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‘He had strawberries for breakfast. Aren’t they supposed to be very high in potassium?’
He arched an eloquent eyebrow. ‘Clever girl. Well done. If it is renal failure, it may well have pushed him over the edge. Let’s get him in and then we can dialyse him PDQ if necessary.’
He turned to the patient, and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘OK, Mr Davis, I think we’d better have you in for a closer look at your problem. We’ll soon have you feeling better. I’ll go and have a chat with your wife now, and she can come in and sit with you until we take you up.’
He tucked a hand in the crook of Bron’s arm and gave her the benefit of a ten-megawatt smile that could well have been a monument to the success of some unknown orthodontist, but Bron would lay odds that the dentition, like the man, was totally without artifice.
‘Let’s get a coffee,’ he said.
Bron’s lips twitched into a grin. She’d bet he was a real heartbreaker. ‘Good idea.’ They walked down to Kathleen’s desk and arranged for Mr Davis’s transfer to ITU, then went into the staff-room.
While she poured the coffee, she studied Dr Marumba as he prowled around the room. He looks like an Olympic athlete, she thought, with that powerful build and those incredibly long legs. His ebony skin was in stark contrast to the gleaming white of his coat, and his eyes twinkled like jet. He took the proffered cup and that smile broke out again on his face, lighting up the corners of the room with its brilliance.
‘Tell me something,’ Bron said, eyeing this delightful giant over the rim of her cup. ‘Why Jesus?’
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Apart from the miracles I perform? Because it’s my name. True! They call the medical wards heaven—not usually in my hearing, and not usually in front of the patients—it’s been known to upset them!’
He gave a rich chuckle, and drained his coffee. ‘Back to the grind. I’ll go and talk to Mrs Davis. Good to meet you, Bronwen, and well spotted, by the way. I’ll catch up with you later.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, OK. Thanks for coming down—he was my first patient. And come to think of it, if I don’t get back out there, he could be my last!’
He laughed. ‘You could always come and work for me if Harris throws you out!’
He gave a jaunty wave and left, and, setting her cup down, Bron followed him.
The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of minor cuts and bruises, sprains, simple fractures and a very straightforward case of a child who had swigged an unknown quantity out of a bottle of cough medicine, and obligingly vomited with the aid of a little ipecacuanha.
His mother was relieved and grateful, and marched the little terror out to wreak further havoc.
‘I bet we see him again before too long!’ Kathleen laughed, and Bron found herself smiling. So far, so good.
‘All quiet now, Bron? Come on up for lunch, and meet some of the others.’ Jim Harris dropped a friendly arm around her shoulders, and gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘How are you doing? Well done with that old boy—jolly good start. Marumba was very impressed. Clever of you to pick up on the strawberries. Here, dump your coat, forget reality for a while.’
He filled her in on the history of the building and the current state of the hospital as they went, and by the time they arrived at the staff dining-room she was totally lost again.
There was, predictably, a sea of new faces, all friendly and, she found, instantly disconnected from their names. I suppose I’ll sort them all out in time, she thought, and concentrated on smiling and avoiding too many questions about her marital status and past medical career.
When they had finished eating, Jim led her through to the coffee-lounge and sat her down with her back to the door.
‘Don’t mind, do you? Only there’s someone I want you to meet—you’ll be bound to work with him fairly soon. General surgeon—excellent chap. Started here about a year ago. He was senior registrar at Guy’s until then, and became a consultant at thirty-one. Meteoric rise, but he’s extraordinarily gifted. Ah, talk of the devil——’
‘As opposed to Jesus?’ Bronwen quipped, but the laugh died in her throat as Jim rose to his feet.
‘Oliver, I want you to meet my new registrar, Bronwen Jones. Bronwen, Oliver Henderson, boy-wonder of general surgery.’
In slow motion, frame by frame, Bronwen lifted her head and made herself meet the clear, steady gaze that had haunted her for almost two years—the longest, loneliest, most rewarding and challenging years of her life.
‘Hello, Bron.’ The voice like oiled sandpaper, deep and husky, rasped over her senses, leaving her nerve-endings raw.
She closed her eyes against the sensation, and felt the years slip away …
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_39ef6e20-4b93-536a-aa0e-9b5b987e5af1)
BRONWEN lifted her eyes and looked around the crowded conference room. There was no sign of Jane—typical! And there was that man again, propping up the wall with indolent grace: tall, well-built, a lock of his heavy gold-blond hair falling over his eyes so that he had to keep thrusting it back with his fingers.
Every time Bronwen looked up he was there, watching her with those startling blue eyes like a Mediterranean dawn, with a sultry promise of heat.
She shifted uncomfortably on her chair and cursed Jane for her absence. Where was she? He was watching her again.
She made a deliberate attempt to ignore him. It lasted perhaps fifteen seconds, and then her eyes were drawn back to his, tangling helplessly in that clear, bright gaze that seemed to dip into her soul. A slow, sensuous smile touched the corner of his mouth, and she blushed and looked away, more determined than ever to ignore him. Just a conference Lothario, she decided, and scoured the room for her colleague.
‘Hi!’ Jane came up behind her, and struggled inelegantly over the back of the seat, dropping into it with a plop. ‘Just in time. Phew! What a scorcher. Have I missed anything?’
Bron smiled and shook her head. They haven’t started. What kept you?’
Jane rolled her eyes and grinned wickedly. ‘I met this man—stunning. We’re meeting him in the bar before supper tonight. He’s here with a friend, too—said so long as you weren’t related to Count Dracula you’d be welcome to join us. I accepted for you—OK?’
Bron laughed. ‘Do I get a choice?’
‘Absolutely not. That’s him over there——’ She gave a little wave, and Bron looked across the room in time to see the man with the blue eyes smile and raise an eyebrow at her. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’
Bron’s heart thumped heavily with disappointment. So Jane had snapped him up—the story of her life! God knows, she was used to it. ‘What?’
‘I said don’t you just love the way his hair curls over his ears? And those melting brown eyes——’
‘Brown eyes?’
‘Mmm, like toffee. Gosh, I’m not sure I can wait for tonight.’
Bron glanced across the room again, and saw the tall, fair man in conversation with another man, equally good-looking, but dark-haired, and as she looked he raised his hand and waved.
Jane waggled her fingers at him, and grinned. ‘That must be his friend. What a pair they make!’
‘Mmm. Wolves always hunt in packs. I wouldn’t care to trust either of them,’ Bron muttered, but her eyes kept creeping back to him, and then flicking away when she was caught.
In the end she resolutely turned her back, but she could feel his eyes boring holes in her skull, and missed every second word of the lecture.
When it was over they went up to their rooms and showered and changed. As she was berating herself for her indecision, Jane tapped on the door and let herself in.
‘Wear the blue silk,’ she said decisively, and lifted it out of the wardrobe.
Bron threw her a withering look. ‘I have no intention of getting myself raped. God only knows why I brought that thing. I shall wear the peach cotton dress—or the navy one with the sailor collar——’
‘Wear the blue silk,’ Jane repeated.
In answer Bron hung it up in the wardrobe and lifted out a soft peach-flowered cotton tea-dress, delicately pretty and absolutely demure. Jane made a sound of disgust, and Bronwen ignored her and finished her light make-up.
By the time they went down, Jane had admitted defeat and conceded that Bron did indeed look very attractive in the tea-dress.
‘Probably worse. You look so damned feminine that even a dyed-in-the-wool misogynist would fall for you!’
Bron laughed. ‘There’s hope for the average doctor, then!’
As they reached the bottom of the sweeping stairs, the two men detached themselves from the bar and came across to meet them.
‘Bron, I want you to meet Michael Grant. Michael, this is Bronwen Jones. I’m sorry, I don’t know your friend’s name——’
‘Oliver—Oliver Henderson. Pleased to meet you—at last.’
As their hands touched, a shiver of awareness surged between them, and Bron stiffened, and then with a smile Oliver engulfed her hand with his long, slender fingers and held it firmly. Eyes locked, they stood frozen, tingling with awareness, until a hand waved between their faces snapped them out of the trance.
Bron gave a breathless little laugh. ‘Hello, Oliver.’
Oliver’s eyes danced with amusement, and he released her hand reluctantly. ‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘You’re looking lovely. Shall we go and get a drink?’
They gravitated to the bar, and, while Michael and Oliver organised the drinks, she had an opportunity to observe him.
He was tall—a touch over six feet, she judged, although from five feet five it was hard to be specific—and that lovely hair like burnished gold brushed his collar at the back, thick and unruly. She clenched her hands, just in case she gave in to her urges and ran across the bar to thread her fingers through its softness.
Heavens, he was just a man, like any one of the dozens she saw every day at work—no, not quite like them, her body denied. No one else had ever—ever—made her feel so warm and womanly and wanted with just a simple compliment.
They returned with the drinks, and Oliver squeezed in beside her, brushing her knee with the hard length of his thigh. She tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go and the movement only exaggerated the contact.
He laid his arm along the back of the banquette seat and grinned at her.
‘Cosy, isn’t it? Do you mind? We could go somewhere quieter, if you like.’
Bronwen nearly choked. She was sure his comment was meant quite innocently, but her thoughts and his words were becoming inextricably entwined. She felt the blush coming before it reached her cheeks, and ducked her head forwards to hide it behind the fall of her hair.
His fingers eased it back and he smiled gently. ‘You’re lovely when you blush. I really didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’
She glanced quickly at him, and offered a shy smile in return. ‘I’m sorry, it must be the heat.’
‘Do you want to go out for a walk?’
‘Yes—oh, no! I mean——’
‘Just a walk. Trust me.’ His grin was mischievous but wholly straightforward, and his eyes were open and sincere. For some lunatic, unsound and intuitive reason, she did trust him.
‘OK. It’s too hot to eat yet anyway.’
They wandered through the grounds of the conference centre, down towards the little man-made lake, and paused on the bridge, elbows resting on the parapet, sipping their drinks and watching the baby ducks for a while in companionable silence.
‘So what’s a gorgeous young thing like you doing on a God-awful course like this?’ he asked after a minute or two.
Bron laughed. ‘Treatment of Trauma? I work in Accident and Emergency. I’m an SHO, but I’ve been offered the registrar’s job in December when she takes maternity leave. What about you?’
‘I’m in general surgery. I found A and E too traumatic—literally.’
‘Really?’ Bronwen eyed him in amazement. ‘I love it.’
‘You must be addicted to your own adrenalin, then! I like the nice, sedate pace of the theatre. I can cope with that. You don’t often get two patients at once!’
Bronwen studied him openly. ‘You ought to be able to cope at your age,’ she teased. ‘How old are you—thirty, thirty-one?’
He chuckled. ‘Not bad. I’m thirty next week. What about you?’
She smiled. ‘You aren’t supposed to ask a lady that question!’
‘But?’
‘Twenty-seven.’ Her smile tilted her lips a little further.
He touched his finger to the corner of her mouth. ‘Lovely…’ His eyes fastened on her lips, and she moistened them involuntarily with her tongue.
He ran the fingertip across her lower lip, the damp skin dragging gently.
‘If we stay here much longer, little lady,’ he whispered, ‘I’m going to kiss that delectable mouth.’
Bron felt his breath fan gently across her face, and her lips parted on a sigh of regret. She wished he would. Her eyes fluttered closed while she dealt with the storm of feeling suddenly raging in her breast. Who was he? Why this crazy urge to bury her face against his broad, firm chest and hug him close?
His palms cupped her face, and she sensed rather than felt his lips brush lightly over hers, once, twice, before his lips came down firmly over hers with a sweet, aching tenderness far more intimate than passion would have been. With a tortured groan, he folded her into his arms and held her tight.
‘Oliver?’
‘Shh. Don’t say anything. Just let me hold you.’
They stood there, arms wrapped round each other, absorbing the warmth and humanity of the contact while their tumbling emotions settled to a steady roar. Gradually his grip slackened, and Bron stood away from him, raising puzzled eyes to his.
‘What happened?’
His voice was gruff with emotion. ‘I don’t know, Bron. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s as if——’ He laughed, a little raggedly. ‘My God, I’m normally so practical and down-to-earth! Perhaps we ought to go and eat—it’s probably the hallucinogenic effects of hypoglycaemia.’
Bron laughed breathlessly. ‘You could be right.’
Instinctively their fingers met and wound together as they walked slowly back to the conference centre, a large, sprawling country house dating from the turn of the century.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Bron sighed. She wondered what he had been going to say. It’s as if—what? As if we were meant for each other? As if we’ve been waiting all our lives? Suddenly, she felt threatened by the short time they could have together. ‘It’s a shame we’re only here for four days,’ she blurted.
‘Funny, I’ve been thinking that, but it’s nothing to do with architecture and everything to do with a dark-haired sprite from the valleys——’
‘I’m not from the valleys! It’s only my name that’s Welsh—and my father. I was born in London.’
‘Poetic licence. Bron?’
‘Mmm?’
He tugged her to a halt, and looked down into her face with eyes unguarded and vulnerable. He looked slightly embarrassed and very honest. ‘I know we’ve only got a few days, but I want to see as much of you as I can. I don’t know what’s happening between us, I don’t normally come on so strong. Whatever, there’s something, and I want to find out what it is. No holds barred. I’m warning you, I want to make love to you, Bron, slowly, tenderly—I want to watch your eyes heavy with passion, your lips full and ripe from my kisses … not tonight, but soon. Maybe tomorrow, the next day? I want to know you first, but when I do——’
