mum. Married. So I can offer Ryan the same kind of stable home, with two parents.’
Why did the idea of Eliot marrying someone else make her feel as if someone were dissecting her heart with a rusty knife?
‘…completely mad.’
‘What?’ She’d missed most of what he’d just said.
‘I said, at three o’clock this morning I thought of the perfect solution, but it was completely mad. You’ll say no, so there’s no point in asking.’
‘No to what?’ she asked, mystified.
‘Marrying me.’
No down-on-one-knee, no declaration of love, no nothing. He didn’t even look as if he was saying something out of the ordinary. No, he probably hadn’t even said that. It had been a mixture of wishful thinking and—
She blinked, hoping to clear her head. ‘Did you just ask me to marry you?’
The Registrar's Convenient Wife
Kate Hardy
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
‘IF I wasn’t just back from honeymoon, I’d be tempted,’ Tilly said with a grin. ‘Eliot Slater is very easy on the eye.’
‘Oh, puh-lease.’ Claire rolled her eyes in response. ‘Yes, he’s nice enough. He’s good with the parents.’ And, yes, he was easy on the eye—fair Celtic skin teamed with dark hair and eyes the colour of peridot. ‘But at the end of the day he’s like every other locum and leaves dead on the dot.’
‘And so does every other medic with any sense,’ Tilly pointed out. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly—just because you’re a workaholic and spend every second you can on the ward, Claire Thurman, it doesn’t mean everyone else has to. He’s probably got a life, that’s all.’
‘I’m not a workaholic. I just happen to like my job. Anyway, I go out with the rest of you, don’t I?’
‘Only because you know I’d nag you if you didn’t,’ Tilly said. ‘Seriously, I know he’s a couple of years younger than you, but maybe a toyboy would do you good.’
Claire laughed. ‘Tills, I know you’re blissfully married, but not everyone wants the same as you do. So don’t get any of your matchmaking ideas, will you?’
‘Me?’ the nurse practitioner deadpanned.
‘Yeah, you, Tilly Mortimer. Like the last time you begged me to go to the theatre with you because Matt didn’t like Shakespeare, and you’d already bought the tickets. Except when I turned up, you weren’t sitting next to me.’
‘It was worth a try. And Robin was a nice bloke.’
‘And desperate to get married and have babies. You know that’s not for me.’ If Claire told the lie often enough, maybe she’d end up believing it.
‘You’re a paediatrician—a neonatal specialist, to be precise, so don’t you dare tell me you hate babies.’
‘I don’t. I just don’t want my own.’ Another lie. But, thanks to her ex-husband Paddy kissing more than just the Blarney Stone, Claire couldn’t have children of her own, something she hadn’t admitted even to her closest friends. Everyone simply thought she’d divorced Padraig O’Neill for adultery and had picked up the pieces of her life, and was happy concentrating on her career. And she was happy to let them think it.
But today Claire had received a letter from Brigid, her ex-mother-in-law, who still stayed in touch. One of Brigid’s warm, happy, chatty letters that usually made Claire smile and pick up the phone. Except this one had contained some news Claire really hadn’t wanted to hear—that Paddy had just had a son. Padraig O’Neill junior, a beautiful bouncing nine pounds and with his father’s curly dark hair and gorgeous smile.
A son that should have been hers.
A son she’d never have, thanks to her ex-husband.
Claire pushed the thought away. No point in dwelling on might-have-beens. She had to look to the future, not the past. A future with herself as consultant. Senior consultant. Professor of neonatology. That was enough.
It had to be.
‘Anyway, he’s probably already spoken for.’
‘You mean, you don’t know?’ Tilly raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t it in his file?’
‘I was more interested in his work,’ Claire said wryly. ‘And I’m staying happily single at least until I’ve got a consultant’s post, thank you very much.’
‘Firstly, he doesn’t look married. Secondly, you’re practically consultant now—you’re acting consultant, and that’s near enough in my book. You just need to meet Mr Right. Or Dr Right.’
Claire smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine and dandy on my own, Tills. I don’t need any complications.’
*
