Hearts of Gold: The Children's Heart Surgeon

Since coming to Australia six months ago, Alex had tried to find Dennis Drake, but though records of his training existed it appeared he was no longer practicing in Australia. Probably still working in the US, where he’d been five years ago, Alex had decided, and he’d put the matter to rest once again.

Now here she was!

Alex shook his head. He didn’t know that. And she’d said they hadn’t met. The odds of Annie Talbot being Rowena Drake—being his mystery woman—were a million to one, probably even higher than that, given the population of the country and the percentage of women in the figure.

Yet he’d felt that connection, and he would swear she’d felt it, too.

‘Are you listening to me?’

Phil’s question made Alex realise how deeply he’d lost himself in his memories of the past.

‘Not really,’ he told Phil, certain all he’d been delivering had been gossip about their colleague. Although learning more about her might help him…

‘I was saying Maggie phoned just after you left the house. She wanted to know when you hoped to start operating. A colleague has asked her to stand in with him in a liver transplant later tomorrow, but she doesn’t want to say yes until she’s spoken to you.’

‘We won’t be starting tomorrow,’ Alex replied, feeling better now he could focus back on work. ‘I kept the week clear for checking equipment, staff training, talking to local cardiologists, reviewing files of possible patients and generally settling in. I’ll be seeing Maggie at the meeting, we can talk about it then.’

He’d be seeing Annie Talbot at the meeting, too. Seeing a lot of her, in fact. But if it was her, and she’d lied about meeting him before, what kind of base was that for a working relationship?

‘Who are you waiting for?’ Phil had broken the silence again.

‘Waiting for?’

‘We’re standing here in the staff entranceway, which, in case you haven’t noticed, is becoming increasingly congested. You were standing here when I arrived. I assumed you were waiting for someone.’

‘Oh! No! Well, I might have been waiting for you. Actually, I came in, then wondered about exits and entrances—not knowing the hospital—and went back outside to look around. I’d just come back in and was looking at the fire evacuation plan on the wall when you walked in.’

‘You were checking out the fire exit plan?’

Phil’s disbelief was evident and Alex wasn’t surprised but, having seen the plan on the wall, it had seemed like a good excuse. He could hardly admit he’d seen Phil come through the gates with the woman, and something about her—the way she’d moved—the way her hair had swung to her shoulders, though it was dark, not fair as moonlight—had caused a hitch in his breathing and held him rooted to the spot.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, refusing to be drawn any further into a totally pointless conversation. ‘There’s a small lecture room included in the space the hospital has allotted us. It’s not ideal for staff meetings as I’d rather we were all on one level, but with space at a premium in all hospitals we were lucky to get it. Nine o’clock, we’re on show. That’s if your pretty woman has organised things for us.’

‘She is pretty, isn’t she? And she struck me as an efficient type—power suit and all. Though she told me she was head of the PICU before she took this job. Did you know that? Do you know of many hands-on nurses who’ve gone into admin positions?’

Alex felt his forehead tightening and realised he was frowning, though he tried hard to control this facial expression, knowing it made him look especially grim and therefore intimidating to the families of his patients.

‘No, I didn’t know, but I don’t think it matters as long as she’s efficient at her job. I did ask to be involved in choosing the manager—after all, she’ll be acting as my personal assistant as well—but I was told in no uncertain terms they already had someone for the job.’

‘You didn’t do too badly, getting to bring your own fellow, anaesthetist, perfusionist and head theatre nurse.’

‘It was a condition of my employment,’ Alex said briefly, his mind, now they’d reached the fourth floor where the unit would be situated, on what lay ahead. He may have brought key figures with him, people who’d worked with him during his time in Melbourne, but for the unit to succeed it had to be a team effort. An image of Annie Talbot flashed through his mind. She would be both the handson team leader and his liaison with the powers that be within the hospital. The second element was as important as the first—in fact, it could be the key to success.

So he had to get over his reaction to her. Even if she was the woman on the terrace, she didn’t want to remember it. Didn’t want him to remember it.

Well, he’d tried darned hard not to, yet for five years his subconscious had measured all women against her.

Against a ghost.

A wraith.

A woman he didn’t know!

Annie slumped down at her desk and buried her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening.

It was!

OK, so did it matter?

She took a deep breath and thought about that one.

In some ways yes, because it had physically hurt her to deny they’d met before, when it had been that night—that small experience of dancing with that man and kissing him—which had freed her from her living hell.

Kissing Alex Attwood, although she’d had no idea at the time who he was, had shattered the chain that had bound her to Dennis. Kissing Alex Attwood had made her turn away from the hotel room where her husband had slept, knocked out by a drug he’d been given for seafood poisoning, and keep walking until she’d reached the nearest town, where she’d gone into the police station and asked the sleepy man on duty if she could phone Australia.

Heavens! She should be down on her knees kissing Alex’s feet, not denying she’d ever met him, but the denial had been instinctive, and now, she knew, on so many levels, it had been the right thing to do.

And, given that cardiologists and cardiac surgeons, even in a place the size of the US, moved in the same small world, it was also the only safe thing to do.

Having sorted that out, she raised her head and looked at the clock. Five minutes to the staff meeting and she hadn’t checked the room. Hadn’t done anything but panic since she’d seen him.

Again she felt the jolt of recognition that had shaken her body when she’d looked at the man. Could one body know another so instinctively?

After so short a time?

After one dance?

One kiss?

She shook her head. Forget it. Get moving. You’re here to work, and you’re Annie Talbot, not Rowena Drake.

Dragging air into her lungs, willing the deep breaths to calm her nerves, she entered the small lecture room, crossing to the table on the raised dais, checking there was a jug of water and sufficient glasses for those who would be sitting there—her new acquaintance, Phil; the big boss and the rest of his retinue; Col Bennett, hospital CEO; and herself. Col would introduce the newcomers, then hand over to her to introduce the staff members who would be fixtures in the unit—the unit secretary, two paediatric special care sisters, two sisters from the paediatric surgical ward and two theatre sisters. Other staff would be rostered through the unit once operations were under way.

She was using efficiency to block off any other thoughts. If Phil was right about Alex’s plans for the unit, she’d need to focus completely on what lay ahead workwise.

‘All ready?’

She recognised the voice and turned to see Alex Attwood, frowning grimly, apparently at her. Then, as if he’d suddenly become aware of his fierce expression, he adjusted his features into a smile. The expression shifted the planes of his craggy face so he looked not exactly handsome but very close to it.

Though it wasn’t just the look, but a kind of power she felt emanating from him as he came towards her, that made her realise he was an attractive man. Not conventionally good-looking as Phil was, but attractive nonetheless.

Not that she’d considered attractiveness five years ago when he’d asked her to dance. She’d been too caught up in the music and in an illicit feeling of freedom to take much notice of him as anything more than a dance partner.

Until he’d kissed her…

And by then he’d been too close for her to really see much of him.

‘I think so,’ she said, wishing she could press her hands to her overheated cheeks but knowing that would just draw attention to them.

He was looking at the table on the dais, as if checking off who would sit where. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her scarlet cheeks.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to get together before today,’ he said. ‘I’d intended getting over on Friday, but a friend asked me to assist at the Children’s Hospital—an emergency admission. Three-month-old brought in from the country with an undiagnosed PDA.’

Mentally, Annie translated the initials into patent ductus arteriosis. The foetal duct between the pulmonary artery and the aorta hadn’t closed, so oxygen-rich blood was still flowing from the aorta back into the pulmonary artery and the lungs. It occurred more often in premmie babies and usually closed spontaneously, but if it didn’t, it could lead to a number of problems for the infant or growing child.

It was a relatively common operation now, with good success rates. The best ever achieved in Australia had been during the time Alex Attwood had been in Melbourne.

‘The baby OK?’ she asked, and saw her new boss smile again—though this time with a warmth that had been absent when he’d used a smile to reassure her earlier.

‘Doing great,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Just great.’

Annie heard genuine satisfaction in his voice and some of her apprehension faded. She had enormous respect for doctors who cared deeply about their patients. So with respect, and with admiration for his ability as a surgeon, she could shut that tiny moment in time when their paths had crossed back where it belonged, in a far corner of her memory, and get on with the job she’d been appointed to do. She was so pleased with this discovery she forgot her promise to Phil.

‘Phil was saying you’re hoping to make this unit a specialised paediatric cardiac surgery unit—a model for small units that could work in other hospitals across the world. Does everyone know this? I mean, the hospital CEO, the board. I’m only asking because no one mentioned it to me…’

Too late, the echo of the words she’d used to Phil reminded her she wasn’t supposed to know, and the return of the frown to Alex’s face suggested he was less than pleased with both her and his offsider.

‘Quite a number of people know.’

The voice she remembered, even with the memory tucked away, hardened.

‘And a high percentage of them are influential in both medical and government circles, but—what are you? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?—you must know how political medicine is. Hospitals have to fight each other for the best funding deals, fight for corporate sponsorship. If news of this unit had leaked out, there’d have been a furore about funds being diverted from other places. We needed it to be a fait accompli before making any announcement.’

He strode across the dais then propped his elbows on the lectern and turned to look back at her, as if prepared to lecture his audience of one.

‘You’ll hear all of this very shortly—and after that the word will spread and the fun and fighting will begin. But believe me, Annie Talbot, this unit will not only come into being, it will eventually be the best in the country. And the model that I want it to be.’

Annie, at first affronted by his quite accurate guess at her age, heard the fire of dedication in his voice. It made her study him more closely—the craggy face, with a straight sharp nose, firm chin, untidy eyebrows over stern grey eyes—and what she saw—and sensed in him—stirred a feeling of true elation. Forget jolts of recognition and kisses in the past! If what he was saying was true, then this was going to be the job of her dreams, not just, as she’d thought when she’d applied for it, a stepping stone to something special. This was going to be the something special she’d always hoped was out there for her. The something special to which she could dedicate her life!

Alex watched a whole array of expressions flash across his companion’s face. Used to reading faces—how else could babies tell you how they felt?—he saw puzzlement, then surprise, then something that looked very like excitement. Whatever it was, it brought a glow to her pale skin, making the brush of freckles—a familiar brush of freckles, he was sure—across her nose and cheeks appear luminous. Then clear hazel eyes lifted to meet his, and her smile lit up the dreary lecture room.

‘This, Dr Alex Attwood, is what I’ve been waiting for for ever, it seems. Yes, I know about hospital fighting and it won’t only be hospital against hospital, there’ll be in-house battles as well as other departments fighting to keep money or claim money they feel is being siphoned off to your unit.’

‘Our unit,’ he corrected, but he doubted she’d heard him, so intent was she on what lay ahead of both of them.

‘But we’ll fight and we’ll win,’ she continued, as if driven by some inner force. ‘Because you’re good—the best, most people say—at what you do, and because I’ll be the best damn unit manager ever put on earth.’

She smiled at him again, triumph already shining in her eyes.

‘You have no idea just how much this means to me,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

Then, almost under her breath, he thought he heard her add, ‘Again.’

Puzzled by the strength of her reaction, he forgot the puzzle of ‘again’ and considered where they stood. He was pleased to hear the commitment in her words and voice, but to be thanking him?

Did she not realise just how hard and dirty the fight ahead of them was likely to be? Didn’t she realise she should be running for her life, not thanking him with such delight?

And why would any woman so obviously welcome the challenge the unit would provide? Most women he knew would back away—say thanks but, no, thanks.

Maybe she saw only the glory at the end—the image of herself as manager of an elite unit. But she looked far too sensible—and if she’d managed the PICU she was far too experienced—not to know how dirty hospital fights could get.

‘To the best of our ability we’ll ignore the politics,’ she said—not ‘we should’ but ‘we will’! ‘We’ll make our name on results. Of course, to get results you need the best staff, and that usually requires money, but if we have to work with what we have, then we’ve got to make them the best.’

‘Hey, we haven’t had the staff briefing yet, and already you’re into staff training.’

She swung her head to look at him again, and the way her hair moved reminded him of moonlight on a lake, al-though her hair was dark and shiny, not pale as the silk he’d spun off silkworm cocoons when he was a child.

‘Aren’t you?’ she challenged, and it took him a moment to think what they’d been talking about.

Of course he was. He’d thought of nothing else for weeks. Every free moment had been given over to working out how he could bring the unit staff to the level of expertise he’d require from them. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit that to this woman just yet.

In fact, he felt a little put out—as if she’d taken some of his dream away from him, as if she was already sharing it.

Which was good, he reminded himself. The entire staff needed to share the dream—to be committed to it. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t ready to share, he just hadn’t expected anyone to take it on board so wholeheartedly—so immediately.

Noises outside suggested other staff were arriving.

He glared at Phil as he wandered in, greeting Annie as if they’d been friends for years, putting his arm around her waist to draw her forward so he could introduce her to Maggie and Kurt and Rachel.

For one brief, irrational moment Alex was sorry he’d brought Phil to St James, then he remembered that Phil, for all his flirtatious ways and womanising, was one of the best surgeons he’d ever worked with. He needed Phil here—the unit needed him.

Besides, Annie Talbot had drawn away from his arm, positioning herself out of touching distance of Phil.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’D like them, Henry. All of them. Even the boss,’ Annie said, as they breakfasted the following day. ‘Maggie’s an Australian, from Melbourne, Kurt and Rachel are Americans—they came out to Melbourne with Alexander the Great.’

As Henry was the recipient of this information, she didn’t have to explain that the title his staff had given him had stuck in her brain. That was the nice thing about talking to Henry. She didn’t have to explain.

‘Phil, although he’s originally from England, came with them from the States as well, because he’s learning under you know who for five years. Phil’s a flirt with a predilection for blondes, I suspect. He’s been chatting up Becky, the unit secretary, and she’s blonde, and I saw him in the canteen with one of the unit nursing staff—another blonde.’

Annie reached up and pushed her hair back behind her ears, then she rubbed Henry’s head.

‘Good thing I’ve had a dye job, isn’t it, Henry?’

But although she spoke lightly, her heart was heavy, and though the new job seemed to hold the promise that all her dreams could come true, she was edgy and apprehensive about working with ‘the Great’.

She’d spent a restless night hovering in the no man’s land between sleep and waking, trying desperately to rationalise this uneasiness, finally deciding that in part it was to do with her denial—that their work relationship had started off on the wrong foot because of that one word. Because of a lie!

But she couldn’t have said yes—couldn’t have admitted they’d met before then gone through the ‘where and when’ questions which would inevitably have followed. It was unlikely Alex even remembered dancing with a stranger one night five years ago, and to say ‘I’m the woman you kissed on the terrace at Traders Rest’ would have been too humiliating for words. Especially with Phil standing there, all ears.

And, she feared, it would have been too dangerous as well, for it would tie her to the congress, to the delegates—maybe even to Dennis…

Annie stood up, hoping physical movement would shake off the hungover feeling that was the legacy of her sleepless night. She patted the dog, called goodbye to her father and walked briskly out the door.

Today she wouldn’t talk to herself, would look where she was going, would not bump into anyone and would not tell any lies. Even small ones. Even small self-protective ones.

‘Good morning!’

Not Phil’s cheerful cut-glass accent, but a slow, deep, American drawl. Alex was emerging from the front gate of the house four doors down.

‘Good morning,’ Annie managed, mentally noting that was lie number one and her resolution was already shot to pieces because there was nothing remotely good about having to walk to work with Alex.

‘The meeting went well. The staff seemed enthused. You met with the nursing staff later—are you confident we’ll have them all on side, even when things get tough?’

Annie should have felt relief that the walk to work was going to be nothing more than a business meeting with added exercise, but relief wasn’t happening. What was happening was a hot flush. Premature menopause it must be, because just walking next to this man couldn’t make her feel hot all over.

Very hot all over.

‘Are you all right?’

Annie stopped walking and turned to glare at the questioner.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ It must be early menopause—menopause made you snappy!

‘You’re a little flushed and you didn’t hear my question.’

Alex Attwood was now frowning at her—so much for good mornings!—but it seemed more an enquiring kind of frown than an angry one, then he reached up and touched a finger to her cheek.

‘You’re not sickening for something?’

Only love.

The thought came from nowhere, and so horrified Annie she knew whatever colour had been in her cheeks was now gone as all the heat drained from her body, leaving her deadly cold.

‘I might be,’ she told him, ‘and it might be catching.’ She turned away to keep walking. Think premature menopause, not love. Although menopause itself wasn’t contagious—and not really a sickness, either, though she was reasonably certain premature menopause could be classed as such. And as she’d now come up with a third symptom, fuzzy thinking—why else would love have popped into her head?—she was willing to believe that’s what she had. Especially since she also had mood swings and she’d felt like crying when he’d touched her cheek.

‘Annie!’

She’d been striding determinedly along the footpath, but something in the way he said her name made her look at him again. She read confusion on his face, yet he seemed to have nothing more to say.

Alex cursed his ineptitude with words. It had always been this way. As a child he’d made things with his hands, fixed things—found making a gift for his mother easier than saying he loved her.

Oh, he could talk about his work, to a certain extent. Though even there he preferred to do it—to operate—and to let the results do his talking.

But at some stage he had to talk to Annie, really talk to her. Find out if there was any validity in the way his thoughts kept imposing a fair-haired ghost over her features. Because if there wasn’t, then he might be going mad. He might, as his sister had so kindly suggested when she’d visited him in Melbourne, be suffering the effects of living upside down for six months—mental muddle-headedness, she’d called it.

Though she’d only accused him of that because he’d refused to laugh at her absurd jokes and failed to accompany her on an umpteenth shopping expedition.

She’d walked on—Annie, not his sister—and had stopped at the lights on the busy intersection opposite the hospital. He took her arm as the green man indicated they should cross, and though he felt her soft muscle go tense she didn’t pull away, accepting the touch as nothing more than a courtesy.

Not knowing that he’d had to touch her, had to feel her flesh and the hardness of bone beneath it. Closer to madness than mental muddle-headedness. He sent the thought-wave to his sister, now back in North Carolina with the rest of his family, then, the crossing safely negotiated, dropped Annie’s arm and turned his thoughts to work.

‘The staff are really keen. It was a good idea to negotiate to have our own staff treating our patients even once they leave the special care unit for the ward.’

‘I’ll be observing in Theatre Three today—adult patient but an intricate aorta repair.’

They spoke in unison, then Annie gave a laugh and said, ‘As I was answering a question you asked ages ago, it seems only fair you continue.’

Though equally willing to talk about the nursing staff—anything to get his mind off the physical manifestations of Annie’s close proximity—Alex continued.

‘It was torn in a MVA, repaired at the time, but now the cardiologist feels there must be adhesions slowing the flow of blood through the vessel. The echo shows some kind of blockage but it’s where the aorta’s tucked away behind the pulmonary artery and it’s hard to get a clear picture of the problem. Even the MRI doesn’t show much.’

‘Sounds tricky,’ Annie said, though he guessed from the relaxation in her voice that she was relieved by the topic. ‘I’m assuming that’s this morning. You’ve a couple of patients booked for consultations this afternoon.’

They were inside the staff entrance, in the small alcove where he’d waited for them yesterday, and she turned and smiled at him.

‘To think I doubted you’d get referrals. I know Phil laughed at me when I said as much yesterday, but I wondered if paediatric cardiologists here would prefer to continue to use the surgeons they knew.’