Читать книгу The Good Father - Maggie Kingsley - Страница 8

GABRIEL gathered up the files on his desk, then sat back in his seat, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. ‘I think that pretty well brings you up to date on everything that happened in the unit last night, Jonah, apart from the fact that while Baby Ralston seems to be finally remembering to breathe on his own, we’ll still keep him on medication for another forty-eight hours.’

‘Do you reckon that kid’s parents are ever going to give him a first name?’ Jonah said as he made a note on his clipboard.

‘Yesterday they were considering Simon or Thomas. The day before it was Quentin or Robert. Looks like they’re working their way through the alphabet.’ Gabriel reached for his mug of coffee. ‘Oh, and Tom Brooke from Obs and Gynae is coming down to the unit later.’

‘The Scott baby?’

Gabriel nodded. ‘It’s a tricky situation because Mrs Scott isn’t technically a Belfield obs and gynae patient after the argument she had with them last year, but I told Tom he could come.’

‘I still don’t know why Mrs Scott behaved as she did,’ Jonah observed. ‘Tom wasn’t being unreasonable. He just wanted her to wait a year to see if the cornual anastomosis he’d performed to unblock her Fallopian tube was a success, and he said if she wasn’t pregnant by the end of a year, he would start her on IVF treatment.’

‘Her argument was that, at thirty-six, her time was running out.’

‘But a successful cornual anastomosis gives a woman a sixty per cent chance of conceiving naturally,’ Jonah protested. ‘Whereas the success rate for IVF is only around thirty to thirty-five per cent, not to mention being one of the most emotionally fraught treatments a woman can undergo.’

‘I know that, you know that, both Obs and Gynae and the infertility department tried to tell Mrs Scott that, but she wouldn’t listen,’ Gabriel said, rubbing his eyes wearily. ‘The person I blame is the head of the private infertility clinic she went to. He not only completely ignored her past medical history—but to implant four eggs into her when any reputable infertility expert knows you shouldn’t implant more than three…’

‘With the result that three of her babies were born stillborn last night, and the surviving baby weighs just 720 grams.’ Jonah sighed. ‘Not good.’

‘No,’ Gabriel murmured, and it wasn’t. Although advances in modern technology meant that many babies now survived who would previously have died, there was a limit to how small the baby could be, and at 720 grams little Diana Scott was very small. Perhaps too small.

He finished his coffee in one gulp but, as he reached for the cafetière on his desk to pour himself another, Jonah gazed at him severely.

‘That’ll be your third in forty-five minutes.’

‘Not that you’re counting.’

‘I’m counting,’ Jonah said. ‘Gabriel, you don’t need more caffeine. You need sleep. You’ve been at the hospital for the past seventy-two hours and nothing’s going to happen here that I can’t cope with.’

‘Even so—’

‘Damn it, Gabriel, I’m your specialist registrar, not some first-year medical student you can’t trust!’ Jonah snapped, and a half smile curved the neonatologist’s lips.

‘I agree, but you’re also not my mother, nor do I ever envisage choosing curtains with you, so quit with the advice.’

‘Gabriel—’

‘OK, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll go home after lunch.’

‘But—’

‘The first twenty-four hours are always the most critical for a preemie, and Diana’s a full sixteen weeks premature.’ Gabriel raked his fingers through his hair, making it look even more dishevelled than it already was. ‘I have to be here.’

Jonah let out a huff of exasperation. ‘Gabriel, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone any more. Three years ago this department was underachieving big time but you’ve pulled it round, and not just pulled it round but made it the best in the city. You’ve succeeded.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it,’ the specialist registrar exclaimed. ‘Hell’s bells, you were even right about Maddie Bryce. I know she’s only been with us a week but she’s efficient, on the ball—’

‘When Tom arrives, I think I’ll ask her to go along with him to the unit,’ Gabriel said over him, and Jonah groaned.

‘Don’t you ever think about anything except work?’

A small smile curved the neonatologist’s lips. ‘Nope.’

‘Then you should—especially in Maddie’s case,’ Jonah observed. ‘All these errands you keep sending her on to the unit. She’s not stupid, Gabriel, and if she finds out you’re trying to manipulate her…’

I’m dog meat, Gabriel thought, remembering the anger he’d seen in her large brown eyes when she’d told him he had no manners.

‘I think I know how to handle Miss Bryce,’ he said, and Jonah grinned.

‘So how come you’re still calling her “Miss Bryce” when the rest of us are calling her Maddie? You always used to call Fiona by her first name.’

He had, but then, Fiona had been plump and jolly and non-threatening.

Not that Madison Bryce was threatening. She just made it abundantly clear that she didn’t like him. Well, he could live with that. He’d always thought personal popularity a highly over-rated commodity and, though he might occasionally have liked to have seen her dark brown eyes smile up at him the way they smiled at everybody else, he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it if they never did.

‘I like her,’ Jonah continued. ‘She’s good company, easy to talk to—’

‘So when’s the wedding?’ Gabriel interrupted with an edge to his voice. An edge that was all the more ridiculous because he wasn’t interested in Madison Bryce, not in a personal way.

‘I’m only saying she’s nice,’ Jonah protested. ‘She has lovely hair, too.’

Beautiful hair, Gabriel thought. Hair that gleamed like fire when the late May sunshine streamed through her office window. The kind of hair which just cried out for a man to touch it, to see if it was as soft and as springy as it looked, but to be able to touch a woman’s hair without having your teeth knocked down your throat you had to get to know her, and after Evelyn he’d decided to take a break from dating. A very long break.

‘Maddie isn’t going to change her mind about returning to nursing, you know,’ Jonah continued, clearly misinterpreting his frown. ‘I’ve been speaking to her about her niece and nephew and it’s obvious she adores them.’

‘She can adore them as much as she wants and still be an NICU nurse,’ Gabriel declared irritably, and she could.

Good grief, it had been proven over and over again that children who were looked after by childminders performed just as well academically as children who were looked after by their mothers. He had himself. He’d hardly seen his mother when he’d been young and it hadn’t done him any harm.

‘Gabriel—’

‘Any problems with the staff this morning?’

‘The man with the one-track mind.’ Jonah sighed, and Gabriel leant further back in his seat with a half-smile.

‘Perhaps, but you still haven’t answered my question.’

Jonah busied himself with his clipboard. ‘Everything’s fine. There was one very minor tiny incident, but I sorted it out.’

‘What very minor tiny incident?’ Gabriel said, his smile disappearing.

‘It was no big deal, Gabriel,’ Jonah said awkwardly. ‘Student Nurse Barnes wasn’t aware of the rule, and the soft toy was only in the incubator for a couple of minutes—’

Gabriel sat up so fast his feet hit the floor with a crash. ‘What soft toy—which incubator?’ he demanded, and with a sigh of resignation Jonah told him.

‘Only a complete and utter idiot would have allowed a parent to put an unwrapped soft toy into an incubator with a preemie but then, complete and utter idiot just about sums you up, doesn’t it, Nurse Barnes.’

Oh, nice one, Gabriel, Maddie thought, pausing in the middle of her work to listen to the sound of his footsteps growing fainter in the corridor outside, followed by the slamming of a door, which probably meant Nurse Barnes had disappeared into one of the toilets to have a good cry. I bet that really makes Naomi think she made the right career choice.

She glanced at her watch. Twelve o’clock. He was late this morning. Normally he’d managed to tear somebody apart by midmorning. He must be slipping.

‘Maddie, have you managed to print out those case notes for me yet?’ Jonah asked, hurrying into her office, looking harassed and anxious. ‘The ones I forgot had to be up to date by today?’

‘Just finished.’ She smiled, clicking the ‘Save’ button on her computer and slipping some paper into the printer. ‘I’ve even made duplicates for you, and filed the originals.’

‘Maddie, you’re a lifesaver.’

‘And Gabriel Dalgleish is an arrogant, overbearing sadist.’

Jonah sighed. ‘You heard what he said to Nurse Barnes.’

‘Jonah, the people out in the street probably heard what he said to Naomi Barnes!’ she exclaimed. ‘OK, so she should have known that all soft toys need to be wrapped in plastic before they’re put into an incubator to guard against possible infection, but she’s a student nurse, only in the unit to observe, and yelling at her—destroying all her self-confidence—isn’t the best way to give her information.’

‘He’s had a bad morning—’

‘I don’t care if he’s had a lifetime of major catastrophes,’ she interrupted. ‘Nothing gives him the right to talk to people the way he does.’

A tide of uncomfortable colour crept across the specialist registrar’s cheeks. ‘I know he can sometimes be a little rough—’

‘A little?’

‘But Gabriel and I have known one another since med school and he sets himself—and others—very high standards. There’s no room for failure in his life. His background…let’s just say his family has a lot to answer for, but he truly doesn’t mean to be cruel. He just speaks before he thinks.’

‘Oh, yeah, and I expect Captain Bligh’s men were always saying, “Well, old William might be a tad over-enthusiastic with the cat o’ nine tails but deep down he’s all heart.”’

Jonah shook his head and laughed. ‘At least he’s never ripped into you, has he?’

It was true, he hadn’t, Maddie realised with a frown as the specialist registrar sped away. Not even on her first morning when she’d screwed up the office database by hitting ‘Escape’ on the computer instead of ‘Enter’. He’d simply smiled tightly and said it could have happened to anyone. It was weird. It was more than weird. It was unnerving.

‘Miss Bryce?’

Talk of the devil.

‘Yes, Mr Dalgleish?’ she said, quickly closing down Jonah’s file before she could do something stupid, like deleting it.

‘I’d like you to meet Dr Annie Caldwell from Obs and Gynae,’ he replied, ushering forward the young woman who was standing behind him. ‘Annie, this is Madison Bryce, our new departmental secretary.’

‘Madison,’ Annie Caldwell repeated. ‘That’s a most unusual first name.’

‘I’m afraid my parents had a very quirky sense of humour,’ Maddie said ruefully. ‘They named me after the hotel I was conceived in. I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been conceived in the Pig and Whistle or the Dirty Duck.’

Annie Caldwell laughed, but not a glimmer of a smile appeared in Gabriel’s grey eyes, and Maddie wondered if he ever laughed. Probably not. He probably considered laughter a waste of time and energy.

‘My friends and family call me Maddie,’ she continued.

‘It suits you,’ Annie said. ‘Don’t you think it suits her, Gabriel?’

Gabriel didn’t look as though he cared one way or the other and it was on the tip of Maddie’s tongue to say he didn’t look like a Gabriel—a Lucifer, perhaps, but not a Gabriel. But she didn’t.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Dr Caldwell?’ she said instead.

‘I’d love one, and please call me Annie. Whenever anybody says “Dr Caldwell”, I always think my husband has arrived and caught me doing something I shouldn’t.’

Maddie laughed, but not so much as a muscle moved on Gabriel’s dark, lean face. Oh, for crying out loud. Maybe she ought to buy those whoopee cushions or, better yet, one of those telescopes which left you with a big black ring around your eye when you looked through it. It would give his staff a laugh if nothing else.

‘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?’

‘I think you calling me Gabriel might be a start,’ he observed, and to her annoyance she felt her cheeks redden.

What the heck was she blushing for? He was simply asking her to call him by his first name, as any boss might do.

‘OK, I’ll call you Gabriel if you’ll call me Maddie,’ she said. ‘And you haven’t answered my question.’

‘What makes me happy?’ He thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘Seeing a tiny preemie pull through against all the odds and eventually go home with his or her parents.’

‘I can understand that.’ She nodded. ‘What else?’

‘The neonatal unit,’ he said, his eyes no longer wary but enthusiastic. ‘When I was first appointed the staff weren’t motivated, the equipment was ancient, and we were constantly having to transfer babies down south because there was no way we could treat them properly. Now we can keep them here, give them the best care available.’

‘I can see how that would give you a sense of personal achievement,’ she said slowly, ‘but when I asked what made you happy I meant—well, I mean on a more personal level.’

‘But that is a personal level,’ he protested. ‘There’s nothing more important to me than my work.’

‘And a cow is a ruminating quadruped,’ she murmured, and he gazed at her blankly.

‘A cow is a what?’

‘It’s a quotation from Hard Times by Charles Dickens. A little boy who has been brought up never to think of fun or fantasy is asked to describe a cow and he says, “A cow is a ruminating quadruped.”’

He frowned. ‘And your point is?’

‘That just as cows are more than simply creatures with four legs who eat grass, life should be more than just work. It should be fun and laughter and dreams and…’ She shook her head as he gazed at her, clearly bemused. ‘You’re right. There is no point, and I must go. My lunch hour is over and I have a stack of work to do.’

He nodded, but when she reached the canteen door she stopped and gazed back at him. He was still sitting at his table, and the frown on his forehead had deepened. He was a strange man, such a strange man. All arrogance and efficiency on the surface, and yet underneath…

A small chuckle broke from her. Unless she could go back in time and come back as a preemie, she was never going to find out what he was like underneath.