Читать книгу Their Christmas Dream Come True - Kate Hardy - Страница 10

ALL those years since the divorce, Natalie had managed not to think of Kit. Not to wish. But now, having to work with him and seeing him every day…It brought it all back. How much she’d loved him. How right it had felt to be in his arms. How her world had collapsed in on itself when she’d realised she’d lost him.

Ah, hell. She had to get over this—and she had to keep working here with him for the next six months, or it’d look as if she couldn’t handle her first job as a doctor. As if she wasn’t reliable. ‘Personal reasons’ wasn’t a good enough reason to give up the post. It’d make future consultants chary of offering her a post on their ward in case she only lasted a couple of weeks there, too.

She’d worked too damned hard for this. She had to stick it out.

And she was determined to get Kit Rodgers out of her system. Once and for all.

So, for the next month, Natalie managed to keep herself under control. She worked hard, had an occasional evening out with her colleagues—once she’d made sure that Kit wasn’t going to be there—and was really settling in.

Until the night of the ward’s Hallowe’en fundraiser.

She’d tried to get out of it. ‘I’ll buy a ticket, sure, but I’ll be on duty.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Fran said. ‘I’ve already checked. You’re on an early that day. And even if you were on a late…’ the look she threw Natalie said that she knew Natalie was perfectly capable of changing her duty if she thought it would get her out of the party ‘…you’d still catch the last three hours of it. So you’re going. No arguments.’

‘But—’

‘No arguments,’ Fran repeated, holding up a hand in protest. ‘And you don’t have to make your own costume, before you try using that as an excuse. You can hire one.’

Another of her arguments knocked down before she’d even voiced it, Natalie thought with an inward sigh.

‘I’m not good at parties.’ Not any more.

‘You’ll be fine at this one. You’ll know virtually everyone there, and it’s the fundraiser for our ward. You can’t not be there.’ Fran fished a leaflet out of her locker and gave it to Natalie. ‘This is the supplier most people use for costumes. We’ve been running the night for a few years now, so they give us a percentage of their takings. You’ll love it, Natalie. It’s great fun, and it raises a hell of a lot of money for the ward. We’ve got a brilliant band. One of the surgeons fancied himself as a guitarist until he went to med school, one of the midwives sings, one of the Theatre nurses is on keyboards and somebody’s brother is their drummer. They play everything, from the old classics through to chart hits. The food’s great. And the raffle has to be seen to be believed. You can win a flight in a hot-air balloon, a day at a spa in that posh place that opened just up the road, a rally drive, a—’

‘OK, OK. I’ll buy raffle tickets,’ Natalie said faintly. ‘Lots of tickets.’

‘Good. But you’re still going to the party, even if I have to pick you up and drive you there myself,’ Fran warned.

Natalie sank into an armchair. ‘You know, when you make nursing director, all the doctors are going to be absolutely terrified of you. With good reason.’

Fran laughed. ‘They’ll be fine, as long as they buy a ticket to the ball and a pile of raffle tickets.’

Natalie lifted her hands in supplication. ‘Have pity on me. I’m only a baby doctor.’

Fran’s grin broadened. ‘That’s a truly terrible pun. For that, you have to buy an extra raffle ticket.’

‘I’m not going to get out of this, am I?’ Natalie asked plaintively.

‘Nope.’ Fran ruffled her hair. ‘Stop fretting. It’ll be good for you. It’s a chance to dress up a bit and—well, if you didn’t have such short hair, I’d say let your hair down.’ She grinned.

‘Yeah, yeah.’

But Natalie bought a ticket to the ball and hired a costume: a little black dress with a spaghetti-strap top and a ballerina-length skirt with a jagged hem, teamed with long black fingerless lace gloves. She added a black haematite choker and a chiffon wrap embroidered with spider-webs, then, for the first time in years, she put on a pair of spike-heeled black shoes.

The kind of shoes she’d worn when she’d been married to—

No. She wasn’t going to think about Kit tonight. He was probably going to be there, but there’d be plenty of people she knew at the fundraiser so she could avoid having to spend any time with him.

She hoped.

She didn’t usually wear make-up on the ward but that night she went for the dramatic look, with dark eye shadow and blood-red lips, and long false nails varnished black. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, her vision blurring with memories of past Hallowe’en parties when she’d gone as a vampire or a ghost bride. Student parties. And that last one—Kit’s first one as a house officer, when she’d been heavily pregnant and Kit had fussed over her all evening, terrified that her waters would break in the middle of the dance floor and making her sit out every other dance in case her ankles started swelling…

Memories.

Memories she’d have to put behind her if she was to have a hope in hell of getting through the evening.

Her stomach was churning with nervousness by the time she got to the party. But as soon as she handed her ticket in to the person dressed as a mummy, she was greeted by a squeal—a voice she recognised behind the mask. Fran.

‘You look fabulous, Natalie!’ Fran said. ‘And those shoes are to die for. Go get yourself a drink and have a good time. Debbie and Ruth are somewhere around—they’re both in mummy costumes, too.’

Natalie headed for the bar, and resisted the temptation to buy herself a large glass of wine and down it in one to calm her nerves. She settled for a small glass of red wine and sipped it slowly. And then she didn’t get the chance to be nervous any more when Ruth and Debbie swooped on her. ‘You look fantastic. Put that drink down and come and have a dance,’ Ruth said, dragging her out onto the dance floor.

Kit really wasn’t in the mood for a party. He was tired and out of sorts. This time of year was never good for him; there were too many painful memories. Memories he was pretty sure he’d seen in Natalie’s face, too. She’d looked strained recently. But he’d promised Fran he’d turn up to the fundraiser. Had it been just an ordinary ward night out, he’d have begged off. Said he had a headache, or something. But the Hallowe’en party wasn’t just a party. They were raising money for new equipment for the ward so, as a senior doctor, Kit needed to show his face. Giving a cheque— even a large one—just wouldn’t be good enough.

He’d stay for half an hour, and then he’d make some excuse and leave early. It was a shame he’d only been on a late shift, not on nights.

He showered, changed into his hired costume and gelled his hair back. He thought about putting talc on his face to whiten his skin—as he’d done for Hallowe’en parties as a student, when he’d gone with Tally and had needed little persuasion to throw himself completely into the spirit of the occasion—but he just couldn’t bring himself to make the effort. Not tonight.