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‘I don’t want to hurry you, Annie,’ Gabriel said, ‘but I really think we should go to the unit now and have coffee later. Tom will be anxious for an update on Diana’s condition, especially as he couldn’t come down here himself as he’d planned.’
Annie nodded. She also didn’t look as though a visit to the unit was high on her list of ‘must do’ activities and Maddie wondered if the young doctor didn’t like neonatal units. A lot of medics didn’t. They found the smallness of the babies, their all-too-obvious vulnerability, difficult to cope with. But before she could say anything Gabriel had begun steering Annie towards the door, only to pause as though something had just occurred to him.
‘Miss Bryce, Lynne was asking for the blood-test results for the Thompson twins, so why don’t you come along to the unit with us and give them to her?’
Because I’ll bet my first pay cheque Lynne won’t want them, Maddie thought angrily. Lynne never wanted anything he kept sending her along to the unit with, so why the hell did he keep on doing it?
Well, this would be the fastest visit to the unit she’d ever made, she decided as she grabbed the blood-test results from her out-tray and followed Annie and Gabriel with ill-concealed bad grace. A brief hello to Lynne and she’d sneak away and get on with the work she was supposed to be employed to do.
‘Gabriel told me you used to be a ward manager in the NICU of the Hillhead General,’ Annie observed, as Gabriel keyed the security code into the pad on the neonatal door, ‘but you gave up nursing because you had to look after your niece and nephew.’
‘Wanted to,’ Maddie replied. ‘Not had to.’
‘Ah.’ Annie smiled. ‘Big difference.’
An ill-disguised snort from Gabriel showed what he thought of that opinion, and Maddie waited for him to voice what he was thinking, but he didn’t.
‘We think Diana may have PDA—patent ductus arteriosus,’ he said instead, ushering them both into the unit and down the narrow corridor towards the intensive care ward before Maddie could escape into Lynne’s office, as she’d planned. ‘The ductus arteriosus is a blood vessel which allows blood to bypass a baby’s lungs while it’s in the womb. Normally it closes just before birth, but in some premature babies it can remain open, flooding the vessels in the lungs and causing respiratory problems.’
‘Is it curable?’ Annie asked, and Gabriel nodded.
‘We’ll perform an ultrasound scan to confirm she does have PDA, then we’ll try medication to close it. If that doesn’t work we’ll operate.’
‘Operate?’ Annie repeated, when they drew level with Diana’s incubator and she stared down at the little girl. ‘But she’s so tiny, Gabriel. That little hat she’s wearing—it would barely cover a tennis ball. How can you operate on someone so tiny?’
‘Smaller babies than this have survived major surgery,’ he replied, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves and reaching into the incubator to ease Diana further up the heat-retaining cover she was lying on. ‘Our current record for survival is a baby who weighed only 560 grams.’
‘But look at her—all those tubes and wires,’Annie said, distress plain in her voice. ‘She’s even got a catheter in her little umbilical stump, and a pulse oximeter taped to her foot. She’s so small, Gabriel, and to inflict all of this on her…’
‘Annie, I wouldn’t do it if it hurt her,’ Gabriel said and, as he gently stroked the little girl’s cheek, Maddie felt her throat tighten.
He cared. He really cared about this baby. One look at the expression in his eyes as he gazed down at Diana Scott was enough to tell her he would have crawled over broken glass if he thought it would help her. How could he feel and show such compassion towards this tiny scrap of humanity and yet be so appallingly insensitive to adults? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Dalgleish,’ Nell said as she appeared at their side, ‘but the radiology technician is here to take X-rays of Bobbie Duncan, and you said you wanted a word with him.’
He nodded. ‘Sorry about this, Annie, but—’
‘It’s OK—I know how it is,’ she replied, but when he’d gone she let out a shuddering sigh. ‘I don’t know how anybody can work here. I know you do wonderful work—tremendous work—but…’
Annie’s face was white and strained and instinctively Maddie moved closer to her. She’d been right about the young doctor. She didn’t like neonatal units, and she didn’t like them big time.
‘Babies are a lot tougher than they look, Annie,’ she said softly. ‘I know it can be upsetting to see them surrounded by a mass of tubes and wires but they don’t stay like that. Once we’ve discovered what’s wrong with them we can treat them and they start to put on weight, to develop, and when their parents eventually take them home…When that happens, then working in an NICU is the most wonderful job in the world.’
‘But not all babies go home, do they? Some die.’
‘Yes, some die,’ Maddie admitted, ‘but every year our techniques are improving, our medical equipment is improving, and more and more babies are surviving.’
Gently, tentatively, Annie put her hand against the side of Diana’s incubator. ‘But very premature babies—babies of only three or four months gestation—they can’t ever survive, can they?’
Maddie shook her head. A foetus of that age doesn’t have sufficient heart and lung development. Maybe some time in the future—when science is more advanced than it is now—somebody will be able to invent an incubator that can exactly replicate a woman’s womb, but until then…’
‘Those babies always die.’
There was pain and heartache in Annie’s voice. A pain that Maddie sensed was due to something more than a simple dislike of neonatal units, but before she could say anything the young doctor had stepped swiftly back from the incubator.
‘I have to go. My department must be wondering where I am, and you must be on your lunch hour.’
She was, but Maddie didn’t care.
‘Are you all right?’ she said, and Annie nodded.
‘Of course I am, so if you’ll excuse me…’
She strode out of the ward, leaving Maddie gazing after her. She could see Nell mouthing, What’s wrong? behind Gabriel’s back, but she shook her head. She didn’t know what was wrong, but something most certainly was.
‘If you’re off to lunch,’ Lynne said as she passed her, ‘the special in the canteen today is lasagne.’
Lasagne sounded good. Getting out of the unit before Gabriel dreamt up yet another errand to send her on sounded even better, and quickly she gave Lynne the Thompson twins’ blood results and slipped away.
The canteen was crowded and noisy and exactly what she needed. So, too, was the lasagne, and she was just wondering how the cook could make such excellent pasta and yet such very lousy coffee when suddenly a grey-haired woman wearing a migraine-inducing sweater sat down at her table, and smiled at her with absolutely no sincerity at all.
‘You’re Madison Bryce, NICU’s new secretary, aren’t you?’ she said, her eyes fixed on her speculatively. ‘I’m Doris Turner, Obs and Gynae’s secretary, although of course I always consider myself to be primarily Mr Caldwell’s personal secretary.’
Maddie wondered if Annie’s husband felt similarly blessed, but she knew it was important to make friends—or to be at the very least on speaking terms—with the staff at the hospital, so she managed a smile.
‘Mr Caldwell’s a lovely man—a really lovely man,’ Doris continued. ‘He was a widower for five years before he met Dr Hart, as she was then. Annie’s a nice girl but…’ Doris lowered her voice. ‘She has a child by another man, you know. A little boy.’
‘Mrs Turner, I really don’t think you should be telling—’
‘Poor Mr Caldwell,’ Doris sighed, as though Maddie hadn’t spoken. ‘As if the tragedy of his first wife’s death with ovarian cancer wasn’t bad enough, he and Dr Hart were only married for four months when she had a miscarriage. Of course, I did think at the time that she shouldn’t have carried on working while she was pregnant, and I know Mr Caldwell felt the same, but Dr Hart knew better, and now—almost a year on—she still hasn’t managed to conceive again.’
So that was why Annie had become so upset in the neonatal unit. It must have brought it all back to her, the baby she had lost, the baby who could never have survived at such an early gestation. Tom Brooke should never have sent her down to the unit but, then, men never did think.
‘I understand Mr Dalgleish is a terrible tartar to work for,’ Doris continued.
‘He certainly likes his department to be run efficiently,’ Maddie said noncommittally, ‘but, then, most neonatologists do.’
‘I’ve heard it’s a lot worse than that,’ Doris said. ‘I’ve heard he rules his department with a rod of iron. Do this, do that, jump when he says jump.’
‘Then you heard wrong,’ Maddie snapped. ‘He’s a very well-liked head of department.’
Doris gazed at her incredulously and Maddie couldn’t blame her. Nobody in NICU liked Gabriel, so why in the world was she lying about him? She scarcely knew the man, and what she knew she didn’t like, but all her instincts told her Doris Turner was trouble. The woman clearly fed on gossip, both from getting it and from passing it on, and she had no intention of providing her with any juicy titbits.
She glanced down at her watch and started with fake amazement. ‘Good heavens, is that the time? I really must be getting back to the department—’
‘We secretaries all have an hour for lunch,’ Doris interrupted. ‘In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to come along to my office. I could make you a proper cup of coffee instead of the disgusting dishwater they serve here, and we could talk more privately.’
‘That’s most kind of you, but—’
‘I think it’s important that we secretaries stick together, don’t you?’
Maddie stared into Doris’s speculative little eyes and knew that the last person in the Belfield she wanted to stick to was Doris. Desperately she looked round the canteen for an escape route, and suddenly saw one. It wasn’t an escape route she would normally have chosen but desperate situations called for desperate measures.
‘I’m so sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Go?’ Doris repeated. ‘But—’
‘My boss seems to want a word with me,’ Maddie said, getting to her feet, ‘so if you’ll excuse me…’
‘But—’
She could still hear Doris protesting as she darted across the canteen to where Gabriel was sitting, but she didn’t care. Escaping from her was all that mattered and if she was jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire she’d worry about that later.
‘Mr Dalgleish, do you mind if I join you?’ she said breathlessly when she reached his table.
He looked startled, and she wasn’t surprised. She would have been startled, too, if a panic-stricken woman had suddenly appeared without warning at her side.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Talk to me,’ she said, sitting down quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter what you say just so long as you look as though whatever you’re saying, and whatever I’m saying, is of earth-shattering importance.’
He gazed at her blankly for a second, then glanced across the canteen, and to her surprise a muscle quivered slightly in his cheek.
‘Ah. The dreaded Doris.’
Maddie nodded with relief. ‘So, if you could just talk to me, and try to look intent on what I’m saying, she won’t try to join us.’
‘Look intent?’
Good grief, did she need to spell it out for him?
‘Just stare at me, OK?’ she said. ‘Just talk to me and stare at me as though I’m giving you the code numbers for a secret Swiss safety-deposit box.’
The muscle in his cheek quivered even more. ‘A secret Swiss safety-deposit box. OK, I think I can do that.’ He moved his empty lunch plate to one side, put his elbow on the table and leant his chin in his hand. ‘How’s this?’ he murmured, staring so deeply into her eyes that she gulped.
Boy, but when he faked intent he really went for it. In fact, in this light, he looked a little like Susie’s latest pin-up. Except, of course, that the actor in question had brown hair and green eyes, and a sort of come-hither twinkle in his eyes, whereas Gabriel Dalgleish had black hair and grey eyes which didn’t twinkle at all, but…
‘I thought this was supposed to be a two-sided conversation,’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and she blinked.
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m doing my best here in the intent and talking stakes, and you’re sitting there looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. If you want to convince Doris that our conversation is really important and necessary, you’re going to have to look considerably more animated.’
‘Oh. Right. Animated.’ She flushed slightly. ‘Um…’ Pull yourself together, woman. ‘I’m sorry, but what were you talking about?’
He rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘You wouldn’t make a very good undercover agent.’
‘I’ve never needed to,’ she replied, stung. ‘But Doris—’
‘KGB-trained.’ He nodded as she tried to smother a laugh and failed. ‘Leastways, that’s what most of us reckon.’
He had a sense of humour. Now, that was a surprise. It was also disconcerting, it was…
Sexy?
No, of course it wasn’t sexy. Gabriel Dalgleish was not sexy. Just because he was actually smiling at her, an oddly crooked and strangely appealing smile, and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal a pair of muscular arms covered with a light down of dark hair, it didn’t mean he was sexy. He was stiff and starchy and probably performed sex exactly as he did everything else. Coolly, efficiently, mechanically, and yet…
‘You can relax now,’ he said. ‘Doris has just left. Not that you’ll be able to avoid her permanently, but at least you’ve postponed the evil hour today.’
‘Oh. Right. Thank you.’ She got to her feet awkwardly. ‘I’ll leave you in peace now.’
‘No, stay. Talk to me.’
Talk to him? What did you talk to your boss about? The latest patient admissions, the crisis in the health service?
‘I—’
‘Annie was right—your name does suit you.’
‘You mean, I’m a sandwich short of a picnic,’ she said ruefully. ‘I know I must seem like that to you, running away from Doris, but—’
‘Not a sandwich short of a picnic, more…madcap.’
‘That’s an improvement?’ she protested, and he laughed.
He actually laughed, and then she noticed something else. He looked exhausted. Sitting so close to him like this she could see that his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue, there was a very definite trace of five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and his normally immaculate black hair was rumpled and untidy.
How many hours had he worked this week? According to his roster he was supposed to work a ten-hour day but Nell had been complaining only yesterday that he was hounding the night shift.
‘You work too hard,’ she said.
‘Jonah keeps telling me that.’
‘Jonah’s right.’
‘Jonah worries too much,’ he said dismissively.
What else had Jonah said? ‘There’s no room for failure in his life.’
Surely Gabriel wasn’t insecure enough to think his whole department would collapse unless he was there? No, of course, he wasn’t. He just arrogantly believed nobody could do the job as well as he could, and yet…
‘Let’s just say his family has a lot to answer for,’ Jonah had said.
Had something happened to Gabriel in his youth, something that had scarred him, making him the man he was today? It would certainly explain a lot, and perhaps she should be feeling sorry for him rather than always angry with him. Perhaps she should…
This is how you became involved with Andrew, her mind warned. First you felt sorry for him, then you made all kinds of allowances for him, and it was only after a lot of pain and heartache that you discovered there was nothing about Andrew to feel sorry for. He was just a rat fink.
‘Can I ask you something, Mr Dalgleish?’ she said as he reached for the carafe of water on the table next to them. ‘It’s nothing earth-shattering,’ she added, seeing his hand hesitate and his eyes grow wary. ‘It’s just…Call it curiosity—call it downright nosiness—but what makes you happy?’
