The Italian Doctor's Proposal. Kate Hardy

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      ‘You don’t,’ Rosemary said.

      ‘One of the staff brought them in?’

      ‘Made by the fair hands of our own Lucy Williams.’ Rosemary winked. ‘She’s not just a pretty face and a good doctor, you know.’

      You can say that again, Nic thought. I just wish she’d let me close enough to find out for myself.

      ‘Hey, Lucy. You’ve got another convert to kahk,’ Rosemary said.

      Nic nearly choked on his cake. Since when had his radar stopped working and neglected to let him know that Lucy was in the same building, let alone a couple of feet away? He just about managed to retain his composure. ‘Lucy, hi. These are very good. Unusual filling.’

      ‘Walnuts, honey and sesame seeds,’ she said.

      And made by her. Was she still professional and orderly and neat when she cooked, or did she let her guard down? Did she push her hair out of her eyes and end up with a dusting of flour on the end of her nose? Did she filch bits of her favourite ingredients? Did those ice-blue eyes turn into the colour of sunny skies as she relaxed?

      Nic had a vision of her in his kitchen, and himself removing her blue-and-white striped butcher’s apron before—

      ‘Are you all right, Nic?’ Rosemary asked.

      Hell. He’d actually moaned aloud at the thought of Lucy in very close proximity to him. He flushed and covered his confusion by taking a third piece. ‘I have this thing about dolci—sweet things. And these are to die for. Oh-h-h,’ he said, hamming it up and hoping that Rosemary hadn’t guessed what he’d really been thinking about.

      Making love with his registrar.

      ‘You’ll end up looking like our mums-to-be if you eat them at that rate—especially when it can’t be more than half an hour since you had your breakfast,’ Lucy informed him sweetly—then disappeared to see a patient before he could make an equally rude retort.

      Well, I managed that OK, Lucy told herself. Cool, calm, even jokey.

      But she still couldn’t stop thinking about Nic. She was on autopilot when she answered the bleep from A and E asking her to see a pregnant holidaymaker who was bleeding, so she missed the patient’s name. Until she saw the notes.

      Nina Hammond.

      Coincidence. It had to be. Hammond was hardly an uncommon surname, and Nina was a popular first name.

      But the second she stepped into the cubicle and saw Nina’s husband, she knew it wasn’t a coincidence. It was the kind of nightmare that ripped open old wounds and then poured salt in them for good measure. Why, why, why hadn’t she erred on the side of caution and let someone else deal with this?

      But she was a professional. She wasn’t going to let her ex see that she was affected by seeing him. Not in the slightest. ‘Hello, Mr and Mrs Hammond,’ she said, relieved that she was at least able to control the threatening tremor in her voice. ‘I’m Lucy Williams, special registrar from the maternity unit.’

      ‘Please, Dr Williams—don’t let me lose my baby,’ Nina Hammond said, clutching at Lucy’s hand. ‘Make it stop. Make the bleeding go away.’

      ‘I’ll do my best,’ Lucy said, and took refuge in her clipboard as she took the patient history.

      ‘We’re on holiday,’ Nina explained. ‘We just wanted to spend some quiet time by the sea. We only got here yesterday. We were going for a drive round the coast—then I realised I was bleeding and Jack drove me straight here.’

      ‘Someone’s looking after your other children?’ Lucy asked.

      Nina shook her head. ‘We don’t have any.’

      Shouldn’t they have an older child—Lucy did a rapid mental calculation—one who was nearly four? Or maybe she’d got it wrong. She’d got a hell of a lot wrong where Jack was concerned.

      ‘I’ve had three miscarriages,’ Nina explained.

      Lucy refused to meet Jack’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Has your GP sent you for any tests?’

      ‘No. Should he have done?’

      ‘If any of my patients lost three babies, I’d recommend further tests to see why,’ Lucy said. ‘It could be that your body’s producing antibodies which make you miscarry, called antiphospholipid syndrome—if that’s the case, we can give you something to help with that. Or maybe you have a problem with your cervix, and again that’s something I can help with. But first of all, I’d like to examine you and do an ultrasound—a scan—to see what’s going on. Are you losing much blood?’

      ‘No—just spotting, really. I had cramps and I felt a bit of wetness and just panicked.’ Nina bit her lip. ‘I so want a baby. We’ve been trying for years. I’ve lost three babies already. If I lose this one, I…’ She broke into sobs. ‘I can’t bear to go through all this again!’

      ‘It’s OK,’ Lucy soothed. ‘I’d like to take you up to my department—we can do a scan there and see what’s going on, then maybe I’ll admit you overnight so we can keep an eye on you and give things a chance to settle down.’

      ‘Can my husband stay with me?’

      Lucy took a deep breath. ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll get a porter to bring you up to the ward and I’ll meet you there—I’ll have the equipment all set up to check you over. How many weeks are you, by the way?’

      ‘Sixteen.’

      Most women with antiphospholipid syndrome miscarried in the first trimester, so the most likely cause of Nina’s miscarriages was either polycystic ovaries or an incompetent cervix, Lucy thought. ‘Right, then, Mrs Hammond. I’ll see you upstairs in a few minutes.’

      She made a quick call to River to make sure a room was ready on the ward, then took the stairs back to the unit. The exercise helped calm her.

      Jack Hammond. Tall, blond, blue-eyed and tanned. The kind of man who turned heads everywhere he walked. The kind of man women watched and sighed over. The kind of man who’d broken her heart into tiny, tiny shards that had taken her years to repair. She’d thought she’d never, ever see him again. After the messiest possible break-up, she’d moved down to Cornwall, where there’d be no memories to taunt her. She’d never, ever imagined that their paths would cross again.

      She was back under control by the time she walked back into River Ward. Nina was waiting for her in one of the side rooms, still trembling and tearful.

      ‘Can I get you a drink of water?’ Lucy asked her.

      ‘No, thanks. I think I’d be sick if I drank anything.’ Nina clutched Jack’s hand. ‘My baby…Please, I need to know if my baby’s all right.’

      ‘Lift up your top and bare your tummy for me, and we’ll see what’s going on,’ Lucy said gently. She set to work with the gel and the ultrasound scanner and soon had the picture she wanted on the screen.

      She СКАЧАТЬ