The Midwife's Christmas Miracle

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘I’m going to phone the doctor to tell him you’re here and then I’m going to make you more comfortable,’ Miranda told her gently, frowning slightly as she touched the woman’s forehead. She was burning hot and the expression in her eyes was slightly glazed.

  Feeling very uneasy and unwilling to leave the woman on her own, Miranda was about to hit the buzzer when Jake’s SHO, Belinda Morris, walked into the room.

  ‘Hi, there. I spoke to the GP about Cathy,’ she said cheerfully, walking over to the bed and giving the woman a sympathetic look. ‘I’m Dr Morris. You poor thing. Flu is rotten at any time, but even more so when you’re pregnant. Life can be very unfair.’

  Clearly the junior doctor wasn’t in the least alarmed by Cathy’s condition and Miranda forced herself to relax, telling herself that she was just being hypersensitive. It was just because of that one case of shoulder dystocia, she told herself. She’d been imagining emergencies with every patient since then.

  While Dr Morris carried out an examination, Miranda checked Cathy’s temperature and found it to be extremely high.

  ‘No surprises there, then,’ Dr Morris said briskly, when Miranda showed her the reading.

  Still telling herself that she was being over-anxious, Miranda slipped off Cathy’s top and frowned. ‘How long have you had this rash, Cathy?’

  Cathy lay with her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow and her cheeks were flushed. ‘Don’t know,’ she murmured finally. ‘Nothing there this morning.’

  ‘Viral rashes are very common with flu,’ Belinda said briskly, pushing her stethoscope back in her pocket. ‘They resolve over time. Nothing to worry about.’

  Miranda wished she felt equally confident. Suddenly her anxiety refused to be suppressed. ‘I think we should call Mr Blackwell.’

  ‘He’s in a meeting at the moment. We’ll just keep her in for the time being, monitor the baby and see how she goes.’ Belinda walked towards the door with a confident and slightly superior smile. ‘I’ll let Jake know that she’s here. Call me if anything changes.’

  The door closed behind her and Miranda looked at the rash again. Viruses often cause a rash, she repeated to herself. Viruses often cause a rash. On impulse she picked up a glass from the side of the bed and pressed it against the woman’s skin. The rash didn’t blanch.

  Without hesitation, Miranda hit the emergency button and seconds later Ruth came running in.

  Her anxiety levels soaring, Miranda checked Cathy’s temperature again, her hands shaking slightly. ‘Call Mr Blackwell. Call him now.’ She hesitated briefly. ‘And we need to give her intravenous penicillin right away.’

  Ruth looked at her and then the rash. ‘Right. I’ll arrange it.’ Without argument or discussion, she left the room and was back moments later accompanied by Jake.

  Miranda had never been so relieved to see anyone. Calmed by his presence, she turned back to her patient. ‘When did you start to feel ill, Cathy?’

  ‘Last night.’ Cathy moved her arms and opened her eyes. ‘I can see two of you,’ she murmured drowsily. ‘Is that normal?’

  Jake strode over to the bedside. He was dressed in a beautifully cut suit that emphasised the width of his shoulders and the strength of his physique. He looked serious and businesslike and the usual humour was missing from his blue eyes. It was obvious that he’d come straight from a difficult meeting and Miranda felt a flash of insecurity.

  What if she’d bothered him for no reason? What if she was wrong?

  She came straight to the point. ‘Cathy was sent in by her GP with flu-like symptoms but she has a rash on her torso and I think we should probably give her penicillin right away.’ She didn’t want to mention the word ‘meningitis’ because she didn’t want to frighten the patient and she didn’t want to waste time taking Jake out of the room to brief him on her fears.

  Jake took one look at Cathy and reached into his pocket for a tourniquet. ‘Have you got the penicillin there?’ His voice calm, he held out a hand for the syringe which Ruth handed him and quickly checked the ampoule. ‘Great. We’re just going to give you an injection of some antibiotic, Cathy, and then we’re going to take some blood and get you transferred somewhere more comfortable. Are you allergic to penicillin?’

  Eyes closed, Cathy shook her head slowly and Jake injected the penicillin just as Belinda came back into the room.

  ‘Oh, Jake, I didn’t know you were out of your meeting. I was going to tell you about Cathy when you—’

  ‘I want you to take blood cultures and then start an infusion.’ Discarding the empty syringe, Jake rose to his feet, his handsome face serious. ‘I’m going to talk to ITU.’

  ‘ITU?’ Belinda frowned. ‘But I—’

  ‘Cultures.’ Jake’s tone was cool. ‘Ruth—get me Geoff Masters on the phone, please. He’s the consultant in Communicable Disease Control. I need to tell him what’s happening.’

  After that things moved swiftly. Cathy was transferred to ITU and Jake continued to liaise with other consultants over her management.

  ‘He’s been up on ITU for hours,’ Ruth told Miranda later as they changed to go home. ‘No one has ever seen a case of meningitis in a pregnant woman before so they’re all huddled around, discussing the best way to treat her.’

  ‘Is she worse?’

  ‘No. Better, apparently. Thanks to the brilliance of a certain midwife on the labour ward—Jake’s words, by the way, not mine.’ Ruth wriggled into a thick jumper and reached for her coat. ‘He hauled Dr Morris over the coals. Wanted to know why she hadn’t called him the second she set eyes on the patient.’

  Miranda grabbed her bag out of her locker. ‘Maybe she was afraid of getting him out of a meeting.’

  Ruth gave her a pointed look. ‘You weren’t.’

  ‘I think that case of shoulder dystocia has made me jumpy. I see emergencies everywhere.’

  ‘Well, that’s fortunate for young Cathy, then, but I think you’re dismissing what you’ve done rather lightly. Jake is asking questions as to why the GP didn’t give her penicillin.’

  ‘Well, to be fair, meningitis wouldn’t be the first thing you think of in a pregnant woman with a temperature and a rash,’ Miranda murmured, and Ruth stopped and looked at her.

  ‘You thought of it.’

  ‘And thank goodness for that.’ Jake’s deep drawl came from the doorway and both Ruth and Miranda turned in surprise.

  ‘You’re not supposed to come in here,’ Ruth scolded. ‘This is the midwives’ changing room. It could be full of naked women.’

  Jake smiled placidly. ‘I keep hoping.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Better.’ Jake’s blue eyes were warm as he turned to look at Miranda. ‘And it’s undoubtedly thanks to you. If you hadn’t insisted on calling me and having the penicillin ready, it might have been a different story.’

  ‘I was afraid I might be wasting your time.’

  ‘I suspect you might have just saved two lives so any time you feel the inclination to bother me, please, do so.’

  ‘I’m just so relieved she’s all right.’

  ‘Well, she’s not totally out of the woods, but she’s definitely responding to antibiotics and all the scans and blood tests suggest that the baby is all right, although we won’t know for sure until it’s delivered.’

  Ruth put her coat on. ‘If it’s been confirmed as meningitis, shouldn’t Miranda take Rifampicin or something?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘We’ve talked about that. For healthcare professionals it’s really only recommended if you’ve given mouth-to-mouth or similar. Given Miranda is pregnant, I’d be reluctant to give her anything, and Geoff Masters agrees.’

  ‘I wasn’t with her for that long,’ Miranda said reasonably. ‘She was transferred almost immediately. All I really did was take her temperature.’

  Jake nodded. ‘The risk is minuscule.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve told them to call me if there’s any change. Let’s go home.’

  Aware that R
uth was looking at her with a quizzical expression on her face, Miranda sighed. ‘Jake’s very generously letting me a room in his house, just until I find somewhere suitable.’

  ‘Good.’ Ruth beamed at both of them, swept up her bag and walked towards the door. ‘I’m off, then. Need to feed my husband and recharge my batteries, ready for another exciting day in the office tomorrow. I feel we’re in desperate need of a run of normal deliveries, just so that we can all remind ourselves that sometimes it can all go swimmingly well, without any of this drama and tension.’

  Miranda and Jake walked towards the car. ‘You must be knackered.’ He unlocked the car door and held it open while she slid inside.

  ‘I am tired.’

  ‘Quick supper and early bed.’ He drove home quickly, a slight frown on his face as he concentrated on the road.

  Sneaking a glance at his strong profile, Miranda wondered what he was thinking. Was he worrying about Cathy?

  ‘What on earth made you even think of meningitis? It obviously didn’t cross the minds of the GP or my SHO.’

  ‘I’ve seen a similar rash before. In a child when I was doing a paediatric module.’

  ‘Lucky for Cathy.’ He turned the car into his drive and pulled up outside the house. ‘You go and have a bath. I’ll knock something up for supper.’

  ‘I’m cooking tonight.’ Miranda undid her seat belt and wriggled out of the car. Her bump was starting to feel larger by the day.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Jake, you don’t have to wait on me. I want to cook. It’s my turn. Why don’t you have a bath? By the time you’ve finished, I’ll have it ready.’

  He opened his mouth to argue and then clearly saw something in her eyes that made him change his mind because he smiled. ‘Good. Fine. In that case, I’ll go for a quick run. I haven’t done any exercise for days. It clears my head and removes the stress.’

  ‘There’s snow on the ground.’

  ‘It muffles the sound of my bones creaking,’ he drawled, humour gleaming in his blue eyes. ‘Short run, quick shower then supper. All right with you?’

  Miranda took a quick shower herself and changed then wandered into the beautiful, spacious kitchen.

  She ran a hand over the smooth work surface, her expression wistful. Who could dislike cooking in surroundings like these?

  Pulling herself together, she opened the fridge, pulled out some chicken and vegetables and started chopping.

  By the time Jake came back from his run she had garlic and ginger sizzling in a pan and all the ingredients prepared.

  ‘Smells delicious. ‘ He sniffed the contents of the pan and smiled. ‘Stir-fry?’

  ‘Is that all right with you? It’s just that it’s quick and—’

  ‘It’s perfect. I’ll be back down in three minutes if I skip a shave.’

  She tossed chicken in the hot oil, added water to the noodles and was just assembling everything when he appeared in the doorway, dark hair still damp from the shower. Her heart lurched and her insides shifted alarmingly. Suddenly she wished he’d taken the extra few minutes to shave. Why did the stubble make him more attractive? Was it because he looked less like a respectable consultant and more…dangerous?

  She permitted herself a wry smile. All men were dangerous. She knew that better than anyone. Giving herself a sharp talking-to, she rescued the plates that she had warming in the oven and lifted the pan from the heat.

  ‘Sit down, it’s ready.’

  ‘I have to confess that I love it when you cook.’ He leaned forward and gave an appreciative sniff. ‘You’re very creative in the kitchen.’

  ‘I love your kitchen.’ She served a generous portion onto his plate and then took a smaller helping herself. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s one of my more obvious talents, but I manage.’

  ‘Did your mother teach you the basics?’

  ‘Are you joking?’ He picked up his fork with a grin. ‘My mother doesn’t let anyone into her kitchen. My sister took pity on me after spending a weekend. Or, I suppose, if I’m honest, she took pity on herself. She was fed up with eating my idea of food. How did you learn? Did your mother teach you to cook?’

  Her hand froze on the fork. It was a perfectly reasonable question. Hadn’t she just asked him exactly the same one? ‘No.’ She couldn’t keep the stiffness out of her tone. ‘No, she didn’t. I taught myself.’

  His gaze lingered on her face for a moment and then he turned his attention back to his plate. ‘You’ve always said that you don’t have any family. What happened?’

  She put her fork down, her appetite suddenly gone. ‘I suppose I do have family.’ She almost choked on the word and wondered why she didn’t just lie. ‘It’s just that we’re not in touch any more.’

  ‘And you don’t want to talk about it.’ His tone was gentle, his blue eyes suddenly intent as he studied the tension in her face. ‘All right, we’ll talk about something else. Are you sleeping better now?’

  She gave a faint smile. ‘Hard not to in that amazing bed.’

  ‘Another one of my sister’s purchases. She always said that since she was my most frequent guest, she was going to buy herself a comfortable bed to sleep in.’

  ‘You mentioned a niece and nephews, so she’s obviously married.’

  ‘Oh, yes. To an architect. They worked together on a project, that’s how they met.’ Jake leaned forward and helped himself to more food. ‘And now I have two cheeky nephews and a baby niece.’

  Envy sliced through her and she gave a puzzled frown. Why envy? She never envied families. She knew that they were rarely what they seemed. ‘Do they live far away?’

  ‘Far enough.’ He leaned forward, picked up her fork and handed it to her. ‘Eat, or I’ll have to force-feed you.’

  ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  ‘Eat.’

  Feeling thoroughly unsettled and not really understanding why, Miranda speared a thin strip of chicken and nibbled it. ‘Why do you say far enough? You’re obviously close to her.’

  ‘We’re twins,’ Jake confessed. ‘So, yes, we’re close. A bit too close sometimes. She’s inclined to meddle in my life.’

  ‘Like decorating your house?’

  ‘That sort of meddling I can live with.’ He picked up his glass. ‘What I don’t like is her interference in my love life. She’s always inviting me to dinner and introducing me to yet another of her recently divorced, unattached friends.’

  Miranda couldn’t help smiling. ‘It’s pretty hard to meet people. That sounds as good a way as any.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know my sister.’ Jake suppressed a yawn and pushed his chair away from the table. ‘Let’s just say that her idea of my ideal woman and my idea of my ideal woman don’t exactly coincide.’

  ‘What’s your ideal woman?’ The moment she asked the question she wished she hadn’t. His blue eyes lifted to hers and didn’t shift.

  ‘I’m looking at her.’

  She gave a soft gasp and looked away. ‘Jake…’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say next so I’ll save you the breath and that way you can concentrate on clearing the food on your plate. You’re going to say that I’ve only known you a short time, you’re going to remind me that you’re pregnant, just in case I’d forgotten, and then you’re going to say that you’re not interested in men because relationships always go wrong.’

  It was so close to what she would have said that she gaped at him. ‘Are you a mind-reader?’

  ‘No, but I think I probably understand women better than most men.’ He put his glass down on the table and leaned forward, his eyes still on her face. ‘I have a twin sister and on top of that I spend every day talking to women at a time when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable. I have a pretty good idea what all your arguments will be, although I don’t understand all your reasons because you don’t trust me enough to tell me about your family. I’m hoping that, in time, that will change.’

 
; She stared at him, stunned by what he was saying. ‘I’ve told you about Peter.’

  ‘Yes. But there’s more and that’s fine.’ His tone was conversational, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. ‘I’m willing to wait until you’re ready to tell me.’

  She was his ideal woman?

  ‘Jake—’

  ‘I’m not expecting a response to what I just said.’ He stood up and flicked on the kettle. ‘You asked me about my ideal woman and I told you.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘Why would you be interested in me? What could I possibly have that you want?’

  He turned to face her, dark lashes partially shielding the expression in his eyes. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you, sweetheart?’

  ‘I just don’t see why a man like you would be interested in a woman like me. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘A man like me?’ He raised an eyebrow in question. ‘What sort of woman should a man like me be interested in, Miranda? Tell me. I’m intrigued to know.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You’re clever and good-looking, you don’t need me to tell you that. You must have hopeful women trailing after you in droves. You certainly don’t need someone as—’ She broke off and hesitated. ‘Complicated. You don’t need someone as complicated as me.’

  ‘You’ve worked with me for long enough to know that I thrive on complicated. I find routine and predictability unspeakably boring.’ He smiled. ‘Finish your dinner, Miranda, and stop worrying.’

  She ignored her food. ‘I need you to know that nothing is going to happen between us. Not ever. I just don’t—’

  ‘It’s already happened and you know it.’ His voice level, he spooned coffee into a cafetiere and picked up the kettle. ‘There’s a connection between us that we cannot possibly deny, but I understand that this is a big thing for you. So we’ll just live with it for a bit and see where our relationship goes. I’m a patient man.’

  ‘Patience has nothing to do with it and our relationship isn’t going anywhere!’ There was a note of panic in her voice. Why wasn’t he listening to her? ‘And what do you mean, it’s a big thing for me? Given that you’re in your thirties and single, it would seem a reasonable guess that a relationship is a big thing for you, too.’