Midwives On Call: Stealing The Surgeon's Heart. Marion Lennox

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      One good thing about being busy was that the hours went by quickly. Ciro, clearly used to dealing with a full department, worked his way expertly through the patients. Harriet guessed that once he didn’t have to pause to look up every last phone number and find out where every blessed form was kept to order various tests, he’d be an absolute dream to work with—so long as you followed his rules!

      ‘Look at you, Harriet!’ Charlotte’s voice was almost a screech. ‘You’re in the newspaper! Why didn’t you say?’

      Mortified, clutching a telephone receiver in one hand, with the other Harriet reached out to grab the paper, but Charlotte was having none of it. At twenty-one she was a huge fan of Drew’s and never missed an opportunity to talk about him.

      ‘I just saw one of the patients reading it! I told them that you worked here so they let me have the paper—Oh, Harriet, you look gorgeous!’

      ‘I look huge,’ Harriet corrected, refusing to even glance at the beastly photo of her on the red carpet at the acting awards ceremony that had been held the previous night.

      ‘Any results back on Alyssa?’ Ciro asked as he came over. ‘The medics are waiting to see her, but I want some more information before I speak with the mother again and tell her that we’re keeping her in.’

      ‘I’m still on hold.’ Harriet didn’t even look at him, couldn’t actually! She was concentrating too hard on breathing, tiny white spots dancing in front of her eyes, sweat beading on her forehead as great waves of nausea rolled over her. And Charlotte’s incessant voice wasn’t exactly helping matters.

      ‘But you’re not huge, you look stunning!’

      ‘Who looks stunning?’ she could hear Ciro asking, mortification heaped on mortification as behind her back Charlotte gleefully showed him the photo and took the new doctor on a whirlwind tour of her supposedly wonderful life.

      ‘Harriet here is married to a soap star.’

      ‘Soap?’

      ‘Soap opera!’

      ‘Her husband is an opera singer?’

      ‘No, he’s on TV. How come,’ Charlotte asked with the tactlessness only a very pretty twenty-one-year-old could get away with, ‘that with the patients your English is brilliant, but when you’re talking to us it’s—’

      ‘Charlotte!’ Harriet warned, putting her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, but Ciro was unfazed.

      ‘Because most of the English exams that I had to pass concentrated on medical terminology,’ Ciro answered easily. ‘I can name every bone in your body yet I cannot talk easily about television shows.’

      ‘He could name every bone in my body,’ Susan sighed as Ciro headed back to the cubicles, with Charlotte following like a faithful puppy. ‘He’s very good, isn’t he?’ Susan carried on, following Harriet’s far-away gaze as she sat on the telephone on seemingly eternal hold, trying to chase up Alyssa’s blood results. Despite marking the forms as high priority the results still hadn’t come through and Mrs Harrison’s already short fuse was clearly about to run out. Glancing over to cubicle four, Alyssa frowned as Mrs Harrison pulled the curtain, effectively blocking her view.

      ‘He’s doing well,’ Harriet admitted almost reluctantly, determined not to let even a hint of what she was feeling carry to her peers, rolling her eyes as yet again the switchboard operator asked her to stay on hold. ‘So long as you don’t ask him for any favours.’

      ‘Meaning?’

      ‘Meaning I asked him to write up two Maxalon for me and he refused. He said that he’d only write them up if he examined me first.’

      ‘And you said no!’ Susan teased. ‘I wouldn’t have to be asked twice to take my kit off. Are you OK?’ she asked more seriously when Harriet didn’t smile back, just fanned her face with her hand and licked lips that were suddenly dry.

      ‘No,’ Harriet finally admitted. ‘In fact, once I get these results I think I’m going to have to take first break. Susan, would you mind going and checking on Alyssa? Tell Mrs Harrison that we need the curtains kept open, unless she’s using a bedpan, of course.’

      ‘Sure.’ Susan stepped down from her stool. ‘And when I’ve done that do you want me to ring the supervisor, and see if she can send someone down to replace you?’

      ‘Fat chance.’ Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘I was the last of the last resorts already. I’ll just have to grin and bear it, I’m afraid. Let’s hope the department stays quiet.’

      Jinx!

      Even as the words came out of her mouth, even before the two nurses could touch the wooden desk in front of them in an effort to stop the jinx, the urgent call went up!

      A loud crash, followed by a wail of horror filled the relatively quiet department and, throwing the receiver down on the desk, Harriet managed a rueful smile as she ran towards cubicle four, Susan quickly apportioning blame as she ran behind. ‘That’s your fault, Harriet!’