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Olivia swallowed hard, standing docilely in front of him now. ‘I don’t understand …’
‘She’s with her husband now, the way she wanted to be.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. So it isn’t a time to cry, is it?’
‘I—–’
‘She would never have got well again, Olivia,’ he told her gently. ‘We’d done all we could for her—and it just wasn’t enough.’
She bit her lip. ‘It still doesn’t seem fair.’
‘Life seldom is.’ He held out his handkerchief to her. ‘Blow your nose,’ he encouraged softly. ‘You’ll feel better.’
‘I—I have my own.’ Now that the shock was passing she was beginning to realise how unorthodox this was. Marcus Hamilton shouldn’t even know she was alive, let alone be comforting her like this! ‘I’m sorry,’ she sounded more controlled now, ‘I—I didn’t mean to cry all over you.’
‘You’ve just never been that close to death before?’ he prompted.
‘No,’ she confirmed huskily.
‘Believe me,’ his voice was gruff as he straightened his shoulders wearily, ‘it never gets any easier.’
Olivia blinked up at him in surprise, her lashes still spiky and damp from where she had been crying. Marcus Hamilton was very pale, a ring of white tension about his mouth, his expression strained. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said dazedly, ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘People seldom do,’ he rasped. ‘Doctors aren’t supposed to feel emotions, especially surgeons.’
‘I really am sorry.’ It had never occurred to her that this hard man could be affected by death as much as she was.
‘But you still aren’t convinced, are you?’ he said ruefully.
‘Convinced?’ She looked puzzled, sure that if he said he was upset by Mrs Bateson’s death then he was. What reason would he have to lie?
‘That I can feel as much as the next man,’ he drawled in reply.
‘Oh, I—But I—–’ her words were cut off by a coolly possessive mouth claiming hers. Marcus Hamilton was kissing her! It seemed hard to believe, although the ruthless insistence of his lips couldn’t be imagined. ‘Mr Hamilton!’ she gasped when he at last raised his head to look down at her.
‘Indeed,’ he derided. ‘Shocking, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I—I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ she blushed.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Dark brows rose over steely grey eyes.
‘No,’ she admitted shyly. She had liked the way he kissed her, not been shocked by it. Surprised would be a better way of describing the way she felt. He was so experienced, had kissed her with a thoroughness that set her heart racing, his lips evoking a response from her that had been as spontaneous as it was unreserved.
‘I would.’ He put her firmly away from him, his expression grim. ‘I have a daughter only six years younger than you.’
‘And I have a father fifteen years older than you,’ she retorted. ‘So please don’t try to make it look as if you’re in the least like a father-figure to me.’
Humour lightened the colour of his eyes. ‘That’s put me firmly in my place! Thank you, Olivia,’ he said soberly. ‘I think I occasionally need reminding that thirty-three isn’t old. Now off you go. And please believe that Mrs Bateson is where she wanted to be—with her husband.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And thank you—for everything.’
‘My pleasure,’ he drawled derisively before turning back towards the hospital building.
Olivia absently answered the greetings she received on the way to her room. She still grieved for Mrs Bateson, would miss her smiling cheerfulness on the ward, and this loss pushed the importance of that unexpected kiss from her mind.
She only had one more day to work before four straight days off, the two days of this week joining up with the two for next week, giving her a nice long break. But that one day on the ward seemed to drag by, the empty bed in the middle of the room a constant reminder of Mrs Bateson’s death. Her fully recovered daughter came on to the ward late that afternoon to collect her mother’s things, and her red-rimmed eyes told the whole story of how heartbroken she was to lose both her parents on the same day.
Olivia’s days off were welcome after the trauma and strain of that last day, although as usual she spent the time at the nurses’ home, only very rarely making the journey from this London hospital to her parents’ home in Wales.
On the third day she attended the joint funeral of the Batesons. She had never been to a funeral before, and wasn’t particularly looking forward to going to this one, and yet her genuine affection for the elderly couple merited this last show of respect on her behalf.
She didn’t wear black, not being a member of the family, but her clothing was sombre, the brightness of her shoulder-length hair muted by being secured at her nape with a black ribbon.
The buses ran regularly from outside the hospital, and she could see the right one coming for her destination as she reached the bus stop?
‘Like a lift, Olivia?’
She frowned down at the driver of the huge car parked at the side of the road. ‘Mr Hamilton …’
He leant over to thrust the passenger door open. ‘Get in.’
‘Oh, but—–’
‘I’m going to the funeral too, Olivia,’ he told her abruptly. ‘Please get in,’ he repeated. ‘I’m about to cause a traffic jam.’ He looked pointedly at the rapidly approaching bus.
She climbed into the burgundy-coloured Rolls-Royce, the engine only a gentle purr in the background as they drove further into town.
‘You look different out of uniform,’ Marcus Hamilton suddenly broke the tense silence between them. At least, it was tense on Olivia’s part, as usual she could tell nothing of this man’s feelings, from his enigmatic expression.
‘Thank you—I think,’ she added uncertainly.
For the first time since she had seen him he smiled, deep grooves visible in his cheeks, his teeth very white against his dark skin, his eyes a warm grey. ‘You can take it as a compliment,’ he drawled. ‘Although the uniform is quite flattering on you too.’
She blushed shyly. She hadn’t seen him the last three days except for a brief glimpse on the ward on Friday, and remembering that kiss they had shared she felt embarrassed about being with him now.
‘We’re, going to a funeral, Olivia,’ he derided at her silence. ‘Not to my home.’
‘Yes—er—sir.’
‘Marcus,’ he substituted hardly.
She couldn’t possibly be that informal with this autocratic man, so she remained silent for the remainder of the drive, swallowing hard as he parked the car with the others outside the church.
He studied her pale face as he helped her out of the car. ‘It’s all right, Olivia,’ he assured her softly, clasping her elbow once again after locking the car. ‘I’ll be right beside you. If you want to come out just say so and we will.’
The service was short and beautiful, the words for the elderly couple sincerely moving, and the tears flowed unchecked. A snowy white handkerchief suddenly appeared in front of Olivia’s blurred gaze, and she took it gratefully.
‘This is getting to be a habit,’ Marcus, murmured softly. ‘No, keep it,’ he advised as she offered it back to him. ‘You might need it again.’
She stood silently at his side as she spoke to the family outside after the service, his hand still firm on her elbow as he offered his quiet condolences.
‘I’m afraid Olivia and I have to get back now,’ he politely refused the eldest daughter’s invitation back to the house.
‘We realise what busy people you are,’ the woman gave them a wan smile. ‘We’re just grateful you could come.’
Almost as if they were actually a couple! No one seemed to think it in the least odd that they were here together like this.
Well, Olivia thought it very odd. Senior consultants just didn’t take this amount of interest in their juniors, and yet the masculine smell of cologne that clung to the handkerchief she still held told her it was all reality.
‘Tea?’ Marcus suggested on the drive back to the hospital.
‘Er—no,’ she answered awkwardly, ‘thank you. I have to get back now.’
‘Why?’
‘Sorry?’ she frowned.
‘Why do you have to get back?’ Marcus nodded. ‘This is your day off, isn’t it? Unless of course you have a date now?’ he quirked one dark brow.
‘How did you know it was my day off?’
‘Well, you’re here, aren’t you?’ he mocked.
She blushed at her stupidty. But however much she would have liked to have tea with him, to have perhaps learnt more about the break-up of his marriage, and his little girl, it just wasn’t possible. Years of protocol established long before she was born dictated that she couldn’t accept his invitation. She just wished she knew what had prompted him to make it.
‘I do have a date,’ she invented. ‘Maybe some other time.’
‘Yes,’ his voice was terse. ‘As you say, some other time. ‘
Olivia was aware of his silent anger for the rest of the journey, but what else had he expected! He might find it amusing to be entertained by her for a few hours, but she had to face the rest of the hospital staff, not him. The gossip about them wouldn’t touch him in his lofty position, but she would come out of it less unscathed.
It wasn’t until she reached her room in the nurses’ home that she remembered his handkerchief still clutched in her hand. She would have to launder it and return it to him as soon as possible. And if she were honest with herself she was pleased to have this excuse to talk to him again.
Her opportunity came her first day back at work. Marcus was doing his usual ward round, with six or seven student doctors hanging on his every word and Sister Marton hovering on the edge of the crowd seeing that he had each patient’s notes at the precise moment he needed them. Marcus was the first to leave Sister Marton’s office after the round, so Olivia seized her opportunity.
‘Mr Hamilton!’ She hurried after him, pulling the neatly folded handkerchief out of her pocket.
He took it wordlessly, pushing it into his breast pocket; several files were tucked under his other arm.
She touched the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I—Thank you.’
‘Yes.’ He looked down pointedly at her hand, meeting her gaze coolly after she had removed it. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
She took the rebuff for exactly what it was, making a promise to herself that she wouldn’t bother him again. He obviously regretted his friendliness of yesterday, and she wouldn’t remind him of it again!
She might have decided that, but it didn’t stop her feeling any less miserable, and the news that she had a telephone call later that evening didn’t help either. Her steps were slow as she went to the communal callbox in the nurses’ home.
She knew who it was going to be, knew there would probably be another argument with her mother because she didn’t go home enough. Never mind the fact that she and her father argued non-stop when she did go home!
‘Hello,’ she greeted lightly, deciding she might as well start off on the right foot!
The voice that answered her was definitely male, and it wasn’t her father. ‘Olivia?’
‘Yes,’ she frowned her uncertainty, not recognising the voice at all.
‘I’d like to see you. I have to see you,’ the man amended raggedly.
‘Who is that?’ she demanded to know.
‘God, I must be mad,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I’m sorry I troubled you. I—–’
‘Marcus!’ she suddenly realised. ‘Marcus, is that you?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed shakily. ‘I’ve just had a scene with Sally, and I—–’
‘Sally?’
‘My daughter,’ he explained impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry I bothered you.’
‘Would you like to talk about it?’ she prompted gently, ignoring his lapse back into the controlled consultant, appealing to the man who had telephoned her out of desperation.
There was silence for several long seconds after her question. ‘Yes,’ he sighed at last. ‘I have to talk to someone. But it’s so difficult over the telephone, and I can’t leave Sally, it’s our housekeeper’s night off.’
‘Where do you live?’ she asked.
‘Where do I—–? Olivia, are you saying you’ll come here?’ He sounded astounded.
‘If you want me to,’ she answered without hesitation, no longer caring that he was a top consultant and she was only a junior nurse; they were a man and a woman, and Marcus needed to be with someone tonight. She felt grateful that she was that someone, felt a new maturity at his trust in her.
‘Olivia, are you sure this is what you want?’ He seemed to hesitate.
‘As sure as you were when you decided to make the call,’ she told him briskly. ‘The address?’
He didn’t hesitate any more—and neither did she, grabbing a lightweight jacket to pull on over her blouse, the latter tucked into her denims, her waist, narrow hips and long legs all clearly outlined against the skin-tight material. The taxi-driver raised his brows as she gave him the address, charging her an exorbitant fee, since the address indicated she could well afford it, being in a quietly exclusive part of London, the house one of several in a private square.
Marcus opened the door before she even had time to ring the bell, looking completely different from the Marcus Hamilton she had come to know as he walked about the hospital, as casually dressed as herself, in black trousers and a grey shirt unbuttoned partway down his throat. His avid gaze searched her shy face. ‘Olivia …!’ he breathed.
‘Yes,’ she said needlessly.
He gave a ragged sigh, pulling her inside the house before taking her hungrily into his arms. ‘God, Olivia!’ His mouth came down fiercely on hers, bending her body into his as she clung to him, making no secret of his desire for her. ‘Olivia, Olivia, Olivia!’ He smoothed back her tumbled curls, the last cry of her name coming out as a triumphant laugh, one of his rare smiles lighting his austere features. ‘God, you’re beautiful!’ He shook his head almost dazedly.
She moistened her lips, aware that they had a tingling sensation from the force of his kiss. ‘I am?’ She gave an uncertain smile.
‘You are.’ With his arm still about her waist he took her into the lounge, a strange uncomfortably modern room, the furniture all angles and squares, white fluffy rugs scattered about the highly polished floor, modern pictures hung on the white walls. It didn’t look like Marcus at all. ‘My wife’s choice of décor,’ he explained with feeling. ‘I just haven’t got around to changing it yet.’
‘Of course,’ she bit on her bottom lip. ‘You’re separated.’
