right now!
His eyes were green and beneath the faint shadow of stubble at his jaw was skin that had obviously seen its share of boyhood freckles. Although considerably faded now, they afforded a tantalising glimpse of his younger years.
As Claire reached across to shake his proffered hand she felt a tingle of apprehension. Something told her she should avoid all physical contact with this man. Just as she should have with Shane. Some lessons in life were too painful to repeat.
‘Claire,’ she said automatically, as the warmth of his hand enclosed hers. And then something happened. For the briefest moment as his skin touched hers she felt … energised. Like he’d transferred his warmth into her body, raising her temperature a degree. He smiled at her and his eyes glittered like emeralds in sunshine. She knew he’d felt it, too.
She withdrew her hand abruptly and sat, wiping her still tingling palm on her white uniform. Her mind spun. She didn’t need this now. She really didn’t.
She needed to focus on her objectives for this meeting. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a man who vaguely reminded her of someone else. She thought about Campbell Deane’s reputation in an effort to refocus her thoughts. One ladies’ man in her life had been more than enough!
So, he was attractive. But the only thing she needed to know about him now was his opinion on alternative birthing practices. The word was he had a more modern approach, but was it really the case? Would he be as difficult to reach as the others? Would he be old school, too? Would he be an enemy or an ally?
The meeting got back on track and Claire pushed thoughts of Campbell Deane out of her head as she perused the agenda. She grimaced and fought her rising irritation. She was last. Item number ten—Birth Centre. The board may have forced their hand, but this group of men weren’t going to smooth the way.
She frowned at her watch and resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the table. They may be able to sit around and chat for hours but she had a job to get back to. Nobody else would do it for her while she sat in this room. Claire didn’t have the luxury of registrars and residents. She wasn’t asking them for much, just a bit of support.
Claire was aware she was considered radical. She thanked her lucky stars this was the twenty-first century and not medieval times. Back then midwives had been regarded with suspicion and often accused of witchcraft. She had a feeling they would have burnt her at the stake years ago. The thought seemed absurdly funny in such a modern setting and Claire smiled to herself.
She looked up and noticed Campbell Deane staring at her, a small smile playing on his full lips. He winked at her and Claire could sense his interest. She dropped her gaze back to the agenda and decided to ignore him.
It was time to emit her famous ‘not interested’ vibes. Because she wasn’t—absolutely not. And even if she had been, the rekindled memory of Shane and their messy break-up ten years ago served to remind her that men were not part of her life equation. That was the way it had to be and Claire had accepted it a long time ago. She wouldn’t let an attractive stranger ruin her focus.
The meeting dragged and Claire’s impatience grew. She tapped the foot of her crossed leg lightly on the table leg and didn’t care how rude it appeared.
Campbell’s persistent gaze was unsettling. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was staring. She could feel it. The intensity of his scrutiny was almost a physical caress. She doubted he’d heard any of the discussion. He certainly hadn’t contributed.
All Claire could do was continue to pretend he didn’t exist. She deliberately kept her eyes averted, staring directly at Martin with what she hoped was rapt attention. She shook her head slightly and the heavy curtain of her dark bob swished forward, obscuring some of her face. It was a move designed to hobble his interest. She had to put him off. She just had to.
Despite this, there seemed to be an energy channelling between them that was hard to ignore. Claire could stand his attention no longer. It was doing strange things to her body. She felt like she’d been for a light run, instead of sitting idly. It was totally ridiculous—she’d just met the man!
‘Excuse me, Dr Shaw.’ She interrupted him in mid-flow.
‘Yes, Sister?’ He peered over his glasses at her, obviously startled by her intrusion.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ Claire knew he was unused to interruption. ‘I really can’t stay for much longer. Do you think we could discuss the birth centre now?’
She was pushing her luck but Claire didn’t really care at this precise moment. She had to get out of this room as soon as possible. Before she did something absurd, like stare right back at Campbell Deane.
‘Yes, all right, Sister. You have the floor.’
Claire was relieved to stand and stretch her legs. She took a moment to collect herself. A lot was riding on how she presented her case. It was imperative she hold onto her temper.
‘Gentlemen, I think we all know why I’m here. I know that opening up a birth centre here at St Jude’s hasn’t been popular among the obstetric staff. But the hospital board has approved—’
‘That’s only because it was raised at a board meeting with no obstetric representative, Sister West … by you, I understand.’
Claire stalled at the polite accusation. She couldn’t deny it. She had deliberately waited for the most opportune moment to present the proposal to the board. Claire had known they’d run with it once the idea had been raised, especially as it was extremely cost-effective for the hospital. Money talked.
‘Nevertheless …’ she smiled nervously, very aware of Campbell Deane’s quiet stare at the periphery of her vision ‘… this project has taken a lot of work and the centre is virtually ready to open. We’ve accomplished a lot at a negligible cost to St Jude’s. All we need now is for one of you—or more,’ she joked, yeah right, ‘to agree to provide a referral service for our clients. As part of the protocol we’ve developed, we need an obstetrician to see our ladies first, assess their level of risk and then refer them to us if they fit our criteria.’
‘Sister West, I believe you know how we feel about this issue.’
‘Yes, Dr Shaw, but the board feels otherwise.’
‘What the board says means nothing if you can’t get an obstetrician on your team,’ he pointed out, and Claire felt her anger boil at his smugness.
‘You forget, Dr Shaw, the reason we’re offering this service is consumer pressure. The women of Brisbane want a birth centre.’
‘What? So they can give birth hanging from the rafters?’
Claire ignored his sarcasm. The obstetric staff had been sent copies of the birth centre philosophy, including alternative birthing positions. His exaggeration was typical.
‘Shouldn’t women be allowed to give birth hanging from the rafters, if that’s how they feel most comfortable?’ she asked with saccharine sweetness.
‘And if something goes wrong?’
‘That’s the beauty of the centre,’ she said, clinging to the slender thread of her patience. ‘For the very small percentage of women who need it, medical attention is only seconds away. It’s the best of both worlds—a home birth in a major hospital. That’s all
