by Sarah Morgan
‘There is absolutely no way I’ll be wandering around with no clothes on,’ Hayley assured him hastily, shrinking at the thought of bumping into Patrick in anything less than full clothing.
She’d already left one pair of knickers on his bedroom floor. That was more than enough.
From now on she would be making no moves at all, except ones that took her in the opposite direction.
‘I thought Dad would be really mad with me for advertising for a housekeeper,’ Alfie confided, ‘but I think he’s pleased now that you’re going to be cooking the turkey. He’s hopeless at it.’
‘Well, if we want a delicious lunch without a nervous breakdown, we’d better go and finish our preparations.’ Hayley held out her hand. ‘Are you ready, Chef?’
Alfie grinned. ‘Ready.’
Another layer of snow fell overnight and Hayley woke to a world so impossibly beautiful that for a moment she didn’t move. Warm and snug under the soft duvet, she lay there, listening to church bells chiming in the distance.
Christmas morning.
And for once she didn’t have to brace herself to face her family. To try and be someone she wasn’t.
There was a tap on the door and Patrick walked in, a mug in his hand. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and his jaw was dark with stubble. ‘You wanted to be woken at eight…’
Oh, my, he looked good in the morning—heavy lidded and unshaven…
‘Yes. I want to get the turkey in the oven so that we can eat at a decent time.’ Hayley decided it was safer to look at the mug he was holding, rather than him. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘I thought it might help you wake up. I’m guessing you’re jet-lagged. What time did you get to sleep?’
‘Oh—not sure,’ Hayley mumbled, pulling the duvet up to her chin. ‘Late. Still feels like the middle of the night.’ She wasn’t going to confess that her appallingly disturbed night had had everything to do with him and nothing to do with the time difference. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘The children are going to wait until you’re down before they open their presents.’
‘They don’t have to do that.’ Hayley was dying to drink the tea but she didn’t want to expose any part of her body while he was in the room. It was bad enough being in bed while he was standing there. It felt intimate. And she was doing her best to avoid all suggestion of intimacy. ‘But I’m not family or anything. I was going to spend the morning in the kitchen. Let you get on with it.’
‘You’re living with us, Hayley,’ he said mildly. ‘You’re one of the family.’
In her dreams.
She was so aware of him that she was relieved to have the kitchen as an excuse to hide.
In the end she did join them for present opening, watching wistfully as the children tore paper off parcels and squealed with delight.
‘I have a present for Hayley.’ Alfie vanished and then reappeared, carrying two kittens.
‘Oh!’ Hayley gasped in delight and Patrick groaned.
‘Alfie, you can’t—’
‘My cat had four kittens…’ Alfie placed the kittens in Hayley’s lap ‘…and Dad says I can only keep two. So I’m giving you the other two. I want them to go to someone nice.’
The kittens snuggled into each other and Hayley stared down at them with a lump in her throat. ‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘Alfie…’ Patrick ran his hand over his jaw ‘…you can’t just give someone an animal. Hayley doesn’t have anywhere to keep them.’
‘Well, they’re hers just for Christmas, then,’ Alfie said stubbornly. ‘While she’s staying here. I’ll let her feed them and things.’
‘I think she’s going to be busy enough feeding us,’ Patrick muttered, but Hayley shook her head, enchanted by the kittens.
‘They’re beautiful, Alfie. And wherever I go after Christmas, I’ll make sure it’s somewhere I can have kittens. Thank you.’
Later, while Alfie and Posy were playing with their presents and her kittens were curled up on the sofa asleep, Hayley slipped away to the kitchen.
This was the perfect Christmas, wasn’t it?
Snow falling outside the window and children laughing in the next room.
She worked steadily and without fuss and when she eventually placed the bronzed turkey in the centre of the table, Alfie gasped and clapped his hands.
‘For once it looks the way it always looks in the pictures. Thanks, Hayley. I’m starving.’
Lunch was a noisy, happy affair. Crackers were pulled, jokes were read and paper hats were worn, although Hayley had to make use of a roll of tape in order to stop Posy’s from falling down around her neck.
She was just setting light to the Christmas pudding when Patrick’s mobile rang.
He fished it out of his pocket, frowning as he saw the number. ‘Excuse me—I need to answer this. Tom?’ Moving away from the table, he strolled to the other end of the living room and Hayley’s gaze lingered on his broad shoulders.
‘Hayley, the pudding is going to fall off the plate,’ Alfie said helpfully, and she gave a start and concentrated on what she was doing.
‘Pudding?’ But she could still hear Patrick talking.
‘Well, it’s her first labour…No, I wouldn’t think so…Calm down, will you?’
‘Someone is in trouble,’ Alfie predicted, pouring brandy sauce onto his pudding. ‘Is this alcoholic? Am I going to get drunk?’
‘You’re not going to get drunk.’
‘Good, because the next thing that’s going to happen is that Dad is going to come off the phone and say he has to go to the hospital.’
Patrick slipped the phone back into his pocket and strode back to them. ‘I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to go to the hospital.’
‘Told you.’ Alfie leaned across the table and pushed the candle away from his sister’s fingers. ‘Don’t touch that, Pose, or you’ll be going to the hospital too. In an ambulance. What is it this time, Dad? Twins?’
‘No.’ Patrick looked distracted. ‘Tom Hunter’s wife has gone into labour. And he’s worried about her.’
‘Tom works with Dad,’ Alfie told Hayley, and Patrick gave a frown of apology.
‘Sorry, Hayley.’
‘It’s fine. Do you want pudding or are you going straight in? I can stay with the children.’
‘It’s more complicated than that.’ Patrick ran a hand over the back of his neck, and then looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re a midwife.’
Hayley slowly put the pudding down on the table, wondering where this was leading. ‘You know I’m a midwife.’
‘We’re chronically short of midwives at the moment—particularly over the Christmas period. People are being struck down by flu and apparently there isn’t an agency midwife to be had north of Birmingham. Tom’s worried that Sally won’t have continuity of care.’
‘I registered with the agency when I arrived in the UK, but I haven’t—’
‘You’re already registered?’ Patrick’s face cleared. ‘Fantastic. In that case, is there any way I can persuade you to come to the hospital with me?’
‘No way!’ Alfie shot to his feet, his eyes fierce. ‘You are not leaving us with Mrs Thornton on Christmas Day! I want to stay with Hayley.’
‘You can both come to the hospital,’ Patrick said immediately, scooping Posy out of her chair. ‘Alfie, go and pack a backpack with all her toys and a change of clothes. You can play in my office. Bring some DVDs.’
‘Yippee!’ Alfie bounced towards the Christmas tree where the presents were still scattered. ‘There’s always loads of chocolate at the hospital. Will Aunty Mags be there?’
‘Yes.’
‘W-wait a minute,’ Hayley stammered. ‘I can’t just turn up and work. I’m not sure they’d want me to just—’
‘I’ll call Human Resources on the way in and they can do whatever it is they need to do.’
‘Human Resources?’ Hayley gaped at him. ‘But it’s Christmas Day! They’re not working.’<
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‘My dad is really important,’ Alfie said proudly as he reappeared, carrying a bulging rucksack. ‘If he says someone has to do something, they have to do it.’
Patrick lifted an eyebrow. ‘I hadn’t noticed that rule applying to you.’
Alfie grinned. ‘That’s different. I’m your son. I get special treatment.’ He grabbed Posy and manoeuvred her into her coat. ‘Come on, Pose. We’re going to have fun.’
Chapter Four
‘SHE’S dilated less than two centimetres in the last four hours but she doesn’t want me to intervene,’ Tom said in a raw tone, his face pale and tired. ‘And I feel helpless. I’m an obstetrician! I’ve delivered hundreds of women, but I can’t think straight.’
‘That’s because she’s your wife.’ Patrick switched on the television in his office, pulled up two chairs and settled the children. ‘It’s different when you’re emotionally involved.’
‘Well, you know what Sally’s like—stubborn. I think the time has come to intervene but she refuses to even consider anything that constitutes aggressive management.’
‘I’ll take a look at her.’ Patrick removed his jacket and slung it over the chair. ‘This is Hayley. She’s going to be Sally’s personal midwife.’
Suddenly the focus of attention, Hayley turned pink. She wanted to open her mouth and protest that he’d never even seen her work, but Patrick was already ushering her along the corridor.
Without pausing, he pushed open the first door he came to and walked into the delivery suite.
Hayley looked around her in surprise. The room was light, bright and homely, with views across the mountains from the large picture window.
A petite woman sat on the bed in the middle of the room, concentrating on her breathing.
‘Sal?’ His voice gentle, Patrick strode across to the bed, leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You really pick your moments. I haven’t eaten my Christmas pudding.’
‘You’re a lousy obstetrician, Ric,’ the woman moaned. ‘You told me there was no way this baby would come until Boxing Day.’
‘I hate to disillusion you, babe, but it could well be Boxing Day.’ Patrick looked at the clock and then at the chart by the bed. ‘Not exactly motoring, are you?’
‘It’s definitely time to intervene,’ Tom said gruffly. ‘Sally, I really think you should—’
‘If you don’t shut up, Tom Hunter, I’m never speaking to you again. And I’m certainly not sleeping with you again. Not if this is the outcome.’ Sally screwed up her face as another pain hit her and Hayley saw Tom tense helplessly.
‘Sally—’
Like a wounded tigress, Sally growled at him. ‘Patrick, talk some sense into him. And here’s a hint—while you’re having that conversation I don’t want to hear the words amniotomy, oxytocin infusion, ventouse or forceps. And I definitely don’t want to hear Caesarean section. Or I am never again cooking you my special crispy duck or my lemon tart. Got that?’
Patrick grinned. ‘I think we’ll have this conversation outside. That way, at least I’ll protect my future dining prospects.’ He took Tom’s arm and guided him out of the room, leaving Hayley alone with the woman.
Her eyes bright with pain, Sally glanced at her. ‘Sorry—I love Tom. Honestly I do, but he’s in a state and he’s making me worse. We haven’t been introduced—’ She caught her breath as another pain hit and Hayley hurried across to her, sensing that the other woman was feeling isolated and alone.
‘You’re not breathing properly,’ Hayley murmured, sliding her arm round Sally’s narrow shoulders. ‘You’re talking too much—thinking about everyone else and not yourself.’
‘That’s because my husband is having a meltdown,’ Sally gritted, and Hayley rubbed her back gently.
‘Patrick will sort him out. You think about yourself. You’re obviously struggling with the pain. Do you want some gas and air?’
‘Nothing at the moment.’ Sally shifted on the bed. ‘God, it hurts. Isn’t it typical? I can’t believe I’m still only four centimetres. I should have delivered by now. That’s what happens when your husband is an obstetrician. You’re doomed. Fate intervenes to give you the worst delivery possible.’
‘Don’t think like that. We just need to have a plan and try and help you relax.’ Relieved that she’d had the foresight to grab her bag before she’d left Patrick’s barn, Hayley reached inside and pulled out a small bottle. ‘See if you like the smell of this.’
She unscrewed the cap and held it under Sally’s nose.
‘Nice.’
‘It is, isn’t it? It’s an aromatherapy oil I used a lot in America. Perfectly safe in pregnancy and labour. Would you like me to massage your shoulders? I find that sometimes it helps and you really need to relax.’
‘At this point I’m willing to try anything,’ Sally gasped. ‘It really does smell good. Takes your mind off hospitals.’
‘Close your eyes and just think about your breathing,’ Hayley soothed, lifting Sally’s T-shirt just enough to allow her to massage the woman’s back.
Sally closed her eyes and breathed out. ‘All right—that’s better. Actually, it feels unbelievably good. But I think my husband needs it more than me.’
‘We’re not thinking about your husband right now,’ Hayley reminded her, ‘we’re thinking about you.’
‘Oh, yes, I remember.’ Sally was silent for a few minutes, only the slight change in her breathing indicating a change in her pain levels. ‘You are very clever. Where did Patrick find you? I’m starting to feel a bit better. Just don’t let my panicking husband back in here. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s Mr Cool. Every bit as calm as Patrick. And suddenly he’s lost it and turned into the worst kind of panicking man.’
‘It’s because he loves you.’ Hayley’s hands moved gently, smoothing and soothing. ‘Have you thought about using the pool, Sally? I assume they have one here.’
Sally sighed. ‘Tom isn’t keen. Don’t ask me why.’
‘It’s just that I think you might find it relaxing. In my experience women tend to need less pain relief and they just find the whole experience more satisfying. I think it might be perfect for you.’
‘Well, I certainly like all your other ideas. I think I might just want to be massaged by you all the way through my labour,’ Sally murmured. ‘You are so good at that. Another contraction coming…’
‘So focus on your breathing.’ Hayley coached her quietly and then glanced up to see Patrick and Tom standing by the door. She wondered how long they’d been there. Watching.
‘Tom, Hayley thinks I should use the birthing pool and I agree with her.’ Sally spoke firmly, as if she was expecting argument. ‘I want to give it a try.’
Tom glared at Hayley and then let out a breath and looked at Patrick. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s up to Sally. There’s no medical reason why she shouldn’t.’ Calm and relaxed, Patrick walked over to the bed. ‘What I’d like to do is examine you properly, check on the baby and then we can make a decision together.’
‘I don’t need an obstetrician—I need a midwife.’
Tom sighed. ‘Please, Sal…’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Sally flopped back against the pillows. ‘Tom, go and get a cup of coffee.’
‘But—’
‘If you really want Patrick to examine me, fine, but I don’t want you here while he does it. Hayley can chaperone, although I’m sure Patrick isn’t exactly having indecent thoughts about me at this point. I’m about as sexy as a whale.’
Patrick laughed and moved over to the sink to wash his hands. ‘I’m saying nothing. This is one of those conversations where a man can only ever be wrong. Tom, do me a favour and check on my kids, will you? They’re in my office. Maggie was going to get them some chocolate and drinks but I don’t want them being sick on the carpet.’
With obvious reluctance Tom left the room and Sally sighed.
‘He’
s worried.’
‘Understandably.’ Patrick listened to the foetal heart rate. ‘But his anxiety is stressing you and you already have enough stress. When I’ve checked on you, I’m going to go and calm him down.’
‘How are you going to do that? Knock him unconscious? What do you think about Hayley’s water-birth idea?’
Patrick looked at Hayley, his gaze quizzical. ‘Persuade me.’
Was he testing her? ‘Stress can lead to reduced uterine activity and dystocia.’ Confident in her own skills, Hayley explained her reasoning. ‘Which is why I think you should consider water. It can help relaxation and pain relief. I think it’s worth a try. If she makes no progress, you can always think again.’
Patrick finished his examination and straightened. ‘You’re four centimetres, Sally.’
‘Is that all?’ Sally gave a groan and closed her eyes. ‘Tom is going to have a breakdown. And I might have one with him.’
‘Why are you lying on the bed?’ Hayley sat down next to her, her voice soft. ‘I wonder whether you should mobilise for an hour or so. Walk around the department with me—see if we can get you moving a bit faster. Then go for the pool.’
Sally gave her an ironic look. ‘You want me to run a marathon?’
Hayley grinned. ‘No. I had in mind more of a stroll down the corridor, talking about shoes and similarly frivolous distractions.’
Sally stared at her. ‘How do you know I like shoes?’
‘Because I’ve been admiring your shoes since I walked into the room.’ Hayley’s gaze slid to the pair of silver mules that Sally had tucked under the chair. ‘I love them.’
Patrick backed away, shaking his head. ‘I’m not qualified to participate in a discussion about shoes. I’ll go and handle Tom.’ He glanced at Hayley, a smile playing around his mouth. ‘I like your plan. You’ve managed women labouring in water?’
‘Yes. All the time.’ She had no doubts about her abilities as a midwife but she realised that he knew nothing about that side of her. He hadn’t worked with her, had he? Their only professional contact had been when she’d shown him around the department and that hadn’t included any clinical work. ‘Who do I speak to about the pool?’