‘Going home with him for the weekend. It’s his mother’s sixtieth birthday party and there’s a ball.’
‘Good God,’ Amy said weakly, and stared at her open-mouthed.
‘What?’
‘What? What? You stun me. You must be the only single woman in Suffolk who wouldn’t kill for an invitation like that.’
She shook her head quickly, resisting the urge to tell Amy that according to Andrew all the single women in Suffolk had already been invited. ‘No. It’s not an invitation like that. It’s strictly no strings.’
Amy laughed till the tears ran down her face. ‘Yeah, right! You’re going home for the weekend with that man and you’re saying it’s no strings? Are you both dead, or what? And what on earth are you going to wear?’
She felt a flicker of unease. ‘I don’t know. Clothes?’ she said helpfully, and the physio rolled her eyes.
‘Dear heaven. You do realise who’ll be there, don’t you? I mean, this isn’t your ordinary, everyday birthday party for a little old lady.’
‘She’s only sixty!’
‘She’s only Lady Ashenden!’ Amy said, imitating her voice, and Libby felt her own jaw drop. She snatched it back up and tried not to hyperventilate.
‘Lady Ashenden—as in, Ashenden Place? The one that’s open to the public? No! No, his name’s not Ashenden, don’t be silly!’
‘No, he’s the Hon. Andrew Langham-Jones, first son of Lord and Lady Ashenden, heir to the Ashenden estate, which as you rightly say is open to the public and only one of the most beautiful country piles in Suffolk—not to mention the family coffers and the flipping title! He’s one of the most eligible bachelors around—good grief, Libby, I can’t believe you didn’t know about him!’
‘Maybe because I don’t gossip?’ she suggested mildly, wondering if she ought to take it up if she was going to accept random invitations from gorgeous men without realising what she was letting herself in for. And of course, if he was the future Lord Ashenden, no wonder all the dowagers were trotting their daughters out! He wasn’t being vain or egotistical at all, he was just being realistic, and she couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid—but Amy could. Oh, yes. And Amy said so. Bluntly.
‘You don’t need to gossip, you just need to be alive! You just—you live in a cocoon, do you know that? You go home every night to your little house and your little cat and you snuggle down in front of the television and you have no idea what’s going on right under your nose! No wonder you’re still single!’
‘I’m happy being single,’ she lied, trying not to think about the lonely nights and the long weekends and the ridiculous farce of speed dating and internet dating and blind dates that she’d given up on ages ago.
‘Rubbish,’ Amy said briskly, and eyed her up and down. ‘So—what are you wearing for this event?’
‘Two events,’ she corrected, wincing inwardly when she thought about it. Lady Ashenden? Oh, rats. ‘A black-tie dinner tomorrow night and a white-tie formal ball the following night.’
Amy’s eyes widened, then narrowed critically as she studied her friend, making Libby feel like an insect skewered on a pin. ‘It’s a pity your boobs are so lush,’ Amy said candidly. ‘I’ve got a fabulous ballgown—that smoky bluey-green one. But you’ll probably fall out of it. Still, you can try it. It’s the only long one I’ve got that’s suitable and it’s cut on the cross so it’ll drape nicely and it’ll be brilliant with your eyes. And you’ve got your classic LBD for tomorrow, haven’t you?’
‘If it doesn’t need cleaning. I expect the cat’s been sleeping on it—joke!’ she added hastily, as Amy opened her mouth to tell her off again. ‘It’ll be fine. I had it cleaned after Christmas. And I’ve got a fairly decent pair of heels that do nice things to my legs.’
‘They don’t need to. You’ve got fabulous legs—well, you did have, the last time you let them out into the fresh air, which was ages ago, but I don’t suppose they’ve changed. What time does your shift finish?’
‘Three, but I’ve got to go home and feed the cat and put the washing on or I won’t have anything at all to wear for the weekend.’
‘Right, I’m off at five, so that gives you two hours and then I want you round at mine and we’ll go through my wardrobe and see what I’ve got, because I know you haven’t got anything unless you’ve got a secret life I don’t know about. I can’t remember the last time you told me about a date, and apart from this dreadful uniform the only other thing I ever see you in is jeans. Never mind, we’ll find something even if I have to send you out shopping tomorrow. Actually, on second thoughts I’ll go shopping. I can’t trust you to buy anything sensible.’
Sensible? Libby nearly laughed out loud. She couldn’t imagine that what Amy had in mind for her was in any way sensible, but she didn’t have many options and she had even less time. ‘I’m sure the bluey-green one will be fine,’ she said with more confidence than she felt. ‘I’ll wear a minimiser bra.’
Amy laughed again as if she’d said something hysterically funny. ‘Yeah, right. Just try the dress first and then we’ll worry about the underwear. OK, I’m done here on the ward, I’m going back down to the gym to do my outpatients’ list, and in between I’ll be thinking about your outfits for the weekend. I might have another dress that would do if that one doesn’t fit. I’ll see you later—and don’t forget to come round. I’ll feed you. Half-five—and not a minute later. And bring your shoes and the LBD. Oh, and your jewellery and some bras.’
‘Yeah, yeah—you are the most atrocious nag.’
‘You’ll love me this weekend when you don’t look silly.’
‘I hope so,’ she muttered under her breath, and tugging her quote, dreadful, unquote uniform straight, she went to find Lucas, a fourteen-year-old who’d nearly lost his foot a week ago after a stupid stunt on his bike had gone horribly wrong. Andrew had realigned all the bones using an external fixator, but the surgery had been complicated, his recovery was going to be slow and Lucas was impatient.
He’d just gone for a walk with his mother, using his crutches, and he’d been gone longer than she liked. It was his first excursion from the ward, the first time he’d been off without supervision from a member of staff; Amy had thought the exercise would do him good, but he’d missed his lunch now and Libby was getting concerned.
She found him in the corridor, propped up on a window sill and looking pale and shaky, and she smiled and perched next to him, wondering where his mother was. Poor woman. She was trying to juggle the family and be there for Lucas, but it wasn’t easy for any of the mothers, and sometimes something had to give.
‘Hi, Lucas. You’ve been gone a while—everything OK?’
The lanky teenager shrugged. ‘S’pose. Mum had to take Kyle to the doctor. My nan rang—he’s sick.’
‘Oh, dear, that’s a shame. Look, your lunch is waiting. Why don’t I fetch a chair and you can ride back to the ward? You’ve probably done enough for the first time.’
‘I can do it myself,’ he insisted, shrugging up off the window sill and wobbling slightly on the crutches. Libby frowned. He had to learn how to use them, but the last thing he needed was to go over and damage the leg again, and he was strictly non-weight-bearing at the moment.
She fell into step beside him. ‘OK, if you’re sure. I’ll walk back with you—it’s a good excuse to have a break, and I could do with some time out. You guys are wearing me down!’
He grinned and took a few steps, but he had to pause again on the way, leaning over on the crutches and getting his breath, and Libby heard a quiet footfall behind her.
‘How’s it going, Lucas?’
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was, and her pulse picked up as she turned to him with a smile. ‘He’s doing really well.’
Andrew grinned at him. ‘Good man.’
Lucas straightened up again, Andrew’s praise having a visible effect on his mood. He was tall—a good head taller than Libby, but for all his youth he could look Andrew in th
e eye already, and he had a way to go before he finished growing.
‘I think this is the first time I’ve seen you standing up—you’re going to be seriously tall, aren’t you?’ Andrew said, eyeing him thoughtfully, and Lucas shrugged.
‘Always was. I’m going to be a basketball player.’ His words tailed off, his face crumpling, but Andrew wouldn’t let it go.
‘Give it time,’ he said softly. ‘You can still do that. Your leg will heal.’
‘Are you sure? ’Cos it doesn’t feel any better yet. It’s gonna take for ever and I feel like about a hundred.’
‘Lucas, it’s only been just over a week,’ he said gently. ‘It’ll take a while, but I’ve fixed all the bones together, and once they’ve all knitted back into place and we can get the hardware off your ankle, you’ll soon be up and running. Just be patient. You’ll get there and you’ll soon get your fitness back.’ He looked around. ‘So where’s Mum today?’
‘At the doctor’s with my brother. He’s got tonsillitis. He gets it all the time.’
‘Poor kid. I used to get tonsillitis. It’s nasty.’
‘Better than smashing your leg up.’
Andrew grinned wryly. ‘Yeah, it probably is.’ His eyes flicked to Libby’s. ‘I’m on my way down to A and E—lad with a classic fib fracture, apparently. I’m probably going to have to take him to Theatre, so you’ll need to find room for him, but I’ll be back up after I’ve seen him to check last night’s admissions. And maybe we can find time for a coffee—I was hoping to get one earlier while we went through the notes together, but we got a little sidetracked,’ he added softly, and she felt colour brush her cheeks.
So that was what he’d wanted. Not to ask her to go away for the weekend at all, but to talk through the notes. So why had he? ‘I’ll make you one when you get back,’ she suggested, but he shook his head.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get them and grab some sandwiches and we can eat while we talk—unless you have plans for lunch?’
She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. ‘No. I hardly ever have time to eat, never mind plan it!’
He tutted. ‘I’ll get some for you, too, then, and I’ll see you in a bit. It looks like you’ve got your hands pretty full with this young man for a minute.’ He turned back to him and gave the boy’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. ‘Chin up, Lucas. You’ll get there.’
And with a smile at him and a slow, lazy wink at Libby, he strode off down the corridor, leaving her wondering how she was going to get through the weekend without melting into a puddle of mush.
‘Right—let’s get you back on the ward,’ she said to Lucas, dragging her thoughts back in line, ‘and you can start planning your return to basketball.’
He set off again, but by the time they got back to the ward he was exhausted, and once back at his bed she brought him his lunch and settled the rest of the boys in his bay down for a rest until the visitors arrived at three.
It took bribery and a little coercion, but finally by one-thirty they were all quiet and she headed back to the office where the endless paperwork was still waiting for her.
The paperwork, and Andrew, with sandwiches and coffee. ‘I was about to start without you. Egg and cress or chicken salad?’
‘Either,’ she said, wondering why her office suddenly seemed so small and airless. Andrew was ripping open the packets, handing her one of each with a raised eyebrow, and she took them with a smile and tried to remember how to breathe. ‘Thanks. So how’s the kid with the fib fracture?’
‘Sore and feeling a bit silly. Apparently the idea was to jump off his trampoline onto his skateboard, only he fell off the edge of the board when he landed.’
‘Idiot! Of course he did! What is it with boys?’
Andrew winced. ‘Don’t. I can’t tell you how many close shaves I had as a child. The kid’s father was funny, though—reminded me of mine. He described it as an ill-conceived idea, poorly executed,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘Oh, dear. So no sympathy from that quarter, then,’ she said, joining in his laughter while she studied the smudges under his eyes and wondered how he kept going.
‘Not much. He’s managed to snap the fibula but it’s a nice clean break and it’ll screw back easily—better than a ligament injury long term anyway. He’ll be up on the ward in a minute, but he’d just had something to eat so I can’t take him to Theatre till later. His name’s Michael Warner,’ he added, sinking his teeth into his sandwich and nearly making her whimper again.
Good grief, he was so physical! If watching him eat was going to do this to her, how on earth was she going to get through two formal dinners without disgracing herself? She dragged her eyes away and tried to be practical. ‘Right. Where do you want him? On the ward with the other boys?’
‘Oh, yes, put him with the lads. He’s twelve, he’ll fit right in—and a bit more company might stop Lucas feeling sorry for himself.’
He attacked the sandwich again, and she gave a slightly strained laugh. ‘I doubt it. He’s sore and cross with himself and until he’s running around again like before, he’ll be wallowing in self-pity and grumpy as a grumpy thing.’
They shared a smile, and her lungs stopped working for a moment, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her and leaving her weak. He’d shaved at some point, and changed into trousers with a cut to die for and a shirt so soft she just ached to touch it. Or was it the man inside?
‘Damn—may I?’ he asked, glancing at his squalling pager, and she nodded. He spoke briefly, then sighed and put the phone down.
‘Right, I have to get on. Jacob needs a look,’ he said, draining his coffee and putting the paper cup in the bin. ‘I’ve checked my patients, they all seem fine unless you know different?’ She shook her head and he nodded briskly. ‘OK. I’ll see you later. Tell young Michael I’ll come. I’ll stick him on the end of my afternoon list, but I’ll be round before then to have a chat with him.’
‘OK. Thanks for the lunch. What do I owe you?’
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Nothing. You can get them next time.’
Next time?
He headed off to PICU, and she followed him out of the office, pulling herself together and trying not to think about next time. She was having enough trouble dealing with this time!
She went into the boys’ bay to sort the bed out, and stood there for a moment considering the situation. There were six of them—Lucas, and Rajesh, another boy of the same age who’d had an open fracture of his right forearm which had been fixed and plated that morning. He wouldn’t be there long. Then there was Joel, a boy of fifteen who’d fallen through the roof of the conservatory climbing out of the window above when he’d been grounded; he’d suffered multiple fractures and so was now well and truly grounded until the casts on both arms and the halo frame stabilising his neck could be removed.
Then there were Christopher and Jonathan, twin brothers who’d fallen out of a tree when a branch had snapped, and broken three legs and one arm between them. She’d like to keep them together for company. And Nico, with repaired ligaments in his ankle. He’d been cleared for discharge and was waiting to go, so she moved him into a chair to wait for his parents, and as she and the health care assistant finished remaking the bed, Michael arrived in a wheelchair with his long-suffering and patient father.
‘Hi, there,’ she said, going out and introducing herself with a smile. ‘I’m Libby Tate, the ward sister, and you must be Michael. We’re expecting you. Come on through, I’ll show you to your bed.’
She’d put him between Lucas and Joel, the boy who’d fallen through the conservatory roof, and by the time he was settled against the pillows the banter had started. Good. He’d be fine, and a welcome distraction for Lucas and Joel.
She put the clipboard with his charts on the end of the bed and smiled at the boy and his father. ‘Right, I’m off duty now, Michael, but the anaesthetist will be round to see you soon and Mr Langham-Jones is taking you down to Theatre in a while—h
e’ll be up to see you afterwards to tell you how it went, and I’ll be on in the morning so I’ll catch up with you then. The others will look after you, won’t you, boys?’ she said to them all with a smile, and as soon as she’d handed over, she grabbed her coat and went out to her car, wondering if it was her imagination or if there was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there earlier.
Yup. Definite spring, and she felt ridiculously lighthearted. Silly. It was a no-strings, pretend date. Not really a date at all. Her heart really shouldn’t be getting excited.
But it was…
CHAPTER TWO
THE dress was gorgeous, shot with navy and olive green so it looked like the sea on a stormy day, the colours changing as the light caught it, and by the time Amy had poured her into the dress, hitched up the front a little for decency and scooped her hair into a knot and put a necklace round her throat, no amount of reasoning with her pulse was going to make a blind bit of difference.
Amy stood back and stared at her, and shook her head slowly. ‘Wow.’
‘D’you think?’ Libby hitched the front up again and had her hand slapped for her pains.
‘Leave it. You’ve got gorgeous boobs, be proud of them. Stick them out and hold your head up—that’s better. Fabulous. You’ll knock them all dead.’
‘Knock them out, more like,’ she said, shuffling her bra—clearly no room for a minimiser in there with that neckline!—and biting her lip. ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’
But Amy just rolled her eyes and draped an exquisite oyster-pink silk and cashmere pashmina around her shoulders. ‘There. You can always cover your cleavage with this if it worries you. Don’t lose it, it cost a fortune and it’s my only real extravagance. And you can wear it tomorrow with the black. Let me see you in it?’
So Libby changed into her dearly loved and classic little black dress, the high scoop neck and on-the-knee hemline much more demure and discreet. The back dipped to a V just above her bra strap, and there was a tiny kick-pleat at the back to allow for movement, and she loved it. It was elegant, sophisticated and timeless—which was just as well because she’d had it for three years now and by her reckoning it still owed her a substantial amount of money. It was, however, a little more snug than it had been before Christmas, and she sucked in her stomach and sighed.
The Surgeon's Miracle Page 2
