The Registrar's Convenient Wife

Claire waited, as if giving him time to explain, but Eliot had no intention of doing that. He didn’t want pity from anyone. And he particularly didn’t want pity from Claire.

Though he wouldn’t allow himself to speculate about what exactly he did want from her. It was way too dangerous.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, and walked out of the door.

CHAPTER TWO

OH, GREAT. He would have to get stuck in a traffic jam. Eliot rang home and the answering-machine kicked in. He stifled the panic that lurched in his stomach. Of course Fran hadn’t left Ryan on his own. She wasn’t Malandra. She’d wait until he got home. Probably she hadn’t heard the phone, or she was busy cooking Ryan’s tea or something.

The message ended with a long beep, and Eliot gabbled his message. ‘It’s me—I’m on my way but I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

By the time he finally walked through the front door, he could feel his blood pressure simmering. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm, for Ryan’s sake.

Ryan was in front of the TV, half watching a cartoon and half concentrating on a complex model of a robot that he’d made from K’nex, snapping the rods and links together as if he instinctively knew the right pattern. Eliot always marvelled at how his son could produce an intricate three-dimensional jet or helicopter with a moving rotor in such a short space of time.

‘Hi, son.’

Ryan didn’t look up, he just muttered, ‘Hi, Dad,’ the way he usually did. Eliot suppressed the yearning to have his son run to him and hug him and look into his eyes and laugh. Hello, Dad. I missed you. I love you. Followed by lots of chattering about what happened at school today, what he’d been doing with Fran, what he wanted to do this evening.

Dream on, Eliot told himself savagely. You know that’s not going to happen. And it’s not his fault or yours. It’s just the way it is and you have to live with it.

‘Fran? I’m back.’

Fran appeared at the kitchen doorway. ‘I was just making Ryan’s tea,’ she said. ‘Chicken nuggets, chips and spaghetti.’

Not exactly the best nutrition in the world, Eliot knew—but he’d learned the hard way not to make food into a battleground. Nowadays he gave Ryan what he knew the seven-year-old would eat, and tried to sneak fruit and vegetables into his son when he could. ‘Thanks, Fran. I owe you an extra hour. Plus overtime,’ he added guiltily.

She didn’t look even remotely mollified. ‘You said you’d be home by half past.’

‘I know. And I would have been, but I got stuck in traffic.’ Eliot sighed. ‘I am trying, Fran.’

‘I’ve got a life, you know. I’m never going to be ready for my date tonight.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry is as sorry does.’

Eliot almost snapped back at her—but thought better of it at the last moment. If he didn’t keep Fran sweet, she’d leave. And that would be a disaster. It had taken him four months to find Fran. Four months of Ryan being unsettled at the constant changes in his child care, four months of interviews and wondering if he’d ever find the right person to look after his child between school and his job, four months when he’d had to stop working and he’d lived on home-made vegetable soup and toast because it was cheap.

‘Look—have a drink or what have you on me tonight,’ he said, taking a note from his wallet.

‘Ta.’ Fran pocketed it swiftly. ‘The spaghetti’s in the microwave and the nuggets and chips are in the oven. They’ll be ready in ten minutes. See you tomorrow.’ She paused at the living-room doorway. ‘Bye, Ryan.’

Ryan didn’t acknowledge his childminder, simply continued with his model-making. Two others were neatly lined up and there was a space next to them ready for the one he was making now.

‘Tea’s in ten minutes,’ Eliot told him.

‘Mmm,’ was the response. Ryan was focused completely on his model.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at the dining-room table. Eliot had managed to find the right knife and fork, made sure none of the three types of food touched any of the others and were on the right plate, and he’d filled Ryan’s mug with milk to precisely one centimetre from the top.

His thanks were simply that Ryan ate without fuss or comment. Apart from once, when he looked at his father’s sandwich. ‘Fran didn’t get you any bacon.’

‘That’s OK. Tuna salad’s cool.’ Actually, Eliot was sick to the back teeth of bacon sandwiches. Maybe he was pandering to Ryan’s little routines too much. The psychologist would tell him he had to fight more battles. Though Eliot didn’t want to fight his son. He only wanted to love him.

‘What happened at school today?’

‘Maths.’

Amazing how Ryan could answer an open question with a closed statement. Eliot tried again. ‘What was the best thing today?’

‘I had strawberries in my lunch.’

He knew that was as much as he was going to get. The same as he’d heard every other school day for the last month. Just for once Eliot longed to hear his son say he’d played football or found a butterfly or learned a new song. But he’d find out those sorts of things at the monthly review meetings with Ryan’s teacher and support assistant.

Eliot let his son eat the rest of his meal in silence.

‘Can I go on the computer now?’ Ryan asked.

‘Half an hour. When you’ve done your homework.’

‘It’s just reading.’

‘OK. How about half an hour on the computer, bath, then you read to me?’ It was a risk, changing his routine, but for once Ryan didn’t seem to mind.

‘OK, Dad.’

Ryan was gone, and within seconds Eliot heard the computer booting up. He finished his sandwich and then cleared up in the kitchen. Bathtime was the highlight of his day—playing submarines with his son, though the routine never varied and Ryan always sank Eliot’s ships in the exact same order.

Milk, teeth and story. Ryan read his book fluently, and Eliot gave him a gold star, sticking it like a medal on his pyjamas. ‘Well done. That’s for reading expressive dialogue.’ Ryan had clearly been working hard on expression with his support assistant at school.

‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘Sleep well.’ Eliot hugged him. ‘I love you.’

As always, Ryan’s face had a slightly worried look and his eyes slid away, not meeting his father’s. Eliot squashed his inward sigh. He knew that Ryan loved him; the little boy just wasn’t comfortable saying so. Facts, fine—emotions, not.

‘See you in the morning. Light off in half an hour, OK?’

‘All right. ’Night, Dad.’

Ryan was already deep in a scientific textbook before Eliot even left the room. Wearily, Eliot walked downstairs and tried to keep a certain pair of dark eyes out of his head—with very little success.

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t stand a snowflake in hell’s chance with her. Babies...I just don’t want my own. Someone else’s child—a child who was a little different, to say the least—would be even more of a no-no. So why couldn’t he stop thinking about Claire Thurman?

* * *

‘She’s been waiting for you. Pacing up and down,’ Vi said with a grin. ‘According to madam here, you’re half an hour late.’

Bess barked and wagged her tail.

Claire ruffled the golden retriever’s ears. ‘Sneak. Now your other mum’ll be on at me for putting in too many hours at the hospital.’

‘I know you want to get on, love, but there’s life outside work,’ Vi said.

‘And mine suits me perfectly. Half-shares in the best dog in the world, a good run each night and going out with friends at the weekend.’

‘Hmm.’

Claire knew exactly what Vi’s murmur meant. You need a husband and a family. But she also knew her life wasn’t going to turn out that way. And she was happy enough. She’d come to terms with what had happened—she’d even forgiven Paddy for it.

Though not quite enough to accept Brigid’s invitation to Paddy junior’s christening.

‘Come on, you. Time for your run,’ Claire said, clipping Bess’s lead to her collar.

‘And I’ll have the kettle on for when you get back,’ Vi said.

‘Thanks, Vi.’

Five minutes of a steady pace, with Bess loping beside her, was enough to restore Claire’s equilibrium. And that was when the guilt kicked in. The look on Eliot’s face when she’d suggested that he take a break...He’d clearly overheard what she’d said to Tilly. And maybe she had been a bit harsh. Brigid’s letter had unsettled her, but she really shouldn’t have taken it out on him.

Then she remembered the rest of the conversation and her face turned bright red. Oh, no. If he’d heard Tilly trying to pair him off with Claire...Embarrassing. As well as an apology tomorrow, she’d explain to him that Tilly was a newlywed and wanted to pair off all the unattached people she knew—it wasn’t anything personal.

Personal. Now that was a dangerous word to think in the same thought as Eliot Slater.

‘Oh, get a grip,’ she said aloud. ‘He’s probably attached and, even if he isn’t, he wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m practically his boss, I’m older than he is and I don’t do relationships anyway.’ That decided, she upped the pace until she reached the park.

* * *

Claire didn’t see Eliot the next morning, but assumed he was as busy with patients as she was. When she finally took a break for lunch, she grabbed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a plate of chicken salad and a nectarine. Just as she paid she spotted him at a corner table in the cafeteria. Now was as good a time as any to apologise. Better, in fact, because at least it was on neutral ground rather than on the ward.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Eliot glanced up from the journal he’d been reading, looking surprised. ‘Sorry?’

Well, obviously he’d been concentrating—but Claire still felt her face grow hot, and was annoyed at herself. She wasn’t going to lose her cool for anyone. ‘Mind if I join you?’ she repeated.

‘No, feel free.’

‘Great.’ She plonked her tray opposite him and sat down. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.’

He frowned. ‘Apologise?’

‘I was a bit snappy with you. Bad day.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m not normally like that. Well, not unless I’m unhappy with a patient’s care—then, I growl a lot,’ she added with a grin. ‘How are you settling in?’

‘Fine. I like the unit—everyone’s friendly and it seems like a well-oiled machine.’

‘They’re a nice bunch,’ Claire said. ‘As well as being the best medics in the hospital.’

‘Not that you’re biased, of course.’

She hadn’t expected that. So far, he’d been serious whenever he’d spoken to her. A dry sense of humour and a twinkle in those green eyes...now, that was dangerous. And looking at his mouth instead of his eyes was a very big mistake—because his mouth was perfect. Wide, generous and with a killer smile. The sort of mouth she could imagine against hers. Exploring her body. Making her—

No. Even if he was free, it couldn’t work. He’d probably want a family, in time, and she couldn’t do that. Best not to start something that could only end in tears. It took a huge effort, but she managed to turn the conversation back to work and their patients.

* * *

Something had spooked her, Eliot thought. But he couldn’t think of anything he’d said that might have upset her. All he knew was that that beautiful grin—the one that had made his pulse rocket—had disappeared and she was back to being the brisk, chirpy professional he’d seen on the ward.

Professional was the only relationship they could have anyway. He knew that. He’d spent most of a sleepless night telling himself that. If it came to a choice between Claire and Ryan, there was no contest. He wouldn’t choose anyone over Ryan. But if only he could have had both...

* * *

Later that afternoon, Eliot looked at the baby in front of him and frowned. He had a nasty feeling about this. The baby had been born a few weeks early and the vernix—the waxy substance that protected the baby’s skin from the amniotic fluid in the womb—wasn’t the usual white colour: it was yellow. The baby’s skin was definitely yellow, too. And there was a definite abdominal mass which felt to him as if the spleen and the liver were both swollen, a condition known as hepatosplenomegaly. One look at the notes confirmed his suspicions.

‘Got a moment, please, Claire?’

‘Sure.’ She looked up from her notes. ‘Problem?’

He handed her the notes.

She sucked her teeth. ‘Are you thinking rhesus haemolytic disease?’

‘Looks like it. Mum’s rhesus negative, the baby’s jaundiced and there was definite hepatosplenomegaly when I examined him.’

‘Better get the cord blood tested for blood group and the Coombs test, plus haemoglobin and bilirubin levels.’

* * *

The first two tests would confirm the diagnosis of rhesus haemolytic disease, and the second two would tell them how serious the condition was. Claire shook her head. ‘How on earth was this missed? Rhesus-negative mums are supposed to be tested for D antibodies at booking, twenty-eight weeks and thirty-four weeks. She could have had anti-D injections and the baby would have been fine.’

‘First baby, and she was a bit slapdash about going to the clinic.’ He coughed. ‘Apparently the dad’s rhesus negative as well.’

Claire frowned. ‘If the mum’s blood group is negative and the baby’s blood group is positive, the dad’s must be positive, too.’ Then she bit her lip. ‘Ah. This might get messy,’ she said softly. ‘Want a hand?’

‘Please. She might tell you a bit more than she told me.’

‘Claire the dragon, scaring her into it, you mean?’ she teased.

‘Claire the woman,’ he said. Then wished he hadn’t when she blushed. Very prettily. Because again it made him want to know what she looked like when she’d just been thoroughly kissed. By him. ‘Girl power,’ he said hastily.

‘Right.’ She didn’t say anything, but he had a nasty feeling she’d been able to read his mind. The problem was, he couldn’t read hers. Claire was unattached—Tilly had told him that much—but why? Was it that she’d concentrated on her career and hadn’t met the right man yet?

Well, he wasn’t the right man for her either. Because he came as a package, the kind of package that very few women would be interested in taking on.

‘Estée, this is Claire Thurman, our senior registrar and acting consultant,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong with Miles?’ Estée asked, her face pinched and drawn.

‘We’re doing some blood tests to find out, but Eliot thinks it’s rhesus haemolytic disease. If he’s right...’ Claire took a swift look at the baby ‘...and I’m pretty sure he is, then we can help Miles and he’ll be fine.’

‘What’s rhesus haemolytic disease?’ Estée asked.

‘People’s blood type is grouped into A, AB, B or O, and then it’s either rhesus positive or negative. When you’re pregnant, some of the baby’s red blood cells leak into your system,’ Claire explained. ‘That’s perfectly normal and doesn’t usually matter at all—but if your blood group is rhesus negative and your baby’s blood group is rhesus positive, the leak of blood into your system makes your body produce antibodies. This won’t affect you at all, but it might affect your baby in any future pregnancies, because if any future baby is rhesus positive, the tiniest leak of blood will make your body produce antibodies, which can cross the placenta and attack the baby’s red blood cells. The baby’s red blood cells change in shape and don’t last for as long as they should do, so the baby can become very anaemic and jaundiced. If the baby’s really badly affected, it might turn into a condition known as hydrops fetalis—meaning that the baby’s tissues are very swollen—and there’s a much greater risk of stillbirth. So that’s why, if we knew you’re rhesus negative, we’d give you an injection of something called anti-D, which stops your body producing these antibodies.’

Estée bit her lip. ‘Right.’

‘It doesn’t usually affect first babies,’ Claire said, ‘unless you’ve had a bit of bleeding during your pregnancy, or a threatened miscarriage, or a test such as an amniocentesis. And your midwife really should have tested your blood when she booked you in, plus twice more in later pregnancy.’

‘I’m not good with needles,’ Estée said. She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s my fault. She said she needed to do it but I kept saying I’d do it next time.’

Claire sat next to Estée and held her hand. ‘Except then you missed your appointments,’ she said gently. ‘Estée, you took a risk with yourself as well as your baby. Antenatal appointments are a way of letting your midwife check that you’re OK during your pregnancy and not developing any conditions such as pre-eclampsia, which could make you or your baby very ill.’

‘But I was really well—I was hardly even sick! I didn’t show until nearly six months...’ Estée chewed her lip again. ‘He will be all right, won’t he?’

‘We’ll do our best. If it is rhesus haemolytic disease, we can give him a transfusion which will take some of the bilirubin out of his blood—that’s the chemical that’s turning him yellow—and help increase his red blood cells, which will get rid of the anaemia. We can also give him light treatment. That just means putting him under a bank of lights which will help with the jaundice.’

‘So he’s not going to die?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Claire squeezed her hand. ‘But I do need to know a couple of things, Estée. Things that will stay totally confidential, but that will help us to help Miles.’

Estée thought for a moment. ‘All right.’

‘But before we talk, I need a blood sample. I promise you, you’re not going to feel a thing.’

‘She’s brilliant,’ Eliot said. ‘If she can take blood from tiny, fragile premature babies without hurting them, just think how easy it’ll be for you.’

‘I hate needles,’ Estée said.

‘Then turn and talk to Eliot,’ Claire suggested. ‘Tell him all about the nursery you’ve got planned for Miles.’

Eliot came to sit by the other side of Estée’s bed. ‘This is the bit I like. Holding the hand of the prettiest mums,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly as good as cuddling a new baby.’

‘Oh, men!’ Estée said.

Claire gave Eliot the thumbs-up sign.

‘So, what colours are you using?’

‘Yellow,’ Estée said. ‘With teddy bears. I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, so I wimped out and played safe.’

‘Sounds great. Babies love teddies.’ He almost swapped confidences and told her that he’d stencilled Ryan’s room with teddies, but he managed to bite the words back at the last moment.

‘All done,’ Claire said, capping the sample.

Estée stared at her in amazement. ‘But—I didn’t even feel it.’

‘I told you so.’ Eliot winked at her. ‘Claire’s the best.’

‘Can you sort the tests, please, Eliot?’ Claire asked.

He nodded and left the room.

‘OK, Estée. Well done for being brave. I hate needles, too,’ Claire said. ‘So, can you tell me, is Miles your first baby?’

‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t had a miscarriage before?’

‘No.’

‘Any bleeding in this pregnancy?’

‘Just a bit of spotting. My friend said it wasn’t anything to worry about so I didn’t bother telling my midwife.’

‘Right.’ The tiny haemorrhage had probably been enough to start the antibodies; in subsequent pregnancies it could take as little as 0.03 ml of the baby’s blood to make Estée’s body produce the antibodies. ‘Do you know your husband’s blood group?’

‘He’s A negative, like me.’

‘Right.’ Claire took a deep breath. Now for the crunch question. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, Estée, but is there any chance that your husband isn’t your baby’s father?’

‘Oh, God.’ Estée’s face crumpled and she sobbed. ‘Roger mustn’t know.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I found out he’d had an affair with his secretary. I wanted to pay him back, so I had a fling with his best mate one night. Mickey and I were drunk...The worst thing is, it didn’t even make me feel better. Then I found out I was pregnant. I was so sure it was Roger’s. I mean, me and Mickey...it was only once.’

‘Once is all it takes,’ Claire said drily. ‘If you and Roger are both A negative, Miles should be A negative, too. So Mickey’s blood group must be rhesus positive, and Miles must be his baby.’

‘What am I going to do? If Roger dumps me because of this...I don’t want to be a single mum. I’d never cope. He doesn’t even really want kids—so I didn’t tell him for weeks and weeks, until it was almost too late to do anything and...Oh, God. What am I going to do?’ Estée wailed.

‘It’ll sort itself out. The first thing to concentrate on is making Miles better,’ Claire said. ‘Try not to worry. We have people you can talk to here—counsellors who can help you through the problems you might face with your husband. But right now your son needs you on his side. He needs cuddles and for you to talk to him, sing to him, let him know you’re here. And as soon as we get the test results back, we’ll be able to start treatment.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry for being so wet. It’s...’

‘You’ve just had a baby. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re worried about your son, and it’s perfectly natural.’ Claire squeezed her hand again. ‘I’ll come back and see you as soon as I’ve got the results. In the meantime, if you need anything, the nurses are here to help.’

‘Thank you,’ Estée said again.

Ten minutes later, Eliot rapped on her open office door. At her nod, he walked in and closed the door behind him. ‘Well?’

‘You were right. The baby isn’t her husband’s. She had a fling to pay him back for cheating on her.’ Claire shook her head. ‘Marriage is the pits. If people thought about the possible consequences before they had an affair—and I mean really thought—they’d never do it. It causes way too much mess and pain.’

It sounded as if she was talking from the heart. She must have been married before, Eliot thought, and he guessed that her marriage had disintegrated after an affair. From what Eliot knew of her, Claire wasn’t the type to have a fling—she was way too honest. So she must have been the one to get hurt. No wonder she’d stayed focused on her career.

He couldn’t help himself. He took her hand and squeezed it. And then somehow—he really wasn’t sure how it had happened—he was holding her. Stroking her hair, hair that was as soft and silky as he’d thought it would be, and he wanted to unpin it, let it fall round her face and soften her professional doctor look.

He was close enough to inhale the fragrance of her skin, a soft, sweet scent that made him want to touch her even more. His cheek was pressed against hers and he could feel her heartbeat—slightly irregular, like his own. She must be as knocked off balance as he was. And he couldn’t stop. From nuzzling her cheek, it was only one tiny step to—

‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’

Her voice was quiet yet firm. Eliot dropped his hands immediately and backed off. Though he couldn’t help looking in her eyes, and her eyes definitely weren’t giving the same message as her mouth. She’d clearly felt the same spark of awareness that he had.

Except she was a lot more professional in the way she dealt with it.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know...’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘No. I do know.’ He wasn’t going to insult her by pretending. He shrugged awkwardly. ‘It sounded like you were speaking from experience. And I just wanted to give you a hug.’

‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl. I can look after myself,’ she said drily, sitting back down at her desk.

It was his turn to flush. She’d made her position very, very clear. ‘And I was out of order. Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it. We all act on impulse from time to time.’

‘Yeah.’ She was giving him a let-out, and he seized it gratefully. ‘Call it kid-brother syndrome.’

To his relief, that made her smile. ‘I’m the youngest. So I’ll have to take your word for that.’ She coughed. ‘I’ll, um, see you when the results are back, then.’

‘OK.’ He left her office and closed the door behind him. Dismissed, in the nicest possible way. And he’d really, really blown it. Why hadn’t he kept his hands to himself?