‘What?’ He gave a startled cough of laughter and shook his head. ‘Of course it matters. I’m not here to see you—I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘I’m an old friend of Richard’s. He heard I was back in London and asked me if I could help out. I owed him a favour—so I’m here. I swear, I had no idea you’d be here or I would have spoken to you first. Is it going to be a problem?’
She shook her head, feeling incredibly foolish and naïve. ‘No. Of course not. Sorry, I misunderstood.’ Of course he wasn’t here for her. She was being ridiculous. Neurotic.
‘So—why are you in London anyway?’
He smiled wryly. ‘Finishing off some research—and I wanted to see you again if I could find you.’
No. She felt a flicker of panic. She didn’t want this—didn’t want to see him again. It was too much.
Her body was calling her a liar, and her heart was racing, but her mind was in panic mode and she shook her head and backed away.
‘Luca, I can’t talk about this here. I have to work.’
‘So do I, now. But later—’
‘No, Luca,’ she said firmly, shaking her head and hanging on to the last shreds of her dignity. ‘I told you I didn’t want to see you again, and I meant it. I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk to you, either now or later. Please—just leave me alone.’
‘Isabelle, please, give me a few minutes—’
‘No. Go away, Luca. Please.’
Turning on her heel, she ignored his protest, walked into the staff room, closed the door behind her and burst into tears.
‘Izzie?’
‘Go away, Sarah,’ she mumbled, her hands pressed hard over her mouth to keep in the sobs that were tearing her apart.
‘No. Oh, sweetheart, what’s happened? Who is he? What did he say to you?’
She dragged herself together, sniffing hard and lifting her chin firmly. ‘Nothing. Really—please—I’ll be fine. I have to go to handover. I—I can’t—’
‘Rubbish. Here, you need a tissue and a cup of tea.’
‘No. Well, yes, the tissue,’ she said with a fractured laugh, ‘but I haven’t got time for tea. I’ve just got to get on.’
‘So who is he?’
‘Luca? He’s a guy I met in Florence.’
Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Oh, my God—why ever did you come back?’
She laughed a little crazily. ‘Because it was just one day? Because I have a life here, and he lives in Italy?’
‘Well, it doesn’t look like it. He’s Richard’s new locum, covering the maternity leave post.’
‘What?’ Shock nearly took the legs out from under her, and Sarah hugged her hard and steered her to a chair. ‘Sarah, you’re joking. He said he was doing Richard a favour, helping him out. I assumed he meant some research or something.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Sorry, Izzie, he’s here, and he’s working in the unit, and you’re going to have to see him every day.’
‘Every…’ She dragged in a lungful of air. ‘Oh, God, no! I’m going on holiday. How long’s he here for?’
‘I don’t know. Weeks, I suppose. Months, maybe.’
Months?
‘Will you be OK with that? Can you do it? Because I don’t think you’ve got that much holiday,’ Sarah said with a vain attempt at a smile.
Probably not, but—work with him? For months? Oh, lord. Maybe she could get a transfer? Or maybe she should just get a grip.
‘Of course I can,’ she lied, straightening her spine and blowing her nose hard. ‘I’ll have to. Just keep him away from me, and I’ll be fine.’
And without giving Luca another thought—well, that was a lie, but she had to pretend—she threw herself into her work. Which would have been fine, of course, if it hadn’t been for the first labouring woman she checked.
Superficially, there was nothing wrong, but it was her third baby and third babies could often be a bit different. The notes contained no special warnings, the last ultrasound scan had been fine and there was technically nothing to worry about. Certainly nothing had been mentioned at handover, but the moment she went into the woman’s room, she just felt a little tingle of suspicion.
‘Hi, Julie, I’m Isabelle, I’m going to be looking after you now during your labour,’ she said with a smile as she ran her eyes over her patient and skimmed the notes. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, I love the epidural,’ she said with a heartfelt chuckle. ‘It’s marvellous. Just like going to the dentist, only I’m going to have a baby, not a filling!’
Isabelle smiled and checked her over, listening to the baby’s heart with the foetal stethoscope. Was that a little hitch?
‘Can I just turn you on your side, Julie? I can’t quite hear.’ She helped the woman adjust her position, checked again, then shook her head. ‘I still can’t hear enough. I’d like to put the monitor on you to get a better feel for what’s going on.’
‘Sure. It does seem awfully slow, this labour.’
‘Well, that can be the epidural. Because you’re lying down, you aren’t getting any help from gravity, but I think it’s just as well to check, don’t you?’
She was setting up the machine as she worked, explaining to Julie how the cardiotocograph would give her the baby’s heart rate and the pressure of the uterus, and also, most importantly, the correlation of the heart rate to the contractions.
And, sure enough, every time Julie had a contraction, the baby’s heart rate dipped.
‘So is there a problem?’ she asked, looking more worried now.
‘I’m not sure. Probably not, but it is dragging on a bit and I don’t think your baby’s very happy at the moment, so I’ll get a doctor to take a look at you to be on the safe side,’ she said with a reassuring smile. ‘We might need to hurry things along a little.’
She stuck her head out of the door and looked around, just as Sarah came out of the sluice. ‘You couldn’t page the on-call register for me, could you? I’ve got a query with Mrs Marchant.’
‘Sure—oh, there he is. Luca, Izzie wants you.’
Oh, perfect. Luca—of course, looking more gorgeous than a man had any right to look in shapeless scrubs. And Sarah’s phrasing left a lot to be desired, as well! Oh, hell.
She straightened her shoulders and tried to find a professional face. She could do this. She could…
Luca walked towards her, wishing he hadn’t taken this locum job to help his old friend out, wishing he’d just found Isabelle and spoken to her, but when he’d walked out of Richard’s office this morning and seen her again, it had seemed like the answer to his prayers.
Now he wasn’t at all sure. Ever since he’d set eyes on her again he’d been hoping that being forced to work together might give them a chance to get to know each other, find out if they had anything worth pursuing, but her face was closed, her lips pressed tightly together, and he realised that working with her could be a nightmare. She’d got issues of some sort. God knows what, but, given time, he was sure he’d be able to break through them. He had before—and how. He only hoped that he’d be able to remain professional until then, because all he wanted to do right now was wrap his arms around her and tell her it was all right—and if he tried it, she’d probably kill him. Thank God there was a patient in the way!
‘Problems?’ he mouthed as he reached her, and she nodded.
‘Maybe,’ she murmured quietly, and he realised with relief that she was going to behave as if nothing had happened—for now, at least. ‘Julie Marchant, third pregnancy, straightforward previous history, admitted late last night in early labour. She had an epidural at five a.m.—so that’s three hours ago, she’s had two top-ups, but progress has slowed right down even though she’s virtually fully dilated, and there’s a dipping foetal heart rate—nothing much, but I’m just…’
She ground to a halt with a little shrug and bit her lip, and he dragged his eyes off it and made himself concentrate.
> ‘Is the head high?’ he asked.
‘A little. It’s probably nothing, just the mother’s position…’
But she looked troubled, and he knew better than to ignore a troubled midwife. He gave a terse nod. ‘Give me ten seconds, I have to make a note of something and I’ll be with you.’
Isabelle went back to her patient, and moments later he joined her, squirting gel onto his hands and rubbing it in as he smiled at their patient and tried to focus on her.
‘Hi, Mrs Marchant, I’m Luca. May I call you Julie? Tell me, how are you feeling?’ he asked, but as she talked and he probed gently with his questions, he was checking the CTG, watching their patient carefully, his eyes flicking to Isabelle’s from time to time for confirmation of Julie’s words.
And then, as much to hear her voice as for the information she’d give him, he said, ‘Isabelle, could you run over the notes with me?’
Isabelle, she thought with a stupid tinge of regret, not Isabella, with that wonderful, slow roll of her name over his tongue, tasting every syllable. Damn. And she needed to concentrate.
So she filled him in again, showed him the charts and pointed out her concerns without alarming the patient, although there was nothing much to alarm her, anyway—nothing very untoward, nothing drastic, really, at all, and as she was telling him about it she thought, Oh, lord, he thinks I’m overreacting, because the baby’s heart rate was only dropping a tiny bit—but…
‘She’s contracting,’ she said, forgetting the charts for a moment, and he looked back at their patient with a smile that should have melted her bones, murmured, ‘May I?’ and laid his hands over her abdomen, the fingers of one splayed over the baby’s head to feel for its descent, watching the monitor as the contraction progressed. This time, she was both pleased and concerned to see that the dip in heart rate was more noticeable. So she hadn’t imagined it—and it was a worry.
He made a small, thoughtful sound and his eyes flicked to Isabelle’s. ‘She’s fully dilated?’
‘Yes, except for an anterior lip,’ she told him, hoping that he was going to believe her and not give Julie an unnecessary internal examination, ‘and she’s been in established labour for four hours.’ So the head should be lower, and coming down with every contraction, not staying stubbornly high as if something—the cord?—was preventing its descent.
‘Hmm,’ he said again, then looked back at Julie. ‘I think your baby might be a bit of an acrobat,’ he said with another of those smiles. ‘The cord could be a bit tangled, and if that’s the case, we need to untangle it for him. Unfortunately this means a C-section, but it’s nothing to worry about and you have an epidural already, so you’re all set. We’ll take you up now, there’s a theatre free. Is there anyone here with you?’
‘No, my husband’s taking the children to school and getting some food in. I was taking so long—oh, damn! Can we wait for him?’
He shook his head, busily disconnecting her from the machines and kicking the brakes off the bed. ‘No, your baby’s not comfy so I’m not happy to wait, but we’ll look after you, you don’t need to be afraid. Isabelle will stay with you. I’ll get someone to contact your husband—do we have a mobile number for him?’
‘Um—I think so.’
‘OK. Don’t worry, we’ll deal with it. Isabelle, could you come to Theatre with Mrs Marchant?’
‘Sure. I’ll just hand over my other patients to Sarah—’
‘She’ll understand. Come on, let’s go—we can’t miss the theatre slot!’ he said with a grin at their patient, but Isabelle picked up the hidden meaning and pulled the bed out from the wall, relieved not only for Julie but for herself that he’d taken her concern so seriously.
Sarah must have seen them go, because they were ready and waiting in Theatre, and Julie was on the table and draped in moments.
‘OK, time to meet your baby,’ he said the second he was scrubbed, and Isabelle ran in after him, her gown still trailing, and watched him do the fastest section she’d ever seen.
‘Good call,’ he murmured to Isabelle, clamping and cutting the cord which was wrapped several times round the baby’s neck, and with a smile for the mother, he eased the tiny girl out and handed her instantly to the waiting neonatal team while Isabelle wondered what it was about him that his praise could mean quite so much to her. But then she stopped thinking about that, because the baby was silent, and in the normally noisy theatre they could have heard a pin drop.
‘You have a beautiful little girl, Mrs Marchant,’ Luca said in a calm voice, his eyes smiling. ‘Well done.’
Julie’s hand tightened on Isabelle’s. ‘Can I see her?’
‘Not just yet,’ Isabelle said, squeezing back reassuringly while her ears strained for a sound of life. ‘They need to clear her airway.’ Luca was still busy, but she could see that like all of them he was acutely aware of the deafening silence in the room, and his eyes kept flicking to the neonatal team.
‘What’s taking so long?’ Mrs Marchant said, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why isn’t she crying?’
‘It only seems a long time,’ Luca lied, but one eye was on the clock and it was ticking. One minute—two…
They were all holding their breath, because if they couldn’t, then the baby couldn’t—and then, when they had all but given up, there was a small, mewling cry, then a shuddering breath and a full-blown bellow of rage, and they all laughed with relief and carried on, because at that moment the sound of a baby crying was the sweetest sound in the world.
‘Nice work, Mr Valtieri,’ Isabelle murmured while Julie met her baby daughter, fairness making her give him his due, and his eyes met hers over the mask and softened in a smile that turned her heart to pulp.
‘Ditto,’ he said quietly. ‘What made you get me when you did?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘Gut instinct?’
‘I like your instincts, cara,’ he said, and turned back to their patient, still smiling under his mask.
Maybe working with her would be OK after all—and given time…
‘What time do you finish?’
She looked up from the notes she was writing at the nursing station in the centre of the ward and contemplated telling him it was none of his business, but apart from the fact that it would have been petty, it would take him ten seconds to check the rota.
‘Nine-thirty,’ she told him, and he frowned.
‘So late?’
‘I work a thirty-seven-and-a-half-hour week. So if I do three fourteen-hour days with an hour-and-a-half break, I’ve done my hours. And I get four days off.’
‘But you haven’t had a break yet.’
She met his scowl with a dry laugh. ‘That’s right. I usually don’t.’
‘But that’s not good for you—and it’s not fair.’
She couldn’t disagree, so she just shrugged and carried on with her notes. Until a large hand arrived in the centre of the page, the fingers splayed across it so she couldn’t see. The fingers which had touched her with so much skill, making her body sing…
‘Come and have a coffee, at least. We need to talk.’
‘I don’t think so. I told you that earlier. We’re working together, by an unhappy coincidence, but that’s all. Our relationship is professional only, Mr Valtieri, and that’s the way it’s staying.’
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn?’
‘It’s one of my more endearing qualities—but it’s nothing to do with being stubborn. I just don’t like my wishes being ignored.’
‘I didn’t ignore them!’
‘So what are you doing here?’
He closed his eyes, growling in frustration. ‘It was coincidence, as you said.’
‘You were looking for me,’ she reminded him, and a flash of dark colour swept over his cheekbones.
‘I had been. I just wanted a chance to see you.’
‘Well, you should have checked if I wanted to see you before you wasted your time, Luca.’
‘Maybe I should.
Maybe I would have, if you’d given me your number, but this is nothing to do with that. This is just chance, and I’m sorry if you don’t like it, Isabella, but since I’m here…’
Isabella. With at least two more syllables, and a rolling purr that made her heart hitch. Well, it wouldn’t work. Her heart could hitch all it liked, but she wasn’t going to let herself get drawn into a relationship with him by that flagrant Italian charm.
Except professionally, and only then because she had no choice. And she couldn’t do that if she allowed him to creep under her guard.
He sighed. ‘Isabella, we do need to talk about this,’ he said quietly. ‘Maybe not now, but soon. At the very least, you owe me the chance to—’
‘I owe you nothing,’ she said bluntly.
He leant over the desk so his face was mere inches from hers. ‘Then at least do me the decency of hearing me out.’
Isabelle swallowed. He was so close that she could smell him, smell the combination of spice and citrus and man that had trashed her defences so thoroughly in Florence, so that even now the evocative scent brought it all back and left her weak and wanting.
She shut her eyes and stifled the whimper. ‘Luca, I don’t want to. You’ve come and found me, I didn’t want to see you, that’s the end of it.’
‘Not for me.’
‘Well, tough. It is for me, and it takes two. Go and talk to Richard if you want someone to talk to. I’m not opening myself up to hurt all over again just to give you closure.’
‘All over again? Is that what this is about, some man who hurt you? Who was it, Isabelle? Who hurt you so much you’re afraid to try again?’
She met his eyes in desperation. ‘Luca! Go away!’
He sighed softly under his breath. ‘OK—for now. But I’m not finished, and we need to do this somewhere a little more private.’
She contemplated saying no, but he wasn’t going to give up, so she agreed, grudgingly. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, all right. I’ll have coffee with you later, when I’ve finished this, but not now. Now, please move your hand,’ she said calmly, although her heart was pounding, but as he opened his mouth to say something his pager bleeped.
The Valtieri Marriage Deal Page 4