‘Her aunt’s got a cottage on the Norfolk coast, and Zo’s dragged us out there before now in the middle of winter for a picnic on the beach,’ Holly said, shivering.

‘When it was sunny?’ Brad guessed.

‘Er…no. It wasn’t actually raining, but it wasn’t far off.’ Judith raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose we were just lucky it was a flask of her home-made soup in the picnic basket and not a Thermos of ice-cream.’

So Zoe had a kooky streak. She went paddling in the North Sea in November. Had beach picnics in the middle of winter. Loved ice-cream. And could cook.

‘Anyway, we’re treating you to dinner tonight,’ Zoe announced. ‘Seeing as I practically bullied you into singing with Jude next week, it’s the least we can do.’

She had that determined look on her face again. Brad decided it was easier not to argue. ‘Thank you. So how long have you been doing these fund-raisers?’

‘The Wednesday night music club? Nearly a year,’ Judith said. ‘It was Zo’s idea. Paeds needed some equipment and the finance lot wouldn’t cough up.’

‘So she did a promise auction to raise the funds,’ Holly said.

‘She talked me into promising to sing for one night at London City General Social Club,’ Judith explained, ‘and somehow it’s grown into this monthly thing.’

‘I think I mentioned that we split the proceeds between Paeds, the maternity unit and the emergency department,’ Zoe said. ‘I’ll go and sort some more wine while you three talk set lists and promotional stuff. Red OK with everyone?’

By the end of the evening, Brad was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself. A lot. It was the first evening in nearly a year when he hadn’t spent every single second thinking of Lara. Zoe might be a whirlwind, but she had a good heart, and she’d even given him another chance to back out of the Wednesday night fund-raiser without losing face—not that he’d taken her up on it. He still didn’t want to disappoint her.

Between the three of them, they’d brought him completely out of his shell—to the point where he was even sharing scurrilous anecdotes with them and swapping med school jokes. He’d thought he’d never be able to smile again, let alone laugh. But there was something about Zoe, something warm and friendly and kind and—

Stop right there, he told himself. You’re not getting involved.

‘Right. I’m on an early tomorrow, so I’m going to leave you party animals to it,’ Zoe announced after her third latte.

Judith glanced at her watch. ‘I didn’t realise it was that late! I’d better be making tracks, too.’

‘And me,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve got a paper I’m supposed to be finishing.’

‘I’ll see you home,’ Brad said, and they all started laughing. ‘What?’ he asked, mystified.

‘It’s very gentlemanly of you, and we appreciate the offer. But, apart from the fact that we’ve all lived around here since we were students and know the area like the backs of our hands, Holl’s my next-door neighbour. So we’re fine walking each other home,’ Judith told him, tucking her hand into the crook of Holly’s elbow.

‘I’m fine, too,’ Zoe put in swiftly.

‘You live in the same road?’ Brad asked.

‘Er, no. In the opposite direction,’ she admitted.

‘Then how do I put it? Let me see you home safely, or I might pick up a virus from one of our patients next Wednesday afternoon which stops me singing or playing the piano,’ Brad said.

‘Do as the man says, Zo,’ Holly directed. ‘Or you’ll have to take his place next week and sing with Jude.’

‘They’d probably pay us even more for me not to sing,’ Zoe teased, but it was obvious she realised she was beaten and she gave in with good grace. She hugged the others goodbye and then she was walking down the narrow side streets with Brad.

‘They’re nice, your friends,’ Brad said.

‘The best,’ Zoe said feelingly. ‘Look, I bulldozed you a bit about the fund-raiser.’

‘A bit?’

‘A lot. What I’m saying is, if you’d rather not, I do understand.’

‘No, I’ll do it. It sounds like fun.’

‘It is,’ Zoe said.

They lapsed into silence, but it was companionable rather than awkward. When they reached Zoe’s terrace, they stopped outside the gate.

‘I’d ask you in for coffee,’ Zoe said, ‘but…’

‘The boyfriend wouldn’t like it?’ Brad guessed.

‘Something like that.’ If she had a boyfriend. Not that she wanted one. She was perfectly happy with her career as a paediatrician.

‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’

For a moment, she thought that he was going to lean down and kiss her, and her senses went into overdrive. She could almost feel his mouth on hers. Soft, a little unsure at first, and then coaxing as she responded. And then—

What’s this? You’re…Oh, God. I’m sorry, Zoe. I can’t do this…

The words echoed in her mind, the words that had haunted her for ten years. The words that brought her back to the real world every time she thought that maybe it was time to drop her self-imposed ban on a relationship.

Damaged goods.

No. She was never, ever going to suffer that mixture of pity and revulsion in another man’s eyes. That meant no kissing—because kissing led to touching, touching led to removing clothes, and removing clothes would reveal the scars that nobody in London City General knew about, not even Holly and Judith. The scars Zoe kept well out of sight beneath long-sleeved, high-necked tops, or shirts that didn’t even have a hint of sheerness in their fabric. The scars that meant any man would reject her.

‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, slipping inside the gateway and closing the wrought-iron gate firmly between them. ‘Thanks for seeing me home.’

If Brad had noticed Zoe clamming up on him, he didn’t make an issue of it, to her relief. He was completely normal with her at work over the next couple of days, treating her as a valued colleague. A doctor, rather than a woman: which was just the way she wanted it. That was who she was. Dr Zoe Kennedy, paediatrician. Everyone’s friend. And nobody’s lover.

‘Can I borrow you for a minute, Zoe?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ve got a case of suspected osteomyelitis,’ he said. ‘Little boy name of Andy Solomon. Aged six, soccer fanatic. Anyway, a couple of days ago he turned down a game of soccer in the park with his pals. His mum thought it was a bit strange—thought maybe he’d bruised himself as he’d been limping and his knee looked a bit swollen. That night, he developed a really high temperature. He’s flushed, restless—and she said the pain’s been getting worse. The GP referred him to us for an X-ray, bone scan and blood tests.’

‘Have you examined him?’ Zoe asked.

Brad nodded. ‘He’s still got a fever—even though his mum’s been giving him infant paracetamol—the swelling and redness is obvious, it feels warm around the area and it’s clearly tender because he shielded his leg when I tried to palpate it.’

‘So you want blood tests—white blood cell count, erythrocyte sedimentation rate and C-reactive proteins. If it’s been going on for a few days…X-rays and an MRI scan? And a culture so we can see what’s causing it? Though in eighty per cent of cases it’ll be Staph aureus.’

‘You know your stuff.’ He gave her a quick smile that had her knees turning to jelly, despite her resolution not to let herself go all weak at the knees over him. ‘Can you start him on IV antibiotics?’

‘Broad spectrum until we’ve got a definite fix on the bacterium, then penicillinase-resistant synthetic penicillin and aminoglycoside if it’s Staph aureus?’ she suggested.

‘Perfect.’

‘OK. I’ll sort him out and let you know when the results are back. Have you and Jude sorted out your set list for next week yet?’

‘Nearly. Any requests?’

No way. Having a man singing to her—especially one as gorgeous as Brad—would be way too dangerous for her peace of mind. He’d probably thought she’d been fishing, so she’d better make it clear. ‘Not really. I like all sorts of music,’ she said. ‘Sing whatever you like, as long as you make us a pile of money.’

‘Sure. Have you sorted out the menu yet?’

‘Nearly. Any requests?’ The words were out before she could stop them. Rats. She was definitely letting him get to her. She should have told him yes and stopped there.

‘Now you come to mention it…Yes. Proper American brownies. I haven’t tasted one since I’ve been in England,’ he said.

That brought up all kinds of suggestive thoughts. Like sitting on the edge of his desk while he reclined in his chair, his mouth open, while she fed him tiny bites of brownie. In between kisses.

Absolutely not. They were colleagues, they might become friends, but they could never be anything else. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Right now, she needed to escape. And he’d given her the perfect excuse. ‘I’d better go and see Andy Solomon.’

She found little Andy and settled him into his bed.

‘I don’t know where this has all come from,’ his mother said. ‘He was fine. Then suddenly, bang, he doesn’t want to get up for school, doesn’t want to take his football in with him, he’s off his food…’

‘Has he had any illness recently—a cold, a runny nose, a sore throat?’ Zoe asked. Osteomyelitis was a bacterial bone infection and the bacteria could come from a nose or throat infection as well as through a puncture wound.

‘Nothing.’ Mrs Solomon shook her head. ‘He’s never ill. Yeah, he gets all the usual bumps and scrapes any other six-year-old boy has. Climbing trees, falling over in the playground, that sort of thing.’

‘Any scrapes recently?’

‘A month or so back. But, well, all his vaccinations are up to date. I made sure he had his tetanus and that. And grazed knees don’t make you this unwell, do they?’

‘They can do, if bacteria get in the wound,’ Zoe said. ‘Sometimes the bacteria can lie dormant for weeks and something just sets it off.’

‘I’ve always cleaned him up properly,’ Mrs Solomon said, lifting her chin. ‘He has a bath every night, too.’

‘It’s nothing to do with hygiene,’ Zoe reassured her.

‘So you think it’s this osteo-whatever, too?’

‘Osteomyelitis. It’s a bone infection. What we’re going to do is some tests to find out what’s causing it and how much Andy’s bone has been infected. Once we know that, we’ll know how to treat it properly. I’ve got him booked in for an X-ray, and I’ll need to take some blood and a little sample of the tissue round the bone.’ She smiled at her small patient. ‘Do you like planes?’

‘Yeah,’ the little boy replied, sounding completely unenthusiastic.

‘Come on, Andy. You know you love going down the airport with your dad,’ Mrs Solomon prompted.

‘Well, I’ve got some special plane stickers. Holographic ones,’ Zoe said. ‘And I only give them to my bravest patients. So if you can stay really, really still for me while I do this sample and start the antibiotics—look at your mum or me, not at my hands—you’ll get a sticker. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ the little boy replied seriously.

‘OK. Here we go, then. Now, tell me, who’s going to be top of the Premier League this year?’

‘Manchester United!’ the little boy said. ‘They’re my team. Dad’s going to take me to see them.’ His voice wobbled. ‘Ow, that hurts.’

‘I know, sweetheart, but it’s only for a little while and I’m doing it so I can make you better,’ Zoe soothed. ‘So who’s your favourite player?’

She managed to keep him talking about football until she’d finished capping her sample and put the line in for the antibiotics. Then she smiled at the little boy and took her sheet of stickers out of her pocket. ‘You were so brave, I think I’ll let you choose your own,’ she said.

‘That one. It’s not like the one my dad flies, but it’s cool,’ Andy said. Then remembered his manners. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. I’m going to get this off to the lab now, so they can test it for me.’ She looked at Mrs Solomon. ‘I’ll be back to see you later on. In the meantime, if you need anything, buzz one of the nurses. June’s going to be looking after you—she’s really nice and very experienced, so she’ll be able to answer a lot of your questions. I’ll make sure she brings you a card for the coffee-machine and tells you where everything is.’ She ruffled Andy’s hair. ‘And then you can choose what you’re having for lunch.’

‘Cool,’ Andy said.

Later that day, Zoe rapped on Brad’s office door.

‘Come in,’ he said.

‘Andy’s bloods are back. His white blood cell count is completely normal.’

‘Well, it doesn’t always alter in osteomyelitis.’

She nodded. ‘But his ESR—’ the erythrocyte sedimentation rate ‘—is elevated, and so is his C-reactive protein. That’s pretty suggestive. I’ve had a look at his X-ray, too.’

‘You got the films back already?’

She grinned at his surprise. ‘I’m good at nagging. Anyway, there’s haziness and a rounded shadow pretty much where you’d expect it. I’d say it’s osteomyelitis in the upper tibia.’

He took the proffered films and checked them on the light-box. ‘Spot on, Dr Kennedy. Looks like there’s some loss of bone density there, too, so we need to keep a close eye on it. What about the biopsy?’

‘It’ll be another couple of days before the culture’s ready, but it’s bound to be Staph aureus. It usually is.’

He sighed. ‘Right. Now to explain it all to Andy’s mum.’

‘Want me to come with you?’

Why on earth had she said that? He was the consultant—he didn’t need anyone with him to hold his hand and help him with a patient’s parents. ‘Um, just that I got talking to her earlier. A friendly face, and all that. And…’ No, she was only digging a deeper hole for herself.

But instead of the sarcastic comment she was expecting—and which she knew she deserved—he merely said, ‘Thanks.’

And then she made another mistake. She looked into his eyes. They were mesmerising: that was the only word to describe them. Why else would she feel her lips parting slightly? Why else would they be so dry that she needed to lick them? Why else would she suddenly start imagining his face closer and closer to hers, his mouth growing nearer and nearer until it finally touched hers, first with gentle kisses, and then coaxing a response from her until…?

But it wasn’t going to happen. No matter how attractive she found Brad, she wasn’t making any exceptions to her rule.

Damaged goods. Remember that, she told herself.

Somehow she managed to get her thoughts together and followed him through to the bay to Andy Solomon’s bed. Andy was asleep and his mother was sitting there, holding his hand and looking desperately worried.

‘We’ve had the results of the tests back, Mrs Solomon. It’s osteomyelitis, as we suspected. What that means is that the bone’s infected and inflamed.’ Brad drew a quick diagram to show her what he meant. ‘The bones are covered with a membrane which contains the nerve endings, plus lots of small blood vessels that deliver the nutrients to the bone. Pus collects beneath it and forms an abscess which makes it stretch—that’s why Andy says it hurts. It also squashes the blood vessels—and because the bone isn’t getting the nutrients it needs, it starts to die off.’

‘So is he going to lose his leg?’ Mrs Solomon asked, aghast.

‘Not at all. In the days before antibiotics, it killed a quarter of people who got it, and crippled another quarter. Nowadays, the antibiotics do the hard work for us and he’ll recover perfectly—especially as you brought him in so quickly.’

‘Jim always says I make a fuss,’ Mrs Solomon said wryly. ‘But it’s hard, with him being a pilot and away so much—half the time it feels like I’m a single mum. There’s only me to make the decisions.’

‘You made the right one here,’ Brad reassured her.

‘But how did it happen?’ she asked.

‘Acute haematogenous osteomyelitis is caused by a bacterium which entered Andy’s body—maybe through a throat infection, maybe through a graze—and lay dormant for a while before it seeded in the bone. The most common site is in the long growing bones, in the arms or legs—it affects the growing area, at the ends. It’s twice as common in boys than in girls,’ Brad explained. ‘The infection can spread to the soft tissues and joints, and if the bone tissues die you need surgery to get rid of the dead tissue so the bone can regrow itself.’

‘So he’s not going to be lame or anything?’ Mrs Solomon asked.

‘No. What we’re doing now is giving him antibiotics which will penetrate the bone. It’s a broad spectrum at the moment because it takes a couple of days to grow the bacterium from the sample I took,’ Zoe explained. ‘Once we know what it is, we might need to change the antibiotics, and he’ll need to stay in for a couple of weeks so we can keep an eye on him. If he needs surgery, we’ll be able to pack the hole in his bones to help him grow new bone tissue. In the meantime, we’re giving him a splint to hold his leg still.’

‘He’ll be on antibiotics for the next couple of months,’ Brad continued. ‘He can probably go home in a couple of weeks and take them in a tablet form, but he has to keep taking them until we’re happy with his blood count and his X-rays. Once the bone’s healed, it should continue to grow properly, but we’ll have him in for regular checkups to keep an eye on it.’

‘He might need building up for a few months afterwards, too,’ Zoe added. She grinned. ‘Which he’ll take as an excuse for scoffing all the chocolate he can get his hands on!’

‘Who needs an excuse?’ Brad teased.

‘Don’t listen to him. He’s addicted to chocolate brownies,’ Zoe said.

‘You two must have worked together for a long time,’ Mrs Solomon commented. ‘You’re so in tune.’

Not that long. A handful of days, Brad thought. And the worst thing was, he couldn’t remember being this in tune with anyone else, ever. Even Lara. Which made him feel even more guilty. He really shouldn’t be thinking about another woman so soon after Lara. Particularly one who was committed elsewhere—Zoe had made that clear when he’d walked her home. The lack of a ring on her left hand meant nothing: she didn’t need a wedding ring or even an engagement ring to be deeply in love.

Though he couldn’t help wondering what sort of man Zoe would choose. The tall, dark, Celtic type, he guessed, with clear skin and blue eyes. Someone laid-back. Or would he be more like her, always on the go, always coming up with new schemes? Somehow he couldn’t imagine Zoe putting up with someone wishy-washy, a man who never made decisions. She was too much of a whirlwind, she’d lose patience.

He shook himself. It wasn’t any of his business anyway. He wasn’t a relationship-breaker. Zoe was off limits and she was staying that way. She had to. For his sanity’s sake.

CHAPTER THREE

THE following Wednesday, Brad spotted his name on the staff notice-board. On a poster for Judith’s Wednesday Night Music Club, billing him as the ‘star guest’. And in bright pink highlighter pen, the words ‘Sold Out’ were printed neatly across the poster.

He went to find Zoe. ‘How many people are going to be there tonight?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘I’m not sure. People often give Holly the money for a ticket or the raffle, but don’t actually come to the show.’

‘How many tickets have you sold?’

At least she had the grace to blush. ‘A hundred and fifty. That’s the maximum we can have in the social club because of the fire regulations.’ She looked at him in dismay. ‘Please, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts. Not now.’

Second? He was having third—and fourth! ‘It’s been a while since I played in public.’ He coughed. ‘And you said there were usually only about thirty people there.’ There was a big difference between thirty and a hundred and fifty. Like five times as many.

‘They probably won’t all come.’

‘But you’ve sold more tickets than usual?’

‘Yes. Probably because of you—the curiosity factor,’ Zoe admitted. ‘But it’s for a good cause. It nets us tons of money for the wards. The social club does the bar and gives us half the profits for the night. And…’ She waved a paper bag at him. ‘Sample. As promised.’

‘I hope,’ Brad said through gritted teeth, ‘that bag contains chocolate brownies. In the plural.’

‘It does. Look, you’ll be fine. Just pretend you’re playing to an audience of one.’

He wished she hadn’t said that. Because right now he could imagine playing the piano to Zoe. By candlelight, or maybe moonlight. Just the two of them. Something soft and romantic and seductive.

No. Cool, calm and sensible, he reminded himself. ‘An audience of one.’ Damn. His voice was cracking. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. Or, if she had, that she’d put it down to nerves—he didn’t want her knowing how much of an effect she had on him. It would make her run a mile, and he wouldn’t blame her.

‘It’s a psychological technique. Jude uses it, too,’ Zoe said helpfully. ‘It usually works well. Or imagine all the people in the front row are naked or something.’

Naked. Did she have to use that word? Because if she was in the front row tonight…He dragged his thoughts back and grabbed the mental equivalent of a bucket of cold water. ‘Is your boyfriend helping out tonight?’

‘Mmm,’ Zoe mumbled. ‘Anyway, here are your brownies. I’ll, um, catch you later.’

She avoided him for the rest of the morning, though he seemed to keep coming across her wake, such as another sticker for Andy Solomon, earned for letting her take a blood sample without fuss, or the ‘bravery certificates’ she drew for a couple of other patients. He couldn’t find her in the afternoon, and discovered that she’d taken a half-day—presumably to finish cooking for the social evening.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the stage behind the piano, running sound checks with Judith. Zoe was somewhere around—he could feel it in his bones—but she seemed to be avoiding him. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He hadn’t done anything to drive her away. Hadn’t touched her, hadn’t kissed her.

Though he’d wanted to. Lord, how he’d wanted to.

And he really shouldn’t want. It wasn’t fair on either of them.

‘Are you OK?’ Judith asked.

‘Just a bit nervous,’ he admitted.

‘You’ll be fine. Just imagine you’re singing to an audience of one. I usually sing to Holls or Zo, like I did when we shared a flat as students,’ Judith said.

They ran through a couple of songs. And the next thing he knew, the room was filling up with people. He couldn’t see Zoe anywhere. Though the hairs on the back of his neck told him that she was definitely around.

By the third song, Brad had forgotten his nerves. He joined Judith in a version of ‘American Pie’ that had everyone tapping their feet and singing along. From there, they launched into a couple of blues standards. And then someone requested ‘Fever’.

He sang along with Judith, but he couldn’t help scanning the crowd for one person. The one he finally saw right at the back of the room. The one who really did give him a fever, even though she shouldn’t.

He’d said he could sing a bit. Not that he had a voice that could melt your bones, Zoe thought. Deep and warm and soulful, blending perfectly with Judith’s husky jazz-singer tones. Just for a moment, she imagined herself as his audience of one. Imagined him singing just for her. Singing words of love.

She turned away and concentrated on doing the food. In the background, organising things. Just what she did best.

But then she froze as Brad launched into Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’. Judith may have been singing along with him, but she could only hear his voice. Singing about a girl with brown eyes. Brown eyes, like her own.

Worse still, someone requested another Van Morrison song, slowing the mood down with ‘Have I Told You Lately?’.

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