The Surgeon's Family Wish. Abigail Gordon

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      ‘Good. Friday it is. Shall we say eight o’clock?’

      Annabel nodded.

      ‘Yes. Eight o’clock will be fine.’

      ‘I’ll pick you up, Annabel.’

      ‘There’s no need,’ she protested. ‘I have my car.’

      ‘Yes, I know, but I’ll come for you just the same. I don’t like to think of you driving around in the dark in a strange town.’

      She swallowed hard. It had been so long since anyone had cared whether she lived or died, it was nice to be fussed over for once.

      She smiled and Aaron thought again that she would be really something if she was happy and cared for. But he wasn’t going to be volunteering to bring about either of those conditions. He was content as he was with his mother and Lucy to cherish and a job he loved. He’d not forgotten his mother saying that she wasn’t getting any younger, but that sort of problem could be resolved by bringing in extra help around the house.

      He’d loved Eloise. She’d been an outgoing, bubbly blonde, curvy and petite. The woman standing beside him was her exact opposite. Tall, slender, too thin, in fact, with brown hair and eyes, and from what he’d seen so far, a restrained personality. So why did he have this curiosity regarding her?

      It wasn’t that intense, though, was it? It had taken him long enough to invite her to dinner. His mother would be surprised and pleased. She’d never mentioned inviting Annabel round after that first time but he’d sensed that the idea was still in her mind.

      Mary had loved her daughter-in-law, but it didn’t stop her from wanting happiness for him now, even though he’d made it clear that he wasn’t in the market for a second marriage. He could imagine Annabel’s expression if she knew that such an idea had entered his mother’s mind.

      ‘Right, then,’ she was saying. ‘If you’re going to pick me up, I’m in Flat Twelve on the ground floor.’

      ‘Ground floor?’ he echoed. ‘I hope there’s good security.’ And immediately felt that he was fussing.

      ‘Yes, plenty,’ she assured him, eyes widening in surprise. Then, with her glance switching to the big clock above the hospital entrance, she turned to go and with the thought of his outpatient clinic that was due to start shortly, Aaron did likewise.

      That was a bolt from the blue, Annabel thought as she took off her coat and hung it in her locker. An invitation to dine with Aaron Lewis and his family. It would be something to look forward to in her drab existence as she had to admit that he intrigued her.

      When they were in each other’s proximity she found her glance on him all the time, but she supposed that he had that effect on most women. He was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen...and the least approachable from a personal point of view.

      Not workwise, though. With their small patients it was a different matter. They had that in common. Complete dedication to the children in their care. And while they were putting it into practice, the pain of what was not happening in the rest of her life was bearable.

      * * *

      The mark on the baby’s face was red, round and raised. There had been no sign of it at birth. It had appeared during the first few weeks of life and now covered a large area of his tiny cheek.

      Aaron recognised it immediately.

      ‘It is a kind of haemangioma,’ he told them, ‘an abnormal distribution of blood vessels, commonly known as a strawberry mark. They enlarge rapidly during the first few weeks after the baby is born and will persist for six months or so, but the good news is that after that time the mark will gradually disappear. They’re usually gone by the time the child is five but may take a little bit longer.’

      The young mother breathed a sign of thankfulness but the baby’s father wasn’t so easily satisfied.

      ‘And so what sort of treatment are you going to recommend?’

      ‘Strawberry naevi don’t usually require treatment,’ Aaron told him. ‘We would only remove it if the birthmark bleeds frequently, or if it is on the lip, tongue or genitals. It is done by laser treatment, but not recommended unless distress is being caused.’

      The beautiful baby boy was lying contentedly in his mother’s arms and Aaron said, ‘Your son doesn’t seem to be in any discomfort so I don’t advise surgery at present. But I would like to see him every three months, and if any problems do occur don’t hesitate to get back to me.’

      ‘And so we’ve got to put up with him looking like this for years,’ the father persisted.

      ‘Leave it, Peter,’ his wife said. ‘At least we know that the birthmark is going to go eventually, and I don’t want our baby to be operated on just to satisfy your male pride.’

      When they’d gone Aaron thought he could see both their points of view. The young husband was no different to a lot of parents who couldn’t cope with their child being different. His wife was only concerned about the baby, and rightly so.

      The clinic was over. It had been the usual mixture of serious and small paediatric problems. Several of the children he’d seen today would need surgery. Annabel came to mind again and he had to tell himself that Charles and Mark were back. She wasn’t going to find new zest if he started passing all his sick children to her to be operated on.

      Like teenager Oliver Thomas, for instance, who was going to need brain surgery in an attempt to alleviate severe epilepsy. He would need a team of doctors for the operation that Aaron felt necessary in his case. Then there was nine-year-old James Leech. He’d seen him that morning and had suggested an operation to straighten his protruding ears.

      He might have a chat with her about them on Friday night, but then thought better of it. She would think he was some bore if all he could talk about was work over dinner.

      * * *

      The moment Aaron stopped the car in front of the accommodation block on Friday night, Annabel appeared in the entrance. When he saw her he blinked.

      She was wearing a cream cashmere jacket over a long black dress, with high-heeled shoes the same colour as the jacket, and carrying a matching bag.

      Her hair was swept off her face and hung down her back in a shining coil, and as she drew nearer he saw in the light from the streetlamps that the pallor that worried him had been covered with light make-up.

      Was this the same understated paediatric surgeon who had entered his life at the time of Lucy’s accident? he asked himself as she opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside him.

      ‘Hello, there,’ he said as she smiled across at him. ‘You look...er...’

      He wanted to tell her she looked wonderful, but suddenly felt she might think he was making too much out of an invitation to dinner.

      She laughed. ‘Not as grotty as usual, were you about to say?’

      ‘Of course not,’ he protested. ‘I wouldn’t be so rude.’

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