Unwrapping Her Italian Doc

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Rory said, and, not thinking, he put his arm around her and they headed out, followed by the very disapproving eyes of Anton.

  Rory dropped her home and, though tired, Louise couldn’t sleep. She looked at the crib, still wrapped in Cellophane, that she had hidden in her room, in case Emily dropped round. It was a present Louise had bought. It was stunning and better still it had been on sale. Louise had chosen not to say anything to Emily, knowing how superstitious first-time mums were about not getting anything in advance.

  Emily had already been through an appendectomy at six weeks’ gestation, as well as marrying Hugh and sorting out stuff with her difficult family. She was due to finish working in the New Year and finally relax and enjoy the last few weeks of pregnancy.

  Louise lay there fretting, trying to tell herself that this time she was wrong.

  It was very hard to understand let alone explain it but Emily had had that look that Louise knew too well.

  Please, no!

  It really was too soon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ANTON WAS RARELY uncomfortable with women.

  Even the most beautiful ones.

  He and Saffarella went back a long way, in a very loose way. They had met through his sister a couple of years ago and saw each other now and then. He had known that she would be in London over Christmas and Saffarella had, in fact, been the date he had planned to take to the maternity Christmas evening.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Saffarella frowned, because she clearly thought they were going back to his apartment but instead they had turned the opposite way.

  ‘I thought I might take you back to the hotel,’ Anton said.

  ‘And are you coming in?’ Saffarella asked, and gave a slightly derisive snort at Anton’s lack of response. ‘I guess that means, no, you’re not.’

  ‘It’s been a long day …’ Anton attempted, but Saffarella knew very well the terms of their friendship and it was this part of the night that she had been most looking forward to and she argued her case in loud Italian.

  ‘Don’t give me that, Anton. Since when have you ever been too tired? I saw you looking at that blonde tart …’

  ‘Hey!’ Anton warned, but his instant defence of Louise, combined with the fact that they both knew just who he was referring to, confirmed that Anton’s mind had been elsewhere tonight. Saffarella chose to twist the knife as they pulled into the hotel. ‘I doubt that she’s being dropped off home by that Rory. They couldn’t even wait for the night to finish to get out of the place.’ When the doorman opened the door for her Saffarella got out of the car. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ She didn’t wait for the doorman, instead slamming the door closed.

  Anton copped it because he knew that he deserved it.

  His intention had never been to use Saffarella, they were actually good together. Or had been. Occasionally.

  Anton had never, till now, properly considered just how attracted he really was to Louise. Oh, she was the reason he had called Saffarella and asked if she was free tonight, and Saffarella had certainly used him in the same way at times.

  But it wasn’t just the ache of his physical attraction to Louise that was the problem. He liked her. A lot. He liked her humour, her flirting, the way she just openly declared whatever was on her mind, not that he’d ever tell her that.

  But knowing she was on with Rory, knowing he had taken her home, meant that Anton just wanted to be alone tonight to sulk.

  It’s your own fault, Anton, he said to himself as he drove home.

  He should have asked Louise out months ago but then he reminded himself of the reason he hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t be getting involved with anyone from work ever again.

  Approaching four years ago, Christmas Day had suddenly turned into a living nightmare. Telling parents on Christmas Day that their newborn baby was going to die was hell at the best of times.

  But at the worst of times, telling parents, while knowing that the death could have been avoided, was a hell which Anton could not yet escape from and he returned to the nightmare time and again.

  The shouts and the accusations from Alberto’s father, Anton could still hear some nights before going to sleep.

  The coroner’s report had pointed to a string of communication errors but found that it had been no one person’s fault in particular. Anton could recite it off by heart, because he had gone over and over and over it, trying to see what he could have done differently.

  But the year in the between the death and the coroner’s report had been one Anton could rarely stand to recall.

  He took his foot off the brake as he realised he was speeding and pulled over for a moment because he could not safely think about that time and drive.

  His relationship hadn’t survived either. Dahnya, his girlfriend at the time, had been one of the midwives on duty that Christmas morning and when she hadn’t called him, the continual excuses she had made instead of accepting her part in the matter, had proved far too much for them.

  Friends and colleagues had all been injected with the poison of gossip. Everyone had raced to cover their backs by stabbing others in theirs and the once close, supportive unit he had been a part of had turned into a war zone.

  Anton had been angry too.

  Furious.

  He had raged when he had seen that information had not been passed on to him. Information that would have meant he would have come to see and then got the labouring mother into Theatre far sooner than he had.

  The magic had gone from obstetrics and even before the coroner’s findings had been in, Anton had moved into reproductive endocrinology, immersing himself in it, honing his skills, concentrating on the maths and conundrum of infertility. It had absorbed him and he had enjoyed it, especially the good times—when a woman who had thought she never would get pregnant finally did, and yet more and more he had missed obstetrics.

  To go back to it, Anton had known he would need a completely fresh start, for he no longer trusted his old colleagues. He had come to London and really had done his best to put things behind him.

  It was not so easy, though, and he was aware that he tended to take over. He sat there and thought about his first emergency Caesarean at The Royal. Louise just so brisk and efficient and completely in sync with him as they’d fought to get the deteriorating baby out.

  He had slept more easily that night.

  That hurdle he had passed and perhaps things would have got better. Perhaps he might have started to hand over the reins to skilled hands a touch further had Gina not rear-ended him in the hospital car park.

  Anton had got out, taken one look at her, parked her car, pocketed the keys and then driven her home.

  Twenty minutes later he’d reported her to the chief of Anaesthetics and Anton had been hyper-vigilant ever since then.

  Anton looked down the street at the Christmas lights but they offered no reprieve; instead, they made it worse. He loathed Christmas. Alberto, the baby, had missed out on far too many.

  Yep, Anton reminded himself as he drove home and then walked into his apartment, which had not a single shred of tinsel or a decoration on display, there was a very good reason not to get involved with Louise or anyone at work.

  He took out his work phone and called the ward to check on a couple of patients, glad to hear that all was quiet tonight.

  Anton poured a drink and pulled out his other phone, read an angry text from Saffarella, telling him he should find someone else for the maternity night out, followed by a few insults that Anton knew she expected a response to.

  He was too tired for a row and too disengaged for an exchange of texts that might end up in bed.

  Instead, he picked up his work phone and scrolled through some texts. All the staff knew they could contact him and with texting often it was easy just to send some obs through or say you were on your way.

  He scrolled through and looked at a couple of Louise’s messages.

  BP 140/60—and yes,
Santa, before you ask, I’ve read your list and I’ve checked it twice—it’s still 140/60. From your little helper

  He’d had no idea what that little gem had meant until he’d been in a department store, with annoying music grating in his ears, and a song had come on and he’d burst out laughing there and then.

  He had realised then how lame his response at the time had been.

  Call me if it goes up again.

  Her response:

  Bah, humbug!

  Followed by another text.

  Yes, Anton, I do know.

  He must, Anton thought, find out what ‘bah, humbug’ meant.

  Then he read another text from a couple of months ago that made him smile. But not at her humour, more at how spot-on she had been.

  I know it is your weekend off, sorry, but you did say to text with any concerns with any of your patients. Can you happen to be passing by?

  Anton had happened to be passing by half an hour later and had found Louise sitting on the bed, chatting with the usually sombre Mrs Calini, who was in an unusually elated mood.

  ‘Oh, here’s Anton.’ Louise had beamed as he had stopped by the bed for a chat.

  ‘Anton!’ Mrs Calini had started talking in rapid Italian, saying how gorgeous her baby was, just how very, very beautiful he was. Yes, there was nothing specific but Anton had been on this journey with his patient and Louise was right, this was most irregular.

  Twelve hours and a lot of investigations later, Mrs Calini had moved from elation to paranoia—loudly declaring that all the other mothers were jealous and likely to steal her beautiful baby. She had been taken up to the psych ward and her infant had remained on Maternity.

  Two weeks later the baby had been reunited with Mrs Calini on the psychiatric mother and baby unit and just a month ago they had gone home well.

  Anton looked up ‘bah, humbug’ and soon found out she wasn’t talking about odd-looking black and white mints when she used that term.

  He read a little bit about Scrooge and how he despised Christmas and started to smile.

  Oh, Louise.

  God, but he was tempted to text her now, by accident, of course. In his contacts Louise was there next to ‘Labour Ward’ after all.

  He loathed that she was with Rory but, then again, she had every right to be happy. He’d had his chances over the months and had declined them. So Anton decided against an accidental text to Louise, surprised that he had even considered sending one.

  He wasn’t usually into games.

  He just didn’t like that the games had now ended with Louise.

  Louise checked her phone the second she awoke, just in case Emily had called or texted her and she’d missed it, but, no, there was nothing.

  It had been a very restless night’s sleep and it wasn’t even five. Louise lay in the dark, wishing she could go back to sleep while knowing it was hopeless.

  Instead, she got up and made a big mug of tea and took that back to bed.

  Bloody Anton, Louise thought, a little embarrassed at her blatant flirting when she now knew he had the stunning Saffarella to go home to.

  Had it all been one-sided?

  Louise didn’t think so but she gave up torturing herself with it. Anton had always been unavailable to her, even if just emotionally.

  After a quick shower Louise blasted her hair with the hairdryer, and as a public service to everyone put some rouge on very pale cheeks then wiped it off because it made her look like a clown.

  She took her vitamins and iron and then decided to cheer herself up by wearing the best underwear in the world to work today. She had been saving it for the maternity Christmas party but instead she decided to debut it today. It was from the Mistletoe range, the lace dotted with leaves of green and embroidered silk cream berries topped with a pretty red bow—and that was just the panties. The bra was empress line and almost gave her a cleavage, and she loved the little red bow in the middle.

  It was far too glamorous for work but, then, Louise’s underwear was always far too glamorous for work.

  Instead of having another cup of tea and watching the news, Louise decided to simply go in early and hopefully put her mind at rest by not finding Emily there.

  She lived close enough to walk to work. It was very cold so she draped on scarves and walked through the dark and damp morning. It was lovely to step into the maternity unit, which was always nice and warm.

  There was Anton sitting sulking at the desk, writing up notes amidst the Naughty Baby Club—comprising all the little ones that had been brought up to the desk to hopefully give their mothers a couple of hours’ sleep.

  Louise read through the admission board, checking for Emily’s name and letting out a breath of relief when she saw that it wasn’t there.

  ‘How come you’re in early?’ she asked Anton, wondering if he was waiting for Emily.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Anton said, ‘so I thought I’d catch up on some notes.’

  They were both sulking, both jealous that the other had had a better night than they’d had.

  ‘I’m going to make some tea,’ Louise said. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘Please.’ Anton nodded.

  ‘Evie?’ Louise asked, and got a shake of the head from the night nurse. ‘Tara?’

  ‘No, thanks, we’ve just had one.’

  Louise changed into her scrubs then headed to the kitchen and made herself a nice one, and this time Anton got a hospital teabag.

  He knew he was in her bad books with one sip of his tea.

  Well, she was in his bad books too.

  ‘You and Rory left very suddenly,’ Anton commented. ‘I didn’t realise that the two of you …’

  ‘We’re not on together,’ Louise said. ‘Well, we were three years ago but we broke up after a few weeks. We’re just good friends now.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Rory took me home early last night because I’m worried about Emily,’ Louise admitted. She was too concerned about her friend to play games. ‘She hasn’t called you, has she? You’re not here, waiting for her to come in?’

  ‘No.’ Anton frowned. ‘Why are you worried? She seemed fine last night.’

  ‘She was at first but then she was suddenly tired and went home. Rory said that she’d had a big day at work but …’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘She snapped at me and she had that look,’ Louise said. ‘You know the one …’

  ‘Yep,’ Anton said, because, unlike Rory, he did know what Louise meant and he took her concerns about Emily seriously.

  ‘How many weeks is she now?’

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ Louise said.

  ‘And how many days …?’ Anton asked, pulling Emily’s notes up on his computer. ‘No, she’s twenty-eight weeks today.’ Anton read through his notes. ‘I saw her last week and all was fine. The pregnancy has progressed normally, just the appendectomy at six weeks.’

  ‘Could that cause problems now?’ Louise asked.

  ‘I would have expected any problems from surgery to surface much earlier than this,’ Anton said, and he gave Louise a thin smile. ‘Maybe she was just tired …’

  ‘I’ll ring Theatre later and find out what shift she’s on,’ Louise said. ‘In fact, I’ll do it now.’

  She got put through and was told that Emily was on a late shift today.

  ‘Maybe I am just worrying about nothing,’ Louise said.

  ‘Let us hope so.’

  A baby was waking up and Tara, a night nurse, was just dashing off to do the morning obs.

  ‘I’ll get him.’

  Louise picked up the little one and snuggled him in. ‘God, I love that smell,’ Louise said, inhaling the scent of the baby’s hair, then she looked over at Anton.

  ‘Did Saffron have a good night?’

  She watched his lips move into a wry smile.

  ‘Not really,’ Anton said, and then added, ‘And her name is Saffarella.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Louise said. ‘I got mixed up. S
affron’s the one you put in your rice to make it go yellow, isn’t it?’ Louise corrected herself. ‘Expensive stuff, costs a fortune and you only get a tiny—’

  ‘Louise,’ Anton warned, ‘I don’t know quite where you’re going there but, please, don’t be a bitch.’

  ‘I can’t help myself, Anton,’ Louise swiftly retorted. ‘If you get off with another woman in front of me then you’ll see my bitchy side.’

  Anton actually grinned; she was so open that she fancied him, so relentless, so aaagggh, he thought as he sat there.

  ‘I didn’t get off, as you say, with Saffarella. We danced.’

  ‘Please,’ Louise scoffed.

  Maybe he wanted to share the relief he had felt when he had just heard that she and Rory were only friends but, for whatever reason, he put her out of her misery too.

  ‘I took Saffarella back to the hotel she is staying at last night.’

  He gave her an inch and, yep, Louise took a mile.

  ‘Really!’ Louise gave a delighted grin and covered the baby’s ears. ‘So you didn’t—’

  ‘Louise!’

  ‘The baby can’t hear, I’ve covered his ears. So you and she didn’t …?’

  ‘No, we didn’t.’

  ‘Did she sulk?’ Louise asked with glee, and he grimaced a touch at the memory of the car door slamming.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, poor Saffron, I mean Saffarella—now that I know you and she didn’t do anything, I can like her.’

  They both smiled, though it was with a touch of regret because last night could have been such a nicer night.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Tara said, coming over and looking at the baby. ‘He’s asleep now, Louise. You can put him back in his isolette.’

  ‘But I don’t want to,’ Louise said, looking down at the sleeping baby. He was all curled up in her arms, his knees were up and his ankles crossed as if he were still in the womb. His little feet were poking out of the baby blanket and Louise was stroking them.

  ‘They’re like kittens’ paws,’ Louise said, watching his teeny toes curl.

  ‘You are so seriously clucky,’ Tara said.

  ‘Oh, I’m more than clucky,’ Louise admitted. ‘I keep going over to the nativity scene just to pick up Baby Jesus. I have to have one.’