Carrying The Single Dad's Baby

There were two ways she could deal with this. She could either pretend it wasn’t happening and wait for Daniel to stop resenting her; or she could tackle the problem head on and come to some kind of understanding with him. She’d grown up with their family motto, tenacitas per aspera—strength through adversity—so the second option was the one the rest of the Lindfords would choose.

Tackling him head on it was.

The next day, she was in Cubicles and Daniel was in Resus. Just as Sam had done, the previous day, she slipped into Resus at lunchtime. Daniel was on his own, to her relief, and it looked as if he was writing up notes. ‘Dr Capaldi. Just the man I wanted to see,’ she said.

He gave her a cool look. ‘Something I can help you with, Ms Lindford?’

‘Yes. I’m buying you lunch.’

‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary.’

He was trying to fob her off? Well, she wasn’t put off that easily. ‘I rather think it is. You and I need a chat.’

‘Hardly.’

‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘I’m not pulling rank, but I think there’s a problem and we need to sort it out rather than let it grow out of proportion.’

‘There isn’t a problem,’ he said.

‘Then have lunch with me.’

He looked reluctant.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to put arsenic in your coffee,’ she said. ‘Apart from anything else, I don’t have the licence to get hold of that grade of poison.’

He didn’t even crack a smile.

Taking him by the shoulders and shaking him until his teeth rattled wouldn’t achieve anything other than a temporary relief from frustration. She folded her arms to help her resist the temptation. ‘I could offer you a pair of boxing gloves, if that would make you feel better. Though I should probably make you aware that I could take you in the gym.’

He blinked. ‘You box?’

‘I box,’ she confirmed. Her personal trainer had suggested it, and boxing had been one of the things that had got her on the slow road back from rock bottom. ‘I might be a galumphing five foot ten, but I’m very light on my feet. I can do the whole Muhammed Ali thing. So. Your choice. Boxing gloves or lunch?’

‘Lunch. Because I’d never hit a woman.’

‘I wouldn’t have any qualms about hitting you in the ring,’ she said.

Was that a fleeting and grudging glimpse of respect she saw in his face?

‘But I think coffee night be more civilised,’ she said.

He didn’t make polite conversation on the way to the canteen, but neither did she. And although Daniel protested when she insisted on paying for his sandwiches, Beatrice gave him the look she reserved for patients who were drunk and obnoxious on a Saturday night and he backed off.

‘Thank you for lunch,’ he muttered when they sat down.

At least he had manners. Even if he wouldn’t look her in the eye. And that was going to change, too. She’d make him smile at her if it killed her.

‘Let’s put our cards on the table. I understand why you don’t like me. I got the job that everyone thought had your name written all over it. Of course you resent me.’

‘Not true,’ he said.

She scoffed. ‘You were the only person who didn’t take a brownie yesterday.’

‘Because I don’t like chocolate.’

That hadn’t occurred to her. But she hadn’t finished with her evidence. ‘And you didn’t come to my welcome drink after your shift.’

‘And you think that was because I’m sulking?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Everyone else thought my name was on that job. That’s the only bit you got right.’

She frowned. ‘So what’s your take on it?’

‘Not that it’s anybody’s business, but I didn’t actually apply for the job.’

She stared at him. ‘You didn’t?’

‘I didn’t,’ he confirmed. ‘Because I can’t give the department what it needs, right now. I’m a single dad, and my son’s needs come before the job. Always.’

She blew out a breath. ‘Fair enough. I didn’t know that.’

‘Well, you do now.’

‘Then I apologise for jumping to conclusions.’

* * *

Daniel hadn’t expected her to react quite like that. He’d expected her to go haughty on him, as she had the previous day.

And he hadn’t exactly been fair to her. He could’ve told her that he wasn’t going to her welcome drinks, and why. Instead, he’d chickened out and just avoided her.

He needed to put that right. ‘And I’m sorry for letting you think I resent you for taking my job.’

‘OK. So we’re saying now that the problem between us isn’t a problem.’

Oh, there was a problem, all right. His libido was practically sitting up and begging. But he was just going to have to ignore it. ‘There isn’t a problem,’ he lied. ‘Welcome to Muswell Hill.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And you didn’t have to buy me lunch.’

‘Call it in lieu of the drink you didn’t have last night,’ she said.

He inclined his head. ‘Then thank you.’ Polite, he could do.

‘So how old is your son?’ she asked.

‘Four.’ Was it his imagination, or did she just flinch?

Imagination, maybe, because then she smiled. ‘It’s a lovely age. My youngest nephew is four.’

She had a killer smile. If Daniel hadn’t known it was anatomically impossible, he would’ve said that his heart had just done a backflip. But, for Iain’s sake, he couldn’t act on the attraction he felt towards Beatrice Lindford. It wouldn’t be fair to bring someone else into the little boy’s life—someone who might not stick around. Someone who was, to all intents and purposes, his boss. It would be too complicated. Inappropriate. ‘Uh-huh,’ he said, not sure quite what to say to her. How to stop this from tipping over into personal stuff he didn’t want to share. Such as why he was a single dad.

‘Stating the obvious, but from your accent it sounds as if you’re from Scotland.’

‘Glasgow,’ he confirmed.

‘With an Italian surname?’

‘My great-grandparents were Italian.’ He paused. ‘And you’re posh.’

‘Yes. But I’m a girl and I’m the youngest, so I got to choose what I wanted to do.’

Meaning that her brother—or brothers—had been expected to go into the family business? But asking her would be too personal; and it would also mean she could ask him personal stuff that he didn’t want to answer. He backed off. ‘So you trained as a doctor.’

‘Here in London. What about you? Glasgow or here?’

‘Here,’ he said. And please don’t let her ask about his son.

‘So what made you pick emergency medicine?’ she asked.

Relief flooded through him. He could talk about work and why he did what he did. It wasn’t quite so personal, so it was easier to deal with. ‘I like the fact that we make a real difference, that we can save people.’ He paused. ‘You?’

‘Pretty much the same. Though we can’t save everyone.’

Again, there was an odd look on her face—as if she was talking about something personal. But he wasn’t going to ask. It was none of his business. Instead, he said, ‘We do our best. That’s all any of us can do. Strive to do our best.’

‘True.’

He finished his coffee. ‘Thank you for lunch. And for the chat.’

‘So we’re good?’

‘It won’t be a problem working together, if that’s what you mean.’ He’d already heard Josh singing her praises, saying that Beatrice was good with patients and she listened to the rest of the team. That was good. He hated it when senior colleagues went all arrogant. It was never good for the patients.

‘I’m glad. We don’t have to be friends,’ she said. ‘As long as we agree that our patients come first.’

‘That works for me,’ he said. ‘We’d better get back to the ward.’

‘OK.’ She swallowed the last of her own coffee. ‘Let’s go.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE REST OF the week went smoothly; Beatrice still wasn’t rostered in the same part of the department as Daniel during their shifts, but at least he was civil to her if they happened to be in the staff kitchen at the same time.

On Saturday morning, she headed to the park for the team’s football day out. As Sam had requested, she made some brownies. Remembering that Daniel didn’t like chocolate, she also made flapjacks, as a kind of peace offering. Then again, Daniel might not be there.

She’d just added her offerings to the picnic table when Daniel turned up with a small boy in tow. Even if she hadn’t known that he had a four-year-old son, she would’ve known that the little boy was Daniel’s because they looked so alike. And she was faintly amused to discover that the little boy had a Glaswegian accent almost as strong as his father’s.

But what she hadn’t expected was that Daniel would look so gorgeous in a football kit. The tight-fitting T-shirt showed that he had good abs, and his legs were strong and muscular. He looked more like a model than a doctor, and she wasn’t surprised to see how many admiring glances were headed his way.

‘I didn’t think you’d be here today,’ Daniel said. ‘Or are you a football fan as well as a boxing fan?’

She pushed away the thought of getting hot and sweaty in a boxing ring with him. That really wasn’t appropriate. ‘Hayley and Sam said everyone turns up and has a huge picnic afterwards. I thought it might be a nice way to get to know the team outside work,’ she said.

Daniel shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’

‘Do you work with my daddy?’ the little boy asked.

‘I do,’ Beatrice confirmed.

He looked at her. ‘You’re really tall for a girl.’

‘Iain, don’t be rude,’ Daniel began.

‘It’s fine, and he’s right—I am tall.’ She smiled, and crouched down so she was nearer to the little boy’s height. ‘Is that better?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Hello. I’m Iain.’

‘I’m Beatrice.’ She held out her hand for him to shake.

He shook her hand, but frowned. ‘That’s a strange name.’

‘You can call me Bea, for short.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘Like a buzzy bee?’

She couldn’t resist Iain’s charm and chutzpah. ‘Just like that,’ she said.

‘Hello, Bee. Are you going to play football?’

‘No, I’m just going to watch,’ she said.

‘I play football. Just like my dad,’ Iain told her proudly, puffing out his chest.

‘Then I’ll make sure I cheer really loudly when you score a goal,’ she said.

Although football really wasn’t her thing, she enjoyed chatting to Hayley on the sidelines, and dutifully clapped and cheered every time a goal was scored.

Iain was running past her, clearly intent on getting to the ball, when he tripped and fell over. Instinctively, she looked up to see where Daniel was: on the far side of the field.

Iain was on his knees, crying and shielding his arm.

What could she do but go over to him until his dad arrived and see if she could sort out the problem?

‘You’re lucky we’re all in the emergency department so we know just how to deal with things when people fall over,’ she said. ‘Where does it hurt, Iain?’

‘Here.’ He pointed to his elbow.

It was very obvious to her that he’d twisted his arm when he fell, so the ligament holding the radial bone in place had slipped, letting the bone dislocate. Given that he was so young, it would be easy to manipulate the bone back into place—but she also knew that it would hurt like mad, very briefly.

‘I need you to be super-brave for me, Iain,’ she said. ‘Do you like chocolate?’

‘Aye.’

‘OK. I can fix what’s wrong, but it means I have to touch your poorly arm and it’ll hurt for about three seconds. After that, it’ll stop hurting,’ she said. ‘I made some really special chocolate brownies you might like, so you can have one afterwards. I just need you to be brave for three seconds, that’s all. Can you do that for me?’

Iain sobbed, ‘I want my dad.’

‘And he’s running across the field towards you right now. He’ll be here really soon. But I really need to slip that bone back into place for you,’ she said. ‘Close your eyes and sing me a song, Iain.’

‘I don’t know any songs,’ he wailed, clearly too scared to be able to think.

‘I bet you know “The Wheels on the Bus”,’ she said. ‘I’ll help you sing it. And I want you to sing it really, really loudly. Can you do that?’

He nodded, his face wet with tears.

She started singing, and the little boy closed his eyes and began to sing along with her, very loudly and very out of tune. The perfect distraction, she hoped. One quick movement and she’d manipulated his arm to put the bone back into place.

Iain was halfway through yelling when he clearly realised that his arm had stopped hurting.

‘Oh. It doesn’t hurt any more,’ he said. ‘You fixed me!’

‘I did,’ she said with a smile.

* * *

Daniel arrived just as Iain flung his arms around Beatrice and hugged her. ‘Thank you, Bee!’

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘He fell over and dislocated his elbow. I’ve just manipulated it back, but we need to check his pulses and his range of movement.’ Just in case there was a problem and Iain needed an X-ray, Daniel knew.

His own heart was racing madly with fear for his child, but she’d been calm and sorted out the problem without any fuss. He’d do the same. It was what he’d trained all these years for: to be calm when there was an accident or an emergency.

‘Iain, can you move your arms for me and copy what I do?’ he asked.

‘Aye, Dad.’

He checked Iain’s pulses, which were fine, then talked Iain through a range of movements. The little boy copied every movement without flinching or stopping as if he was in pain. Everything seemed completely normal.

‘I hardly need to tell you what happens next,’ Beatrice said.

‘Pain relief if he needs it, put him in a sling for the rest of today to support his elbow, and if he stiffens up and doesn’t use his arm tomorrow take him in for an X-ray.’

She spread her hands. ‘Textbook perfect, Dr Capaldi.’

‘Thank you for looking after him,’ he said.

‘That’s what I’m here for. That,’ she said, ‘and chocolate brownies. I haven’t forgotten what I promised you, Iain.’

‘My dad doesn’t like chocolate. We never have chocolate brownies,’ Iain said.

‘Then your dad can go and finish playing football while you sit and eat brownies with me,’ she said.

‘I...’ Daniel looked at her, wanting to be with his son but not wanting to let the rest of the team down, either.

Beatrice shooed him back to the field. ‘He’ll be fine with me.’ And then she gave him the sassiest smile he’d ever seen, one that made him want to grab her and kiss her. Not good.

‘Trust me—I’m a doctor,’ she said.

It was the cheesiest line in the book. But he’d seen her at work and he’d heard others praising her, saying that she always put the patient first. And Iain seemed to like her. He gave her a speaking look, but headed back to the field. He played for another ten minutes, and then to his relief he was substituted by one of the nurses.

When he went back over to where the spectators were, Iain was chatting animatedly to Beatrice. And Beatrice had used the scarf from her hair to fashion into a sling.

‘Dad! You’re back!’

‘That’s my playing over for today,’ he said. ‘Thank you for looking after Iain. I’ll take over now.’

‘My pleasure. We’ve had a nice time, haven’t we, Iain?’ she asked.

‘She made me a special sling,’ Iain said. ‘Look.’

‘Very nice,’ Daniel said. ‘I’ll wash it when we get home and get it back to you on Monday at work. And now we must let Ms Lindford get on, Iain.’

The little boy frowned. ‘But I like talking to Bee.’

‘She’s busy.’

Out of Iain’s view, she shook her head.

She wasn’t undermining him as a parent—he appreciated the fact she’d disagreed with him without actually saying so in front of his son—but the idea of spending time with her was dangerous. Right now Beatrice’s hair was loose, she was wearing denims cut off at the knee, a strappy top and canvas shoes; and she looked more approachable than she did at work in tailored trousers and a white coat. The way she looked right now, he could just imagine walking hand in hand with her in the sunshine and kissing her under a tree.

He didn’t want to walk hand in hand with anyone in the sunshine or kiss them under a tree, and that included Beatrice Lindford, he told himself sharply.

‘Five more minutes, Dad?’ Iain pleaded. ‘Please.’

Again, out of Iain’s view, she nodded.

Iain’s brown eyes were huge and pleading. How could he resist? ‘All right. Five more minutes.’

‘Bee makes the best chocolate brownies in the world,’ Iain said. ‘Even you would like them, Dad.’

‘I made flapjacks as well.’ She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘And don’t tell me that you don’t like oats. You’re a Scot.’

‘Aye, he is.’ Iain was all puffed up with pride. ‘And so am I.’

‘Peas in a pod, you two.’

But Daniel could see she was laughing with them, not at them.

‘Can I have some flapjacks, too, Bee?’ Iain asked.

‘That’s your dad’s call, not mine,’ she said, lifting her hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘Yes,’ Daniel said. ‘Though there’s a word missing, Iain Capaldi.’

‘Please,’ Iain said.

Daniel ended up trying a flapjack himself, and it surprised him. ‘That’s actually better than my grandmother’s—and don’t you dare tell your great-gran I said that, Iain,’ he added swiftly.

‘My great-granny makes the best ice cream in the world,’ Iain said. ‘Do you like ice cream, Bee?’

‘I do,’ Beatrice said with a smile, completely charmed by the way he pronounced his Rs.

‘You should come to Glasgow and try my great-granny’s special ice cream. It’s fab.’

‘Maybe sometime,’ Beatrice said.

Iain chattered away to her, and Daniel couldn’t help watching them. Iain was usually shy with strangers, so it was unusual for him to be so talkative. Maybe it was because Beatrice had reduced his dislocated elbow and stopped him being in such pain. Or maybe he was responding to her gentleness.

Against his better judgement, he was starting to like Beatrice Lindford. Too much for his own peace of mind. She was the first woman since Jenny he’d even thought about holding hands with, let alone anything else. Which made her dangerous.

Iain didn’t stop talking about her all the way home, either.

‘She looks like a princess,’ he said. ‘She’s got real golden hair.’

Hair that Daniel couldn’t get out of his head, now he’d seen it loose.

‘And it’s long.’

Yeah. Daniel had noticed.

‘Like the princess in the story Miss Shields told us in class. The one in the tower. Her hair was so long she could make it into a ladder. Ra...’ He paused, his forehead wrinkled in a frown as he tried to remember the princess’s name.

‘Rapunzel,’ Daniel supplied.

‘Aye. And she talks like the Queen, all posh.’

‘Yes.’

‘I like her. Do you like her, Dad?’

Awkward question. ‘I work with her,’ Daniel prevaricated.

‘She’s nice. Can she come for tea tonight?’

‘No, Iain. She’s busy.’

But his son wasn’t to be put off. ‘Next week, then?’

‘She might be busy.’

‘Ask her,’ Iain said. ‘Go on, Dad. Ask her. Please.’

‘Do you want to go and get pizza?’ Daniel asked, hoping to distract his son with a treat.

It worked. Until bedtime, when Iain started on about princesses again. ‘Do you think Bee’s married to a prince?’

Daniel had no idea, but maybe if Iain thought Beatrice was married he’d drop the subject. ‘Probably.’

‘Then why didn’t the prince come to play football today?’

Daniel loved his son dearly, but the constant questions could be exhausting. ‘Maybe he can’t play football.’

‘Oh.’ Iain paused. ‘If she’s a princess, do you think she knows the Queen?’

‘I don’t know, Iain.’

‘Mum likes Prince Harry.’

Daniel tamped down his irritation. ‘I know.’

‘Do you think Bee knows Prince Harry?’

‘I think,’ Daniel said gently, ‘it’s time for one more story and then sleep.’

He just hoped his son wouldn’t say anything about Beatrice next weekend, when Iain was due to stay with his mother. The last thing he wanted was Jenny quizzing him about whether he was dating again. He knew she still felt guilty about what had happened between them, and that if he started seeing someone it would make her feel better, but he really didn’t want to date anyone. He wanted to concentrate on bringing Iain up and being the best dad he could be.

On Sunday, Iain seemed to have forgotten about his new friend. But then on Monday Daniel picked up his son from nursery, and Iain handed him a picture: a drawing of a woman with long golden hair and a crown, a man playing football and a small boy with red lines coming out of his elbow.

‘It’s Bee making me better on Saturday,’ he announced, although Daniel had already worked that out for himself. ‘I drawed it for her. Can you give it to her tomorrow?’

‘All right.’

Iain beamed. ‘I know she’ll like it.’

‘I’m sure she will.’ If she didn’t, he’d fib and tell Iain that she loved it. No way was he going to let his little boy be disappointed.

* * *

Beatrice was in the staff kitchen when he walked in, the next day. ‘Are you busy at lunchtime?’ he asked.

She looked surprised, then answered carefully. ‘It depends what it’s like in Resus.’

‘OK. If you’re not busy, I need to talk to you—and lunch is on me.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no need.’

‘I want to say thank you for rescuing Iain on Saturday. His arm’s fine, by the way.’

‘Good, but really there’s no need to buy me lunch. I just did what anyone else would’ve done because I was the nearest one to him when it happened. Though thank you for the offer.’

‘Can I just talk to you, then?’ He really didn’t want to give her the picture in front of everyone.

She nodded. ‘We’ll go halves on lunch.’

‘Good.’

Daniel switched into work mode, and managed to concentrate on his patients for the morning: two fractures, a badly sprained ankle and an elderly woman who’d had a TIA and whom he admitted for further testing. He had no idea how busy Resus had been, but at lunchtime Beatrice appeared. ‘Are you OK to go, or do you need a bit of time to finish writing up notes?’

‘I’m OK to go,’ he said.

He waited until they were sitting in the canteen before handing her the envelope.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Iain asked me to give you this,’ he said.

She opened the envelope, looked at the picture and smiled. Her blue eyes were full of warmth when she looked at him. ‘That’s lovely—me, him and you at the team football day on Saturday, I’m guessing?’

He nodded.

‘Tell him thank you, I love it, and I’m going to put it on my fridge, right next to the picture Persephone drew me of her horse at the weekend.’

‘Persephone?’ Daniel asked.

‘My niece.’

He blinked. ‘So your family goes in for unusual names.’

She nodded. ‘My generation’s all from Shakespeare—Orlando’s the oldest, then Lysander, then me.’ She spread her hands. ‘It could’ve been worse. My mother could’ve called me Desdemona or Goneril. And, actually, Beatrice is Shakespeare’s best female character, so I’m quite happy to be named after her.’

Her accent alone marked her out as posh. The names of her brothers and her niece marked her out as seriously posh. And had she just said that her niece had a horse? Posh and rich, then.

Then he realised what he’d said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude about your name. We just have...simpler names in my family.’

‘Then you’d approve of Sandy’s choices—George and Henry.’

‘Sandy?’

‘Lysander.’ She smiled. ‘Mummy’s the only one who’s allowed to call him that. Anyone else gets his evil glare and never dares do it again.’

‘So Persephone is your oldest brother’s daughter, then?’

She nodded. ‘We call her Seffy, for short. And her older brother is Odysseus.’

‘Odysseus.’ Who wouldn’t have lasted three seconds in the playground at Daniel’s school. Why on earth would you call a child Odysseus?