seen Jane walking past her windows, her head bowed over the bundle she was holding in her arms.
She’d done the right thing and had taken her daughter home with her and she was holding her. Cuddling her. Hearing the sound of the baby crying had been a surprise. Seeing how wrecked Jane Walters looked when she opened the door was disturbing.
She was still very pale and now there were dark circles under eyes that were reddened and had drops of moisture clumping the lashes. Wordlessly, Dylan stepped inside and took Sophie from her arms.
‘Hey, hinny,’ he said softly. ‘What’s the matter? It’s all right. Everything’s all right.’
The door closed behind him as he rocked the baby. From the corner of his eye he saw the way Jane leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, folding her arms around herself as though she still needed something to hold. Dylan had to fight the urge to use one arm to draw her close. To…comfort her.
Instead, he pretended complete focus on Sophie and kept his tone neutral.
‘Is she hungry?’
‘She was fed about an hour ago. And changed.’ Jane was straightening up now.
‘And have you eaten?’
‘N-no.’ She sounded surprised that he would ask.
‘Neither have I.’ Dylan was still rocking Sophie and her cries were fading. ‘Have you got enough of something for both of us?’
‘I…ah…’ Jane was staring at the baby whose eyes— and, mercifully, her mouth—were finally closing. ‘How did you do that? What was I doing wrong?’
Dylan smiled. ‘Don’t take it personally. She knows me, that’s all.’
Jane didn’t return the smile. Her chin came up and a flash of anger sparked in her eyes. ‘So why did you abandon her, then? Leave her with total strangers?’
Dylan’s sympathy with the way Jane was looking evaporated. Had she missed the point here entirely? Had he been worried sick for hours for no good reason?
‘I wanted you to think about the part you have in this wee lassie’s life.’
Jane wasn’t looking at Sophie now. She was glaring at Dylan and she had the nerve to look self-righteous.
‘I could have called the police. Or Social Services.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No. Lucky for you. There are laws about child neglect. Abandonment.’
‘Why didn’t you call them, then?’
Her gaze slid sideways. ‘Because I didn’t want people knowing about this.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s private.’
‘Maybe you don’t want people knowing that you’re not prepared to acknowledge your own child?’
‘I am prepared to acknowledge her! I’m prepared to support her in whatever way I can. I want what’s best for her—just like you do. And…’ The glance at the sleeping infant was triumphant. ‘Being with you is clearly what’s best for her.’ Jane walked past Dylan. ‘Have a seat,’ she instructed. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’m make us something to eat and we can talk. Scrambled eggs all right with you?’
‘Fine.’ But Dylan did not obey the command to be seated. He might be prepared to do anything for wee Sophie but he’d had enough of Dr Walters giving orders. And assuming that she had control and had just made all the decisions that needed to be made. Seething quietly, Dylan walked towards the windows, turned and surveyed what he could see of this luxurious apartment.
Jane was busy in the kitchen area. Opening cupboards and a gleaming stainless-steel refrigerator. A saucepan and a bowl and a tray of eggs were already on the spotless black bench top.
‘Very nice,’ he said eventually, into a silence that was being broken only by the sound of Jane preparing their meal.
‘Thanks. I like it.’
‘Close to the hospital.’
‘Yes. I take a longer route through the park in the summer and get my exercise that way. It’s beautiful.’
‘Must be hard—keeping white furniture so clean.’
Jane was cracking eggs into the bowl. ‘Not at all. I live alone, have no desire to keep pets and I have a cleaner who comes twice a week.’ She turned her head as she reached to pick up a whisk. ‘My apartment, like my life, is exactly the way I like it. The way I planned it to be.’
Dylan said nothing. It figured. An important position in a large hospital would leave little time to create a home and this was nothing like a home. It looked like a set for a photo shoot by some house-and-garden publication. The perfect city pad for the young professional. Tasteful, modern, comfortable and…completely without soul.
Had the interior designer chosen the artwork hanging on the walls? Random splashes of colour that were echoes of carefully positioned items like cushions and rugs to try and tone down the sterile white on white of everything else. Here it was well into November but there was no hint of Christmas coming. Did she have a white, artificial tree packed away somewhere? With white icicle lights to hang on it, maybe?
It was all so unsuitable for a baby it was a joke. As funny as trying to imagine Jane changing nappies or playing with a baby in a bath. Blowing bubbles or swimming a plastic duck through the water and making quacking noises.
Except it wasn’t funny, was it?
It was incredibly sad.
The eggs were fabulous. Lots of chopped parsley and freshly ground black pepper and thick, toasted whole-grain bread. Jane hadn’t realised how hungry she was. Normally, she would have poured herself a nice glass of chilled sauvignon blanc to go with the meal but it didn’t seem appropriate tonight. You didn’t quaff alcohol when you were looking after a baby, did you?
Except that the responsibility had now been handed back. The relief and release of tension was as good as several glasses of wine could have achieved. Jane took another mouthful of the eggs and savoured it, then glanced up to see Dylan picking up some egg-laden toast with his fingers.
‘All right?’
‘Wonderful. You can cook.’
‘You sound surprised.’
Dylan’s grin was charmingly shamefaced. ‘I guess it’s not a skill I associate with important, busy surgeons.’
‘How many important, busy surgeons do you know?’
‘Oh, heaps.’
‘Oh?’
Curiosity about her unexpected visitor surfaced. He had shed the leather jacket now and looked…larger, somehow. Well-defined muscles on his bare upper arms suggested he was fit. The tan might mean he worked outdoors. The hair was too wild to
