The Heart Consultant's Lover

‘Especially when you smell bacon cooking.’

She chuckled. ‘Tell me about it. But make sure it’s grilled, it’s lean and any visible fat’s removed, and the bread’s wholemeal.’ She glanced at his fingers. ‘And I don’t have to nag you about the cigarettes, do I?’

‘My daughter threw away all my duty-frees,’ he said ruefully. ‘No one else in the house smokes, so they can smell if I’ve slipped up. And I know I won’t hear the end of it if I do.’

‘Sounds as if you’re in good hands,’ she said with a grin.

Then they saw the rest of the patients on the unit, starting with a woman who’d contracted bacterial endocarditis following a routine tooth extraction—she was near the end of a six-week course of antibiotics and the unit was checking to see whether her heart valve would need surgery. The other patients had recently had heart attacks—one was still very recent so he was under observation in Room Four and the man in Room Five was ready to move down to the general ward.

‘Right. Coffee and a quick confab?’ Miranda asked when Jack had signed the discharge notes.

‘Sure.’

‘How do you take your coffee?’ she asked as they headed for the kitchen.

‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Same as me. Good. That’ll make life easy.’ She poured them both a coffee, topped up the water in the filter machine and handed him a mug. ‘My office?’

‘Sure.’ Was she pushy or just efficient? Jack wanted to think it was the former, but he had a niggling feeling that it was the latter. And then he had an even more niggling feeling: he admired her for it. Oh, hell. Why couldn’t Miranda Turner be just an ordinary person? Why did she have to be the clinical director’s daughter? Why had she had to come onto his ward and throw his brain into chaos?

‘Right, then. Sid’s having surgery on Friday; Jane’s awaiting tests with a query valve replacement; Joe’s under obs and Martyn’s going home.’ She ticked the cases off on her fingers.

Definitely efficient, Jack thought. She didn’t waste words.

‘That leaves Imogen. Her angina’s unstable and the drugs aren’t working.’ She flipped through the file and looked at the angiography results. ‘We’ve got two options—a bypass graft or an angioplasty.’ An angioplasty was where a small balloon was inserted in the narrowed artery and inflated so it flattened out the fatty plaques lining the blood vessel.

‘Angioplasties often have to be repeated and a bypass gives better symptom control,’ Jack said.

‘But if she has a bypass it’ll take her longer to recover and she’ll have to stay here longer—which will worry her more, because of her dog. And worry leads to higher blood pressure—’

‘Which increases her risk of a heart attack,’ Jack finished.

‘Given her age, and the fact that only a couple of the vessels show narrowing—here and here—I’d prefer an angioplasty. It’s not quite so invasive so it’ll be less of a shock to her system, and the newer heparinised stents lower the risk of a heart attack.’

‘And if it doesn’t work?’

‘Then we’ll have to do a bypass.’ She looked levelly at him. ‘Do you think a bypass is the better option?’

He shook his head. ‘We’ll play it your way.’

‘No. We’re a team. We do what we agree is best for the patient. Ego doesn’t come into it,’ she said crisply.

Jack sucked his teeth. ‘And that’s telling me.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like playing games, Dr Sawyer. If you have a problem with me, let’s get it out in the open now.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘That you resent me? Yes. Though I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you—apart from the car-park incident, and I’ve already apologised for that. Besides, it was a win-win situation.’

He lifted his chin. ‘How do you work that out?’

‘We both got what we wanted. You were all too happy to park the Roadster, and I got the car parked without a scratch on it so Seb didn’t murder me.’

Her boyfriend? Even though it was none of his business—and he shouldn’t even want to know anyway—he couldn’t help asking. ‘Seb?’

‘My next-door neighbour in Glasgow.’

No reason for his heart to give that little lurch of relief. No reason at all.

‘My car decided not to start the day of the interview. Seb took pity on me and lent me the Roadster—on condition there wasn’t so much as a speck of dust on it when I got back.’

Was that a glint of mischief in her eyes? He couldn’t tell. ‘You believe in straight talking, don’t you?’

‘It makes life simpler.’

He nodded. ‘OK. Then you may as well know that I went for this job, too.’

‘And you think I got it because I’m Ralph Turner’s daughter.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But it’s what you’re thinking.’ She shrugged. ‘I got the job because of what I can do, not for who I am.’

‘On the round, you sounded as if you knew what you were talking about.’

‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said dryly.

‘And that came out badly. I didn’t mean it like that.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve got off to a bad start.’

‘Look, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job, but I hope it’s not going to cause us problems working together. From my point of view, I get a special reg who knows exactly what he’s doing. From your point of view, I’m not going to change the way you work—and you can get on with being a doctor and leave the hospital politics to someone else. So, let’s start again. Perhaps, this time, we can do it on first-name terms.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Miranda Turner. Pleased to meet you, Jack.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Miranda.’ Jack took her proffered hand. ‘I’ve seen your re´sume´. If that didn’t convince me, the ward round proved you know your stuff.’

She didn’t push for a grovelling apology, he noticed. She just gave him a quick smile. ‘Thanks.’

Jack refused to acknowledge the beat his heart had just missed. Nothing was going to happen between them. They were colleagues and that was it. And even if Miranda hadn’t been the professor’s daughter, he’d already learned his lesson with Jessica. The hard way. ‘I’ll ring Jordan Francis—he’s our theatre manager, if you haven’t met him yet—and see if he can fit us in tomorrow.’

‘If Imogen agrees,’ Miranda added. ‘We need to talk to her great-niece as well. I don’t want to send her home without any support.’ Not after what had happened to May. ‘Perhaps there’s someone else in the family who can help. Or maybe Imogen could stay in a convalescent home short term, then we can arrange to get someone to look in on her at set times when she comes home and take her dog for a walk.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, I need to phone the kennels.’

By the time they’d finished writing up their notes, Jack had booked theatre time and Miranda had reassured Imogen that Floss was fine, it was nearly lunchtime.

‘So, are you having lunch with your father?’ Jack asked.

‘You must be joking!’ Was that a look of horror on her face or was it his imagination? When he looked again, her expression had been carefully schooled into neutral. ‘I doubt if he’d have time.’

‘On your first day?’

She shrugged. ‘Would you expect him to have lunch with any other consultant on their first day?’

‘Well—maybe not. But you’re his daughter.’ If he’d been in her position, his mother would have had lunch booked from the word go. His father…Well, Jack tried not to think about his father. But any normal father would make sure she’d settled in OK, surely?

‘Here I’m a doctor. Family doesn’t come into it.’

Was she upset about that? Or was she the one who’d insisted on it? Jack couldn’t quite work her out. ‘So what are you doing?’

‘I thought I’d go for a walk, get some fresh air. Maybe grab a sandwich.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m off to the canteen in twenty minutes, if you want to join me.’

‘Are you being nice, or do you mean that?’

He couldn’t help smiling. ‘You’re right. You do believe in straight talking.’

‘And?’

It took him a bit by surprise, but… ‘I meant it.’

‘Good. You can tell me what not to pick in the canteen. And, as it’s my first day, it’ll be my shout.’

‘You’re on.’

Miranda sneaked a glance at Jack as she drank her coffee. Now they’d cleared the air, there was a good chance they’d have a decent working relationship.

And that’s working, Miranda Turner, she emphasised to herself. Yes, Jack Sawyer was attractive, with intense dark eyes, dark hair, pale olive skin and the kind of smile that made her heart beat a little bit faster. Yes, he had a beautiful mouth, generous and soft. Yes, he had nice hands—clean, well-shaped fingernails, the kind of hands she could only too easily imagine stroking her skin and playing with her hair.

But imagination was as far as it could go. He was her colleague—her junior, to boot—and that made him off limits. Particularly as she was working in her father’s hospital. Ralph Turner would be less than pleased to hear she was seeing one of her staff. It simply wasn’t done. Besides, she’d already learned the hard way that relationships weren’t for her. She was focused on her career. Completely.

Jack kept both hands wrapped round his mug of coffee. This was crazy. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Even if he had been, his boss was the last person he should be thinking about.

And yet…Oh, hell. Behave, he told his libido. So what if her eyes are the colour of the sea on a winter’s day? So what if her mouth is a perfect Cupid’s bow? And don’t even think about reaching over to unpin her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders like rippling oiled silk. Just concentrate on the fact that she’s your boss. She may be efficient, straight-talking and think on her feet—everything you like in a woman—but laying so much as a finger on her would be professional suicide. You’ve worked hard to get as far as you have—don’t blow it now just because you fancy her. Stay away, he warned himself. Hands off.

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE start of her shift on Wednesday, Miranda felt as if she’d always worked at Calderford General. All the staff on the coronary care unit seemed to accept her as part of the team—including Jack, she thought with relief—and she’d settled into the ward routine.

Wednesday morning’s angina clinic flew by and Miranda kept her lunch-break short, to make sure she was on time for her theatre appointment with Imogen Parker. But just before Imogen was due to have her pre-med, the phone rang in Miranda’s office.

‘Miranda Turner.’

‘Hi, Miranda, it’s Jordan Francis.’

There was only one reason she could think of why the theatre manager would call her. ‘Hi, Jordan. I hope you’re not going to tell me there’s a problem with my two o’clock,’ she said, keeping her voice light.

‘’Fraid so.’

‘Majax?’ she asked, using the hospital’s shorthand term for ‘major accident’ or ‘major incident’—meaning that the A and E department needed all the theatre slots to deal with surgical emergencies.

‘Um, no.’

She picked up on the slight trace of guilt in his voice. ‘Jordan, I know it’s not your fault, but CCU booked that slot for a reason. If there isn’t a major emergency, why are you pulling the slot?’

‘The prof needs it.’

‘Why?’ she asked, knowing that she was putting the theatre manager on the spot but unable to stop herself.

Jordan sounded uncomfortable. ‘He’s booked a demonstration.’

‘Oh, has he?’ she said crossly. ‘Don’t tell me—he said I wouldn’t mind.’ She scowled. She should have guessed her father would pull a stunt like this. Well, he’d soon find that she wasn’t a pushover any more. ‘Jordan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. Thanks for letting me know. When’s the next available two-hour slot?’

‘Friday morning, half-past nine. Do you want me to book you in?’

‘Yes, please. And, Jordan?’

‘Yes?’

‘If anyone tries to override it—unless it’s a majax—can you refer them to me, please?’

‘Sure.’

‘Cheers.’

‘Um, Miranda, I was wondering…would you like to come out for a drink with me? Or dinner, or something?’

‘Yes, that’d be nice.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Sorry. I’m on a late. How about Monday?’

‘Great. I’ll book somewhere…say, for seven? And do you like Italian?’

‘Seven’s fine and I love Italian—thanks. Talk to you soon.’

She cut the connection, rang the professor’s secretary and asked to speak to him.

‘I’m afraid he’s with someone, Miranda. He’s on his way to a demonstration.’

‘It’ll only take ten seconds, Ally. Promise. And it’s urgent. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’

‘All right. As it’s you.’

A second later, a testy voice informed her, ‘Miranda, I don’t have time to talk to you right now. I’m about to do a demonstration.’

‘I know. In my theatre slot.’

‘For heaven’s sake, you were only doing an angioplasty. It’s a routine operation. You can reschedule.’

‘My patient has unstable angina.’ Didn’t that mean anything to him? Had he forgotten May so easily? ‘If she has an MI before I can do the angioplasty, I’ll have to do an emergency bypass and I don’t want to put her through that.’

‘It’s not that likely, and you’re making a fuss.’

‘Too right I am, Professor.’

His voice hardened. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m your father.’

‘We’re at work. Which means I’m a doctor first and your daughter second.’

‘Miranda, I don’t have time for this!’

She knew exactly what that meant. ‘Don’t tell me you discussed it over lunch, thought it was a good idea, saw my name on the list and decided that I’d make the least fuss about losing my slot. Wrong. I expect exactly the same treatment—the same courtesy—as you’d give any of your other consultants. Why didn’t you ask me first?’

‘We’ll talk about this later.’

‘Fine. And you’ll have my formal letter of complaint on your desk when you get back.’

‘This demonstration’s important. It could bring money into the hospital.’

‘And money’s more important than a patient’s health?’ Miranda asked scornfully. ‘This wasn’t an elective op. I’d have understood if there was a majax, but a demo? Why couldn’t your VIPs watch one of the scheduled operations?’

‘Don’t be difficult.’

She could feel her blood pressure rising. After all the years she’d spent training—all the exams she’d taken—he still treated her like a four-year-old who knew nothing, instead of a highly qualified thirty-two-year-old. ‘Difficult? Some would say I was a chip off the old block. Though from the days when he cared about people more than politics,’ she informed him sharply. ‘Enjoy your demo.’ She put the phone down before she really lost her temper.

She was still shaking when she saw Leila and asked her to hold the pre-med.

‘Are you OK?’ the senior sister asked.

‘Fine,’ Miranda lied. ‘I’ll explain to Imogen that her operation’s been rescheduled then I’ll be in my office, if anyone needs me. I may as well get stuck into the paperwork now I’m not in Theatre.’

She’d just printed off her carefully composed letter to her father when there was a rap on her door. She looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway ‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she said tightly.

His raised eyebrow said it all. She sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m just annoyed that our slot was pulled at the last minute. I’ve rescheduled Imogen’s op for Friday morning.’

‘Don’t tell me—A and E?’ he asked.

‘Nope. Politics.’ She signed the letter with a flourish. ‘And this is a complaint letter. I’m just going to take it down to Ally.’

‘Pulling strings with the Prof?’

How could he even think that she’d go running off to Daddy at the first sign of trouble? ‘The Prof,’ she said in disgust, ‘is the one who took our slot—without having the courtesy to ask us. The complaint’s about him.’

‘Ah.’

‘Don’t worry, you won’t be caught in the crossfire.’ She folded her arms. ‘The Prof just needs reminding that I’m not a yes person. And I’ll fight for my ward’s rights.’

Jack exhaled slowly. ‘I think I’ll make sure I stay on your right side. Shall I ask Leila to pass the word round that you turn into Attila the Hun when someone crosses you?’

The tension suddenly drained from her, and she gave him a rueful smile. ‘Sorry. When hospital politics interfere with my patients, it drives me round the bend. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.’

‘Sounds to me as if you need chocolate,’ he said, producing a bar from the pocket of his white coat. ‘Catch.’

‘Thanks.’ She broke off a square, smiled and threw the rest of the bar back to him. ‘Perhaps it’s my lucky day after all—having a special reg who can read my mind.’

They exchanged a glance and her smile faded. On second thoughts, she hoped he couldn’t read her mind. Because chocolate wasn’t what she wanted right then. She wanted Jack Sawyer’s arms round her. And that beautiful mouth teasing hers…

No. She had to keep a very tight rein on her imagination, or it would play havoc with her work. ‘Thanks for the chocolate. I needed that. I’ll just drop this off—I’ll be five minutes, max. Bleep me if you need me.’

‘OK, boss.’

The ‘boss’ had been more for his benefit than hers, Jack thought. Because when he’d seen her sitting there, angry and upset on their patient’s behalf, he’d wanted to put his arms round her, tell her that everything would be all right. Hold her close. And to hell with his job.

‘I will not tolerate this!’ Ralph stormed, waving the piece of paper at his daughter. ‘What do you think you were doing?’

‘Exactly what I told you I’d do. Complaining about your behaviour. In future, I expect professional courtesy from you as a member of your staff,’ she emphasised.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t play games with me.’

‘I’m beyond that,’ she said crisply. ‘This is about my ward. My patients come first.’

‘You sound like May.’

Miranda smiled. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ Even though it had been given grudgingly—and she wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant it as a compliment. She knew he hadn’t ever really forgiven May for stepping in when Miranda had been eighteen.

‘You’re impossible. This is exactly why I didn’t want you working here.’

‘Because I’m not a yes person? I don’t think Jack Sawyer is either. Though if he’d got the job, you wouldn’t have taken his theatre slot without asking, would you?’

‘As clinical director, I have to make unpopular decisions.’

‘Agreed. But they don’t have to be stupid ones.’

‘Miranda,’ Ralph said warningly.

‘Professor, I know you won’t admit it, but you were in the wrong. And if you do it again, I’ll complain again—and I’ll copy my letter to the CEO next time, as well as to Human Resources.’

‘For your information—and not that I should have to explain myself to you—I’d booked the demo several weeks ago. Someone else needed the theatre I’d booked, because of the specialised equipment, and I had to move things around. Yours wasn’t the only slot I moved.’

‘Oh.’ She flushed. She hadn’t known that. Jordan hadn’t told her.

‘So I suggest you check your facts first next time before you write stroppy letters.’

She took a deep breath. But before she could apologise there was a rap on the door and Jack came in.

‘Sorry—I’ll come back later,’ he said.

‘Not at all. We’ve finished. Come in, my boy,’ Ralph said.

Miranda’s stomach lurched at the words. My boy. She wasn’t his boy—and never could be. The tone, too, was different: when he called her ‘my girl’, it meant he was putting her in her place, not being genial and proud.

‘I wanted to see you anyway,’ Ralph continued, smiling at Jack.

Why didn’t the professor ever smile at her like that?

‘We’ve got a little one coming into Paeds tomorrow. Possible tetralogy of Fallot. I’d like you to take a look at her.’

Well, excuse me. I’m supposed to be the consultant here, Miranda thought. But her father had made it obvious that he respected Jack’s abilities above her own.

‘Is that OK with you?’ Jack asked, looking at her. ‘Or do you need me here?’

What could she say? If she said, no, he couldn’t do it, they’d both think she was being petty—jealous even. The worst of it was, they’d be right. She was jealous of Jack, and the fact that the Professor clearly respected him. A respect he certainly didn’t feel for his daughter. ‘Fine,’ she said tightly. ‘Was there anything else you needed me for, Professor?’

‘No.’ His voice cooled noticeably as he looked at her. ‘Just think about what I said.’

She nodded, her throat tight with misery. Same old, same old. She’d thought by working with her father she’d finally persuade him to value her abilities. All she’d done had been to make things even worse between them.

When Ralph left, Miranda virtually snapped at Jack. ‘So what can I do for you?’

He lifted his hands in surrender. ‘Hey, what did I do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ When she said nothing, he folded his arms. ‘So much for straight talking.’

‘If you must know, the Prof was tearing me off a strip. Apparently he’d booked the demonstration ages ago. Ours wasn’t the only slot he’d moved.’

Jack shrugged. ‘Might be better to check before you act next time.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘So you think I’ve been unreasonable?’

‘Yes and no. You were right to challenge our slot being moved—but you should have made sure of your facts.’ Maybe he should have warned her about Jordan’s slapdash tendencies—though he’d tried to be fair and let her make up her own mind about their theatre manager instead of prejudicing her against him.

‘Great. So you think I’m incompetent, too.’

Jack frowned. ‘No, of course not.’ And her father couldn’t think it either, otherwise he wouldn’t have let the others on the selection panel offer her the job. ‘Just…you’re playing a dangerous game.’

‘So what am I supposed to do? Curry favour with the Prof?’

Was that what she thought he was doing, just because he’d agreed to go down to Paeds? It wasn’t that at all. He was interested in paediatric cardiology—besides, he owed it to his family to get on as well as he could at the hospital. He wasn’t going to turn down opportunities just because Miranda was having a private war with the Prof. Just in time, he stopped himself telling her that. It was none of her business. ‘If you’re going to argue with your father, that’s up to you—but leave the ward out of it.’

Her eyes darkened. ‘I’m not playing games.’

Yeah, right. And neither had Jessica, he thought bitterly. Except on a day with a Y in it. ‘You asked my opinion. I gave it to you.’

‘OK. I’m sorry. What did you want to see me about?’

He couldn’t remember now. Not now she’d made him think of Jessica. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Some other time.’ He left, closing her office door and resisting the temptation to bang it. He was not going to let her get under his skin. In any way.

Thursday was less fraught, until Miranda promised to help their new student with setting up an ECG and reading the results.

‘Dr Sawyer, can I borrow you for a second?’ Miranda asked.

‘Sure,’ Jack said, with a smile that turned her knees temporarily to jelly. ‘What’s up?’

‘I need a model. I’m walking Hannah through a 12-lead ECG, and she doesn’t want to do it on a patient.’

‘So you’re just after my body?’

She wished he hadn’t said that. The images his words brought to mind were way too disturbing—particularly after the way he’d smiled at her. But she wasn’t going to let him know that he’d rattled her. ‘That’s right. Any old body’d do, but I thought Hannah might find a supposedly young and fit male easier for her first ECG,’ she said, adopting the same light, teasing tone he’d used. ‘Come into my office and strip to the waist.’

Definitely disturbing, she thought as Jack took off the white coat, shirt and tie to reveal a perfectly toned torso and a light sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. Just pretend he’s middle-aged with a paunch, she told herself. He may be gorgeous, but he’s off limits. ‘OK, Hannah. The V1 lead goes on the edge of the sternum, on the patient’s right-hand side. Count down between the ribs until you get to the fourth intercostal space.’