‘Okay.’ Harry hung up the phone. He had to get better at that. Trusting others with his patients. Maybe it was because he’d spent so long being the visiting expert surgeon. It meant he couldn’t form relationships long enough with people to feel assured about their competencies.
Or maybe it was because of the way he’d been brought up. No child asked to be born to parents who weren’t the least bit interested in them. A child had been a necessity for the duke and duchess. Someone to carry on the family name. But that’s all he’d been. It had taken him a long time to realise that the relationship he had with his parents wasn’t entirely normal. Most kids who boarded did actually get to spend some time at home. But not Harry. It made forming relationships hard for him. He’d spent most of his childhood thinking he didn’t deserve love, and most of his wild teenage years looking for love wherever he could find it. Medicine had been his blessing. His focus. Surgery his ultimate goal. He’d managed to keep everything right on track until the death of his father had derailed one of his first surgeries.
He’d had to leave. It was unheard of for a son not to attend his father’s funeral. The gossip columns would have loved it. His mother had died years previously, so he was the only family left to make the arrangements. So, only two days after his first neonatal cardiac surgery, he’d had to travel home for the funeral.
He’d had to leave the tiny baby he’d wanted to watch like a hawk. And it had happened. The death. While he wasn’t there. His first experience of a child death review with his name as the surgeon. It was devastating for him, and had almost derailed his career. He would never know if something else could have been done to save that baby. None of them would. But it had left an indelible mark on Harry. One he couldn’t ever shake off, or forget.
These babies were his responsibility and he could never forget that. Working with a hundred different teams across a variety of continents was difficult for him. Being a visiting surgeon was hard.
Some weeks he didn’t even get to sleep in his own bed. Constantly moving from place to place—sometimes from country to country to perform his specialist kind of surgery. At first he’d liked it. Enjoyed it even.
But constantly working with different staff was wearing. He’d never considered it before, but the thought of having his own team—a team that he would train by himself and he could trust—had started to play on his mind.
He could also get to know all the staff who worked in NICU and Paeds and perhaps even have a little confidence in the people around him. He could actually start to get a life again—or even get to spend some time in his own bed, in his own home. Now that would really be a miracle.
He walked back over, the decision already made in his head. ‘Okay, Esther. You’re coming home with me.’
‘What?’ She looked entirely stunned.
He shrugged. ‘This is easy. You have two choices. You let Rob admit you, or you let me take you home and keep an eye on you overnight.’
She opened her mouth to speak but he kept talking.
‘I know what’s happened. I know the history. I’m not going to tell anyone else, and you don’t need to tell anyone you stayed with me. If you’re unwell during the night I can bring you back in.’
The stunned look hadn’t changed. Harry’s conscience was tugging at heartstrings he didn’t even know he had. But every cell in his body told him this was the right thing to do.
Rob shot him a glance and a nod. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Sounds good to me, but it’s entirely your choice, Esther. I think you need supervision for at least the next eight hours. Where you spend them is up to you.’
She shot them both a look of complete exasperation. ‘Fine, fine.’ She threw up her hands. ‘Just let me go and get changed.’
She turned and walked off to the female changing room. Harry went into the other changing room and stowed his white coat and pulled out his jacket. He was still waiting to be allocated an office. Hospital space was always tight, so until then, he was happy to have somewhere safe to leave his things.
As he pulled his car keys from his trouser pocket he saw Esther standing at the exit to A&E. Her head was turning from side to side as if she were contemplating the option to run. The weather had turned and rain was bucketing down.
He moved outside, his shoulder brushing against hers. The sun was setting in the sky, sending purple streaks above them.
Harry didn’t hesitate. ‘Your place or mine?’
He could see something flit across her face. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
He’d asked himself the same question. ‘Because I should,’ he said simply. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
There was a long pause, then Esther’s shoulders sagged a little, just like they had earlier, as if she’d accepted that answer. ‘It will take too long to get to mine. You must be tired. I’m sure you stay closer.’ She was saying the words but he could see something else in her eyes. Maybe she didn’t want him to see where she lived?
‘You’re sure about this?’ she repeated, her hand gripping tightly to the handle of her bag.
‘I’m sure. Come on.’ He started walking across the car park, pressing the buttons on his remote to open the doors. ‘Relax,’ he laughed over his shoulder. ‘You’re acting like I’m kidnapping you. Rob knows I’ve taken you home. If you’re never seen again, he’ll send the police after me.’
‘Oh, reassure me, why don’t you,’ she quipped back.
As they reached the car she stopped walking and looked at him, eyebrow slightly arched, as the rain thudded around them. ‘Really?’
He shrugged. ‘What? Excessive?’
She opened the door to the dark blue Aston Martin and climbed in. As he slid in beside her she shook her head. ‘No, excessive would have been a royal carriage. And at this point in the day, I’d go home in anything.’
She leaned back into the seat. ‘Should I call you James Bond, instead of Duke?’
He smiled at her teasing. ‘Harry will be fine, thanks.’ He started the engine. ‘I think I told you before I’m not far from here. Where do you live?’
‘Dagenham, not the same as you in Belgravia.’ The edges of her lips curled upwards.
He gave a nod and pulled out of the car park. No wonder she was tired. The tube between the Queen Victoria and Dagenham would add almost an hour each way onto her journey every day.
He waited until they were in the traffic before he glanced towards her. ‘So, how come you work so much?’
Her eyes were already halfway closed. She let out a sigh. ‘My mum needs some help back home. She’s had cancer and although she’s in remission the chemo and radiotherapy meant she’s never got back to full fitness and can’t get back to work.’ She turned her head. ‘I need to cover the mortgage. It’s only got a couple of years left. I can do it.’
The words came out in a stream and he knew if she hadn’t been half as exhausted she probably wouldn’t have told him any of this.
His head was immediately filled with a barrage of questions that it wasn’t good manners to ask. At least now he understood. She had a real reason to work every hour there was. She obviously felt responsible for her mum.
Something twisted in his gut. Even those few words let him know that Esther and her mother had a real bond, a real connection. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He’d never known what that felt like. His parents had always been like distant ornaments sitting on a grand mantelpiece.
He’d spent more happy years at boarding school, and at university, than he ever had being back in their grand estate. Taking ownership of the Belgravia town house had felt like a huge sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be expected to be under the same roof as them for any length of time.
Esther’s eyes were fully closed and her breathing steady. She was fast asleep and they’d barely been in the car a few minutes.
Her dark hair was coming loose from its braid and for a few moments his eyes fixated on her long dark lashes. How had he not really noticed them before?
The car behind him beeped and he moved the Aston Martin quickly through the traffic, letting some quiet music play in the background as they drove.
Esther remained fast asleep. He could still see the edge of some of the rash at the bottom of her neck. The steroids should have kicked in a few hours before. Her reaction had obviously been a bit more serious than any one of them had realised.
By the time he’d pulled into the parking for his town house, his initial confidence had waned a little. He switched off the engine and walked around to her side of the car. The lift in the converted basement could take him right up to the top floor of the town house, where the bedrooms were.
He opened the door, and paused again to see if she would wake. Nothing. ‘Esther,’ he said gently. ‘I’m just going to pick you up.’
She murmured something in reply. It didn’t sound like a no, so he slid his arms under her and picked her up, grabbing her bag and closing the car door with his hip.
The lift took them upstairs in seconds and he flicked on a light with his elbow, and walked down the corridor towards one of the empty bedrooms in his house.
They were all beautifully decorated, fresh and light. He laid her down on top of one of the beds, then slid off her shoes. He didn’t want her to panic if she woke up, so when he closed the heavy curtains, he turned the bedside light on, setting it to dim.
The en suite bathroom was stocked with supplies. She could find anything she might need in here. Her jacket pocket jangled as he slid it from her shoulders. Of course. Her new antibiotics. He couldn’t let her go without them.
He sat the antibiotics on the table and saw that Rob had added in a couple of extra antihistamines. Harry grabbed her a glass of water from the bathroom and sat out the pills she needed to take.
He spoke as gently as he could. ‘Esther, you need to take your antibiotics, and another antihistamine. You still have a bit of a reaction going on. Can you take these for me?’ He pressed them into one hand and held the glass in his other.
Something must have clicked in her brain. She didn’t open her eyes, but put the tablets in her mouth. Harry closed her hand around the glass of water and her body acted automatically, lifting the glass to her mouth and swallowing. The second it was done she hunkered back down into the bed, lying on her side.
Harry pulled a pale yellow blanket up from the bottom of the bed. She wasn’t actually under the duvet, as putting her there seemed intrusive, so he refilled her glass of water and tucked the blanket around her.
At the last moment, he scribbled a note on the pad next to her bed before he walked out and closed the door.
He’d check on her again in a few hours.
He smiled, remembering words he’d heard her say to someone else earlier that day. Something about having their head in their hands to play with if they didn’t do what they were told.
It seemed highly likely that tomorrow that person would be him.
But Harry wasn’t scared. In fact, he liked it.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE HADN’T FELT this rested and comfortable in a long time. There was the warmest feeling around her, almost as if she were sleeping in some kind of luxury cocoon.
She sniffed. And that little action woke her up. A slight hint of lemon. Her flat did not smell of lemon. No matter how many air fresheners she bought. Her flat always had an underlying odour of damp.
She sat bolt upright, eyes widening at the pale yellow walls, unfamiliar furniture and the space in the room. She felt like Dorothy, waking up in a place that certainly wasn’t Kansas.
There. At the bottom of the bed was a tray, with a large teapot, a slight trail of steam coming from the spout. A china cup and saucer sat next to it, along with a milk jug and small plate containing slices of lemon. That’s where the smell was coming from.
Her mouth felt yucky. And she swung her legs off the bed as she tried to make sense of things in her head. She should be shouting. She should be screaming. But she had the oddest sensation of not being gripped by panic. It was just as if her brain was playing catch up.
There, sitting on the bedside table, was her bottle of antibiotics along with a glass of water. She took one automatically and walked through to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror wasn’t pleasant. But the accessories sitting around the white sink and vanity unit were strangely welcoming.
Her head was starting to unfog. The shift last night in A&E. How busy it was. She unconsciously scratched at her skin. She walked back and picked up the antibiotics again. Of course. These were new.
She patted herself. She still had on all her clothes. The only things removed were her jacket and her shoes, and even from here she could see these sitting clearly on a high-backed chair in the room.
Realisation struck. Harry. She’d agreed to go home with Harry. They’d got in the car together but she had absolutely no memory at all of getting here. She let out a groan. She’d fallen asleep, hadn’t she?
Heat rushed into her cheeks. He must have carried her up the stairs. Just how strong was Duke Harry?
She licked her lips and poured herself some tea. She wasn’t exactly in a rush to go and find him. One glance at her watch showed her how early it was. She had time to shower, and use some of the products in the bathroom to tidy herself up. She walked over to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes.
Wow. Her fingers caught on the obviously expensive material. She ran her fingers over it a few times before hauling the curtains backwards. The road outside was peaceful; she peered downwards through the checker-paned windows at the luxury cars parked in the street outside. The house seemed to be in some kind of square. She gave a shudder, not even wanting to take a guess at what a place like this cost.
She sipped at the tea, and turned on the shower, slipping out of her clothes and putting on the cosy white dressing gown that was hanging handily behind the bathroom door. With her hair tied up on top of her head it only took a few moments for her to start waking up once she’d stepped in the steaming hot shower. Once she’d scrubbed herself dry and used the rose-scented toiletries she felt a little better. The ugly rash from last night had all but vanished. She brushed her teeth and walked back through to pull her clothes back on. But something made her hesitate. Pulling on yesterday’s clothes seemed a little unpleasant. Her hand hovered next to the door. The guy had carried her upstairs and put her to bed. Would it really be so wrong to ask for a T-shirt?
As soon as she opened the door she could smell food cooking.
Her feet took her down a plush-carpeted corridor, a small set of stairs and into a white shiny kitchen. The kind normally found in a new show home that looked untouched.
Harry was in the middle of this kitchen with fresh toast, and mixing up some scrambled eggs. ‘Oh, Esther, are you okay? How are you feeling?’
She moved over towards the island in the kitchen, perching on one of the stools as she watched him cook. He seemed pretty relaxed. He obviously didn’t feel awkward about last night and she was thankful. This could have been a really uncomfortable morning.
She leaned her head on one hand. ‘I’m sorry. I must have zonked out on you last night.’
He gave her a wary glance as he tipped the scrambled eggs onto two plates. ‘That’s okay. How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Okay, I think. I don’t have the intense itch that I remember from last night. But there is something else.’
‘Yeah? What?’ His eyebrows rose as he looked at her quizzically.
She smiled. ‘I’m just waiting to see if you’re going to sue me for back injuries.’
He laughed and pushed the toast across the counter towards her. ‘Here. Eat up. You must be starving.’
She nodded in agreement
. ‘Yip. I am. I missed out on the beans I was going home to last night.’ She buttered her toast and took a spoonful of scrambled eggs. ‘Wow. You can actually cook.’
He sat down opposite her and picked up a cafetière of coffee. ‘Want some of this?’
She nodded as he poured. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
‘I am?’ He fixed his dark eyes on her. It was clear he’d not long showered. The tips of his ruffled hair were still damp. When he smiled he had little crinkles around his eyes. Ones that were still there when he stopped. Obviously Harry usually smiled a lot, just not generally around her.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘You are.’
Something flashed into her brain. Something she’d told him last night. She automatically straightened in her seat. ‘You felt sorry for me.’
He looked up from stirring his coffee. ‘What?’
‘Last night. I told you something I shouldn’t have. You felt sorry for me.’ She wanted to stand up and walk away. Every cell of her body was in defence mode right now.
His spoon paused just as he went to set it down. ‘I didn’t do this because I felt sorry for you, Esther. I did it because you were a colleague, and I was worried about you. You were clearly—’ his lips turned into a smile ‘—knackered. And you’d had a reaction to your antibiotic. I was just looking out for you. Not—’ he shook his head ‘—feeling sorry for you.’
She couldn’t help but smile back at his use of one of her frequently used words.
She wriggled her shoulders a bit—almost as if she were trying to shake off some of her anxieties.
‘How’s your rash?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, so we’re getting personal now?’
He wrinkled his nose in amusement. ‘Well, I’ve seen part of your body now anyway. Is it gone?’
Cinderella and the Surgeon Page 7
