The Sheikh Surgeon's Baby

by Meredith Webber

  She paused, then added, ‘I was terrified.’

  So the shadow was fear, but why?

  And surely terror was something of an over-reaction!

  She’d bowed her head, as if his scrutiny after such an admission was too much for her to bear.

  But how could he not pursue it?

  ‘Terrified?’

  For a moment he thought his query would be ignored, but eventually she raised her head, and tried on a smile so pathetic it wrung his heart.

  ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I can operate on newborn babies without a twinge of fear.’

  And now he understood—or thought he did—he sat down beside her and took her hand.

  ‘You were frightened the baby might have something wrong with it? A congenital defect? That’s not surprising, Melissa, considering your work.’

  But she shook her head, and withdrew her hand from his, standing up, putting distance between them, pacing around the three trees she’d derided earlier.

  ‘I was terrified about the pregnancy.’

  She paused, as if startled by her own honesty, then rushed into qualifying statements, that to Arun’s ears rang true yet not entirely true at the same time.

  ‘What did I, brought up by a strict but fair and very proper grandmother, know about bringing up a child? Then there were the problems of single motherhood, not to mention juggling work and a baby. It all seemed to crash down on me until I couldn’t think at all. So I didn’t! I blotted it from my mind—pretended it wasn’t happening, told no one, not even Jenny—thinking that once I’d calmed down I’d be able to break it down like any other task into doable-sized pieces and work out all the answers.’

  She sighed then sat down again.

  ‘That didn’t happen. Even now, when I try to think about it, my mind goes blank—or turns to mush! I know this is a stupid reaction, Arun, and I’m only telling you because it might help you understand why I didn’t contact you about the pregnancy earlier. Oh, I had all kinds of other excuses—I might lose the baby; you hadn’t wanted a child, or any kind of commitment, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t know—but the truth is I tried to pretend to myself it wasn’t happening, and if I didn’t talk about it, the pretence was easier.’

  He could feel her tension, the trembling in her body, and knew what she said she felt was real—stripped bare of any pretence—although he sensed there was a lot more left unsaid.

  And was it that—the fact she was holding something back—that stifled any sympathy for her? That fed his anger?

  ‘If that was how you felt, why didn’t you terminate the pregnancy?’ The words were harsh, doing nothing to hide his anger or his simmering suspicion.

  She swung towards him, disbelief in her face.

  ‘Why didn’t I what?’ she demanded, steeling herself and meeting his anger with her own.

  ‘Terminate the pregnancy,’ he repeated, each word as cold and hard as a chip of ice.

  ‘How could I when I save children’s lives? That’s my life, it’s what I do! I’m not against abortion and I can understand, in a lot of circumstances, choosing to go that way, but me? How could I?’

  She was so genuinely shocked he felt his anger drain away, leaving a huge void within his emotions. Understanding might have filled it, pity even, but he knew he couldn’t afford either. Not until he’d thought this through.

  Not until he’d actually accepted the fact that this woman was carrying his child…

  ‘We should go back,’ he said, standing up and moving towards his horse.

  ‘That’s all you have to say?’

  He swung back to face her.

  ‘You’ve just told me you still can’t fully believe it after four months and you expect me to have some thoughts on this situation after five minutes?’

  ‘This situation!’ She echoed the words so faintly he knew he’d hurt her as badly as the slashing of a knife would have hurt her flesh. Then she straightened her shoulders, and tilted her chin—the strong woman he’d known back in control.

  ‘No, of course not. That was stupid of me,’ she said. ‘We’ll go back.’

  She walked across to where Mershinga waited patiently, unknotted the reins and mounted the quiet mare, the grace of her movements telling Arun how at ease she was on horseback.

  And was he thinking that so he didn’t have to think about her shocking revelation?

  Probably!

  He mounted Saracen and eased the big stallion alongside the mare.

  ‘Boston?’

  The quick glance she shot his way told him she’d understood the question. In fact, she half smiled in response, her shoulders lifting in a dismissive shrug.

  ‘I did have enough functioning brain cells to realise that was impossible. As soon as I knew, I contacted the team leader to tell him I couldn’t take the job. Junior members of the team are on retrieval duty and could be called out at any time of the day or night, flying anywhere in the United States to collect a donor heart. Not exactly the ideal situation for a single mother.’

  ‘You could have hired a nanny. Surely you’d have to do that anyway, if you intend to keep on working.’

  Was he still thinking she was after money? Mel wondered as the cool, unemotional remark reverberated through her head.

  She tried for cool and unemotional herself.

  ‘I do intend to keep on working—somehow, some time. I have to work, not just for my own personal satisfaction but because I’m good at what I do—very good—and to me it would be criminal to not continue, considering all the time and effort other people have put in to get me to this standard. How I’ll juggle things I’m not quite sure, but at least, now that I’ve turned down the Boston job, I have some time to consider options.’

  ‘You’re not working at the moment? Not at all?’

  Mel breathed deeply, though she was barely aware of the desert air. It was more a relieved kind of deep breath. Talking work was so much easier than talking babies.

  ‘I’d resigned, knowing I was going. Lately, I’ve been doing on-call work—filling in for colleagues taking leave—making up an extra pair of hands when a team is short. The hospital where I’d been working wants me back, but…’

  How to explain that she couldn’t commit to full-time work right now? How to explain her determination that the child she carried would have a loving, at-home mother, not a part-time carer or a nanny, at least for the first months of its life?

  How to explain anything when thinking that far ahead brought on the insane, irrational terror, so strongly felt it verged on a panic attack?

  CHAPTER THREE

  ARUN tried not to glance towards her as they rode back to the compound, but his gaze drifted sideways, seeking a change of body shape beneath the loose tunic top Melissa wore.

  Nothing!

  Which was hardly surprising.

  What was surprising was his need to see the shape—his need for confirmation—as if only by seeing a slight swell in her belly could he really believe this was true.

  He was intelligent to know this was his mind’s way of putting off the moment when it had to consider exactly what this pregnancy meant to him, and for his mind and emotions to adjust to the fact that this woman was carrying his child.

  If he could hold onto his anger—justified, surely, by her failure to tell him—it might help, but the anger was already fading, giving way to a kind of free-floating confusion, a state of mind foreign to him in recent years.

  And if he was confused, how must Melissa feel—the career-woman with the huge prize of a job in a top paediatric surgical team suddenly snatched away from her?

  Although it needn’t have been…

  She could have terminated the pregnancy and no one would have been any the wiser…

  The conjecture made him realise just how little he knew of her, having seen only the strong, confident, independent and undeniably sexy woman who’d won applause for her presentation at the symposium, and been spoken of as one of the up-and-coming paediatric
surgeons on the world stage.

  They’d reached the compound and he held Saracen back to allow the mare to enter first, watching the way Melissa sat the horse, seeing the straight back and the erect carriage of her head. She may have shown weakness when she’d told him of the baby, but he sensed she was once again in control of her emotions.

  Well in control, judging from the way she dismounted then turned, looking up at him.

  ‘I won’t say anything to Jenny just yet,’ she said. ‘It’s taken me eight weeks to get as far as I have in considering this, I can at least give you a couple of days to decide what, if anything, you want to do.’

  ‘What, if anything, I want to do?’ Arun said. His brain must be floating more freely than he’d realised for the words made no sense whatsoever.

  ‘I’m quite prepared to raise the child myself,’ Melissa added, and he wondered if she could see the confusion in his voice mirrored in his eyes, for she continued, speaking quietly, ‘I know things have changed for you since we met, and that you’ve been making plans for marriage. I don’t want to interfere with that in any way. There’s no need for you to have any involvement with this child if that’s the way you want it. I’m not asking for support, either physical or financial, Arun, I just knew you had to know.’

  ‘Knew I had to know? Not have any involvement?’

  New anger raised his voice, and the sound brought a couple of lads running from the stables.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ Melissa said. ‘Somewhere private. When you’re ready.’

  But would he ever be ready? he wondered as he dismounted.

  Of course he would. He just had to think it through.

  And get to work—he was already late.

  And organise the setting up of the new unit at the hospital while Melissa was still in Zaheer to advise him.

  And get through the family celebrations this evening, then Kam’s wedding tomorrow.

  A piece of cake—wasn’t that the saying?

  Melissa was watching him, as if waiting for a reply, but he had no words for her—not right now.

  ‘I’ll go back to the house,’ she said at last. ‘Jenny will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  She had turned to go when a woman came running towards the stables, calling his name.

  ‘Your sister, sir. They said come quickly. The baby—’

  The baby? Coincidence or fate that babies were dominating the morning?

  ‘Problems?’ Melissa queried as he hesitated, trying to switch his thoughts from one baby to another. ‘Is she pregnant?’

  ‘Due next month,’ Arun replied, his mind now firmly on his sister as he followed the messenger back towards the women’s house.

  Melissa strode beside him so he explained.

  ‘I’ve been keeping a special eye on her. The foetal heartbeat has been strange. Probably more your field than mine. And, of course, in the way of sisters, she believes more of what her gynaecologist tells her than her brother. And, being a male, I’ve not been allowed to listen to it except through her voluminous gowns so I could be wrong.’

  He was hurrying, but Melissa was keeping up with him, and part of him was glad, although he hoped with all his heart there was nothing wrong with Tia’s baby—hoped that having Melissa present at the birth would prove nothing more than an unnecessary distraction.

  But he wanted her there—he knew that!

  Mel followed him back to a house beside the one she’d spent the night in—Jenny’s house, although it was hard to think of it that way. This one seemed even larger, and as she slipped off her shoes she smiled to see such a variety of footwear lined up there, from tiny child-sized sandals to designer scuffs. Was this the women’s house that so many people were inside?

  She followed Arun in, awed by how palatial it was. Built from the same sandstone blocks as Jenny’s, with most of the outer stones ornately carved into open fretwork so air and light came through, the rooms themselves were beautiful in their simplicity. But the rich rugs scattered on the floors, the satin and velvet cushions thrown around, the vibrant hangings on the walls depicting vivid hunting and battle scenes—they all contributed to an overall impression of exotic magnificence.

  ‘Oh, Arun, the baby’s coming, it’s early and the doctor isn’t here. What will we do?’

  Arun put his arm around the small, agitated woman who’d approached him, her hands held pleadingly in front of her. He spoke to her, soothing words Mel didn’t understand, then added in English, ‘Have you called Jenny?’

  ‘She’s with Tia now. And Jenny’s mother, who says she has delivered more babies than she can count and we are not to worry, but how can I not worry about my daughter’s first baby?’

  ‘Of course you’re entitled to worry,’ he said gently, then spoke again in his own language.

  ‘And this is Melissa,’ he added, switching to English. ‘Jenny’s friend and a baby doctor. Shall I take her in?’

  ‘Melissa, I am Miriam, Arun’s aunt. It is my daughter Tia who is having the baby.’ The woman held out a small bejewelled hand and Mel shook it gently, fearing she might break such a delicate structure.

  ‘It is bad this has happened to disrupt your first day in our country,’ she continued, leading the way through the huge room then down a corridor to the right. ‘But so many doctors here for my daughter must be a good thing, mustn’t it? Although, of course, Kam is away and Mr Dr Stapleton has not been involved. But still four, if she allows Arun in, that is.’

  Her chatter failed to hide her anxiety, and Mel understood the fear Miriam must be feeling for her daughter.

  Understood it only too well. She steeled herself against her own misgivings, reminding herself of all the births she’d witnessed, the babies she’d delivered before specialising. So few women died in childbirth these days, her fear was laughable.

  But laughter was a long way off…

  Needing a distraction, a focus for her attention, she turned to Miriam.

  ‘Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?’ she asked. ‘Or do you know?’

  ‘We know it is a boy and this is a wonderful thing.’ The awe in the words told Mel this was important, a fact reinforced when Miriam continued, taking Arun’s hand and looking up into his face.

  ‘Strange, isn’t it, my Arun, that after all the years I tried to have a son and failed, and my other daughters have all had girls, yet Tia’s first should be a boy.’

  They entered a room large enough to be a village hall, filled, it seemed to Mel, with swathed and twittering women. One said something and they all turned, some drawing their veils close around their heads at the sight of Arun, while others wore Western apparel of jeans and T-shirts and greeted him with easy familiarity.

  ‘I had a lot of girls,’ Miriam said, slightly apologetically. ‘Although, of course, not all of the women in here are my children.’

  But Mel’s eyes had already picked out Jen and her mother, both bent over a woman crouched in a corner of the room. Arun went directly to the corner to comfort his sister—or if her mother was his aunt maybe Mel had got the relationship wrong and the woman was his cousin. Whatever the relationship was, the young—very young—woman was obviously glad to see him, grasping his hand and bursting into tears.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she begged, her American-accented English suggesting she’d been sent to school in the US rather than England.

  Mel slipped past the pair, virtually unnoticed, and touched Jenny on the shoulder.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.

  Jen nodded but looked so grave Mel guessed things were far from good.

  ‘Mel, I’m so glad you’re here. The delivery is going all right—the head’s crowned and she’s ready to push—but I can’t hear a foetal heartbeat. Your speciality may be paediatric surgery but at least you’ve got the paeds qualifications.’

  Jane was kneeling beside the crouching woman, her hands ready to take the baby’s head as soon as it was delivered, while Jen and Arun between them supported Tia as she stra
ined to ease her baby into the world.

  Melissa went to a table to one side of the action, where a jug of water and a basin had been provided for hand-washing. She used a liquid soap and wondered if germs would be the least of this new baby’s worries. If Jen couldn’t hear a heartbeat…

  She was tipping water into the basin to rinse her hands when Tia screamed, and although Mel knew this was natural—few women gave birth silently—her heart rate accelerated and fear for the young woman made her hands shake.

  Fortunately for her state of mind, the baby arrived in the next instant. Her own pregnancy was forgotten as the little boy was delivered, shown to his mother then, with the umbilical cord cut, he was swaddled in a soft cloth and Jen carried him to a side table, leaving her mother to manage the final stage of birth but signalling with her head for Mel to come closer.

  ‘He’s breathing but he’s not a very satisfactory pink,’ Jenny murmured to Mel, ‘and his heartbeat…’

  Melissa took over the examination. Many years ago a woman doctor called Virginia Apgar had worked out a scoring system for newborns and her system was still in use today. One minute after birth the infant was checked for heart rate, respiratory effort, muscle tone, response to stimuli and colour and given a score of zero, one or two for each check. The numbers were then added together. At one minute the score could still be low, but if it was still low after five minutes, the baby needed serious support.

  ‘I’ll suction him to make sure his trachea is clear, but he needs oxygen. Was the birth to be here or at a hospital? Would there be oxygen available here?’ Jen shrugged and Mel turned towards Arun, who had helped his sister to her bed and was presumably explaining that all babies had to be examined after birth.

  He caught her glance and left Tia with Miriam, who had followed them into the room.

  ‘He needs oxygen—is there any on hand?’ Mel asked, and was dismayed when Arun shook his head.

  ‘Then an ambulance asap,’ she added. ‘We need to get him to hospital. His breathing’s laboured, his heart’s tachycardic, his Apgar is appalling—two at a minute and from the colour of his hands and feet it’s not going to be much better at five minutes.’