St Piran’s: Italian Surgeon, Forbidden Bride. Margaret McDonagh

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      ‘Probably!’ Ben allowed.

      Gio tried not to dwell on the past. His memories were mixed, all the happy ones overshadowed by the bad ones and the blackest time of his life. Ben and James, fellow consultants with whom he had struck up an immediate rapport, began detailing the merits of the three rowdy young doctors, but Gio’s attention was inexorably drawn back to Jessica. The now familiar awareness surged through him, tightening his gut and making it difficult to breathe.

      Jessica was sitting with two other women. Megan Phillips, the paediatric registrar with whom he worked frequently. And Brianna Flannigan, a kind and dedicated nursing sister in NICU/PICU, whom he’d met for the first time that morning. On the surface, the three women shared many similarities and yet they were distinctly different. And it was only Jessica who made his pulse race and caused his heart, which he had believed to be in permanent cold storage, to flutter with long-forgotten excitement.

      They had sat in this very canteen and talked for a long time that first night, yet he’d discovered precious little about her. He, on the other hand, had revealed far more than he’d intended.

      Her understanding and support about his move to Cornwall had warmed him. Many people had appreciated his need to leave Italy for New York five years ago. Some had comprehended his decision to leave New York, and the team of the neurosurgeon who had taught him so much, to move to London. But very few had grasped why he had chosen St Piran’s over the other options that had been open to him—options that would have meant more money and working at bigger hospitals.

      Those things hadn’t interested him, which had not surprised Jessica. St Piran’s offered the opportunity of advancing to head of department within a decade, Gordon Ainsworth grooming him to take over when he retired, but it had been the administration’s support of his charity work that had swayed his decision.

      He’d told Jessica about the trust but not why it was so important to him. Not yet. That he was thinking of doing so showed how far she had burrowed under his skin. Even as warning bells rang in his head, suggesting he was getting too close too quickly, he couldn’t stop himself craving her company and wanting to know more about her.

      They’d seen each other often during the week, working together with a couple of new patients and a rapidly improving Cody Rowland. Their friendship grew tighter all the time but Jessica remained nervous. She’d relax for a time then something would cause her to raise her defensive wall again. Her working hours puzzled him, and the extent of her medical knowledge continued to intrigue him.

      The little she had revealed about herself centred around her work at St Piran’s. Listening to her describe her role, and witnessing her way with people?including the use of Charlie, the teddy-bear hand puppet, to interact with frightened children?had left him full of admiration for her devotion and skill.

      ‘Much of my work involves supporting people who face life changes and difficult decisions caused by illness or accident. It’s a huge shock to the system,’ she’d told him and, for a moment her eyes had revealed such intense pain that it had taken his breath away.

      He’d wanted to comfort and hug her, but he’d resisted the instinctive urge, aware of Jessica’s aversion to touching and being touched… one of her mysteries he hoped to unravel. But the incident had left him in little doubt that she’d experienced some similar trauma. As had he, he allowed, with his own dart of inner pain.

      ‘Patients and relatives often try to be strong for each other,’ Jessica had continued with perceptive insight, ‘when often they need to admit that they’re scared and have a bloody good cry.’ She’d sent him a sweet, sad smile that had ripped at his already shredded heart. ‘I’m merely a vehicle, a sounding board, someone outside their normal lives on whom they can offload all the emotion.’

      What toll did that take on her? Gio wondered with concern. And who was there for her? They were questions to which he still had no answers.

      Without conscious decision or prior arrangement, they’d met each evening in the canteen, lingering over something to eat, discussing work, finding all manner of common interests in books, music and politics, both of them steering clear of anything too personal.

      He’d learned very quickly to tread carefully, watching for the triggers that caused her withdrawal. He liked her, enjoyed her company and was comfortable with her but also alive, aroused and challenged, feeling things he’d not experienced in the five long years since his world had come crashing down around him.

      Taking things slowly was a necessity. For both of them. But every day he became more deeply involved. So much so that having to say goodnight to her and return alone to his rented house was becoming increasingly difficult.

      ‘Oh, to be that young and free from responsibility.’

      Edged with bitterness, the words were voiced by Josh O’Hara and pulled Gio from his reverie. The Irishman took the final empty chair and set his plate down on the table. Gio regarded the other man, wondering what had sparked his reaction.

      ‘Something wrong, Josh?’ Ben asked, a frown on his face.

      ‘Bad day.’ He pushed his food aside untouched. ‘I’ve just had to DOA an eighteen-year-old… I was going to say man, but he was scarcely more than a boy with his whole life ahead of him.’

      Gio sympathised, recalling how he’d felt a few days ago when the young woman had died in Theatre from multiple injuries. ‘What happened?’

      ‘He was an apprentice mechanic at a local garage, driving the work van and following another mechanic who was returning a customer’s car after service,’ Josh explained, emotion in his accented voice as he told the story. ‘Some bozo going home from a liquid lunch at the golf club and driving far too fast ploughed into the van. The boy wasn’t wearing his seat belt, the van had no air-bags, and he went through the windscreen. He had horrible head and facial injuries—apparently he’d been a good-looking boy, not that I could tell—and a broken neck.’

      Gio exchanged glances with Ben and James, both of whom were listening with equal solemnity and empathy. ‘And the drunk driver?’ Ben queried, voicing the question in all their minds.

      ‘Yeah, well, there’s the rub. There’s no justice in this world.’ Josh gave a humourless laugh. ‘The boy’s colleague, who witnessed the crash, is in shock. The drunk driver hasn’t got a scratch on him. The police have arrested him and I hope they throw the book at him, but whatever sentence he gets won’t be enough to make up for that young life, will it?’

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