about to arrive, for next he added sugar to both cups of tea and made light work of the first.
And still Freya tried not to notice.
A domestic came round with a trolley and started to pick up the collection of cereal boxes, as well as the mess that the previous occupants had left in their wake.
‘Done?’ she asked Freya as she reached for her plate.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and then blinked as the porter—Len—actually spoke.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Sorry?’ Freya asked as he pointed to her plate.
‘You’re not going to eat those?’ he asked, pointing to the open cheese and crackers that Freya hadn’t touched.
‘No.’
‘Do you mind if I have them?’
‘Go ahead,’ Freya agreed—because, really, what else could she do?
‘Ta very much,’ Len said, and took out a piece of kitchen paper from his pocket and wrapped the cheese and biscuits in them.
The domestic didn’t seem in the least perturbed by this odd exchange, and cleared up the boxes and plates. Then as she wheeled her trolley off, The Man Who Liked His Breakfast Cereal, spoke.
‘Here you go, Len.’ He pushed a granola bar across the table to him.
‘Cheers!’ Len pocketed his bounty as he stood up and then walked out of the canteen.
Goodness, Freya thought, people here were so odd. She simply couldn’t imagine asking a complete stranger for the leftover food on their plate.
But then that deep, snooty voice spoke again and attempted to clarify things a little.
‘He only talks to the animals.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘Len,’ he explained. ‘He’s miserable around people, but he visits an animal shelter in his free time and he’s always after treats for them.’
‘Oh!’ Freya let out a little laugh.
‘You’re new,’ he said, glancing at her lanyard.
He had realised she was staff, but was quite certain he would have noticed her before if she wasn’t new.
She wore a dark shift dress that accentuated her pale bare arms, and her black curly hair was loose and down to her shoulders. From the little he had heard, he guessed she was far from home.
‘I’m here for my orientation day,’ Freya said.
He grimaced. ‘I’ve done a few of those in my time. The fire lecture, the union rep...’
‘We haven’t had a fire lecture yet,’ Freya said. ‘That’s this afternoon. I think it’s a film, followed by a demonstration.’
‘Fun,’ he drawled as he rolled his eyes. ‘Mind you, I did have a patient who tried to set fire to the ward once...’
She waited for more, but he’d gone back to his cereal.
‘Breakfast?’ Freya asked.
‘And lunch.’ He moved on to his second mug of tea. ‘Are you new to London as well as the hospital?’
Freya nodded. ‘I got here last week.’
‘I worked in Glasgow for a while.’
‘For how long?’
‘A year. I couldn’t understand a word anybody said. “Pardon” became my most-used word.’
‘I’m having the same problem—although in reverse,’ Freya admitted. ‘I have to keep repeating myself.’
‘I can understand you.’
‘Then you’re the first.’
‘You’re not from Glasgow, though?’
She was far too soft spoken for that, he thought. But not soft. He had liked the edge to her tone when he’d asked if the seat was taken. Richard loved the challenge of a sullen woman.
‘No, I’m from Cromayr Bay.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Fife,’ Freya said. ‘Overlooking the Firth.’
‘Never heard of it,’ he said again.
But this time he smiled just a smidge and she couldn’t tell if he was teasing.
‘How are you finding London?’
‘It’s early days.’ Freya gave a small shrug.
‘Ah, after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’
It was then that she noticed his eyes—or rather, it was then that she properly noticed them.
In his good-looking face there were several stand-outs. If she’d been describing him to Alison, his sculpted cheekbones and attractive full mouth were two features she might easily have named, and that his hazel eyes were just so much more than hazel. They were the colour of burnt amber, with a smatter of golden flecks, and they made Freya feel as if she were gazing upon an open fire.
Or was that more from the way he absolutely held her gaze as she replayed his words in her mind?
‘Ah, but after a few late nights you’ll come to love it.’
Those words had sounded like an invitation.
As Freya held their eye contact steady, she wasn’t quite sure how, but he made her his sole focus.
And he was hers.
Gone was the canteen, and gone too was the noise.
But then he spoke, and Freya found herself blinking at the intrusion of words.
‘So, where will you be working?
‘Maternity. I’m a midwife. The name’s Freya,’ she added, and she was not just being polite. His stethoscope was hanging over his lanyard and she wanted to know his name and just who this delectable stranger was.
She would have to wait to find out, though. His pager was trilling. As he looked at it he scooped the last of his cereal into his mouth and then gulped down the remaining tea as he stood.
‘I expect you to be fully versed in the operating of a fire extinguisher the next time we meet.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Freya said, but he had already gone, his large frame moving swiftly through the tables as people made way to let him past.
She
