The Registrar's Convenient Wife

* * *

As her office door shut, Claire leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Hell, hell, hell. Why had she let her mouth run away with her like that? She’d virtually told Eliot she’d been unhappily married. And when he’d given her a hug—what he’d said had been a kid-brother sort of hug—she’d been so near to embarrassing them both. For a mad moment she’d actually thought about moving her head, letting her lips trail over his. Kissing him. For an even madder moment, she’d thought he’d been about to do the same.

Thank God they hadn’t. Because now she knew he thought of her as his big sister; he’d only given her a hug because he’d thought she could do with one.

The problem was, she couldn’t reciprocate. She simply couldn’t see Eliot Slater as her kid brother. Not now she knew what it felt like, being held by him. And he smelled good, clean and male. And...

Stop right there, Claire Thurman, she told herself. It isn’t going to happen. Your relationship’s strictly professional. And it’s going to stay that way. He’s your junior, and you’re going to do the big-sister, kid-brother thing, even if it kills you.

* * *

When the test results came back, both Claire and Eliot managed to pretend that the near-clinch in her office had never happened. ‘Coombs is positive, baby’s blood group is A positive, mum’s is A negative.’ Eliot frowned at the haemoglobin results. ‘I think we should do the exchange transfusion now.’

Claire looked at the results and nodded. ‘The haemoglobin’s too low to wait for the bilirubin levels. Have you done this before?’

‘Once.’

‘So you want Claire the dragon to put the big bad needle in?’ she teased.

‘And I’ll get the consent form signed,’ he offered. ‘Deal?’

‘Right. I’ll get Tilly to do the monitoring.’

He checked his watch. ‘An exchange transfusion usually takes about two hours, doesn’t it?’

‘And you can’t stay that long.’

He hated the disappointment in her eyes. But how could he explain that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t anything to do with what had nearly happened between them in her office, without going into detail about his family circumstances? Detail he didn’t want to go into, because he definitely didn’t want her pity. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘No problem.’

‘Tills—case conference,’ Claire said when they reached the nurses’ station. ‘We have a little one with rhesus haemolytic disease, and we’re going to do an exchange transfusion. Which means, Eliot?’

‘It corrects the anaemia and stops the circulatory system being overloaded—at the moment the baby has a normal blood volume but the central venous pressure’s too high. We need to use warmed blood—at thirty-seven degrees—cross-matched against the baby’s and the mum’s blood. The blood we put in will replace the red blood cells which are coated with antibodies—the new blood will be compatible with the mum’s serum so the antibodies won’t coat the new red blood cells,’ Eliot recited. ‘Tilly, Claire’s going to do the cannula in the umbilical artery and vein, and we’re going to remove the blood in five-mil aliquots from the artery and replace it through continuous infusion into the vein, so there’s less risk of the baby’s blood pressure fluctuating. The baby may need some pain relief and we need to watch for rebound of the bilirubin serum level.’

Claire nodded. ‘OK, you’ve passed your viva.’ She gave him what she hoped was a big-sister grin. ‘Tills, we want to monitor Miles’s ECG, his Us and Es, bilirubin, glucose—you know there’s a risk of rebound hypoglycaemia after the transfusion—and calcium.’

‘OK. And are we doing phototherapy after that?’

‘Yes. The usual—keep him uncovered as much as possible, keep an eye on his temperature and fluid loss and keep checking the eye shields to make sure they’re not irritating his eyes,’ Claire confirmed.

‘And pinch a surgeon’s mask to use as a mini-nappy to protect his gonads from chromatic radiation damage,’ Tilly added.

‘Why don’t we use a phototherapy blanket?’ Eliot asked, referring to the fibre-optic filaments which carried a high-intensity halogen light source, woven into a pad which the baby could lie on. ‘Then he wouldn’t need an eye shield, and it’ll be easier for Estée to care for him.’

‘We don’t have any,’ Claire told him. ‘We’re fundraising at the moment. So if you want to buy some raffle tickets...’

He rolled his eyes. ‘OK, OK. Message received and understood.’

‘And you’re a doctor, so there’s a minimum purchase level of ten tickets,’ Tilly added.

‘I think I’ll go and get that consent form signed, before you two get too carried away,’ Eliot said with a grin.

‘Like I said. He’s lovely,’ Tilly muttered to Claire when Eliot had gone. ‘He’d be good for you.’

‘Like I said, it’s not going to happen,’ Claire muttered back.

If only...

CHAPTER THREE

CLAIRE managed to keep up the ‘big sister’ act for nearly a week. And then she was heading to her office to write up a patient’s notes when she saw a small boy wandering around the ward.

‘Hello. Are you lost?’ she asked.

He stared at the floor. ‘I can’t find my dad.’

Claire definitely hadn’t seen the boy before. But there was an outside chance he’d visited a younger sibling on the ward when she’d been off duty. ‘I’ll help you find him. My name’s Claire and I’m a doctor here. What’s your name?’

‘Ryan.’

‘Can you tell me your baby brother or sister’s name, Ryan?’

He shook his head, still staring at the floor.

Maybe he’d wandered in here from another ward. Or maybe...Something about him reminded her of her godson, Jed. ‘Is your baby brother or sister here, sweetheart?’ she asked gently.

Again, Ryan shook his head.

‘Is your mum or dad a patient here?’

‘Dad’s a doctor.’

He looked up and in that brief second Claire realised who the boy was. Ryan’s eyes were a deep cornflower blue and his hair was mid-brown, but his mouth was identical to a mouth she hadn’t been able to get out of her head. Eliot’s. ‘Is your dad’s name Eliot?’ she asked carefully.

‘Yes.’

Her heart clenched. Eliot had a child. Eliot was married. So either he really had meant it about the kid-brother thing, and she’d nearly made a colossal fool of herself, or...Oh, no. He couldn’t be another Paddy. He couldn’t have been a married man trying to schmooze her just when she’d been saying how affairs wrecked lives. No. He was too nice for that—wasn’t he? And Tilly, who had a radar for that sort of thing, had pronounced him unattached...

But maybe they’d both been wrong.

She took a deep breath. ‘OK, Ryan. Your dad’s seeing a patient at the moment. Would you like to come and sit in my office and wait for him?’

‘I want Dad.’

‘I know, sweetheart, but right now he’s with a tiny baby who’s very ill. I’ll get him for you, but you can’t come with me in case you have any germs.’

‘Because it’s a sterile environment and bacteria multiply rapidly.’

That one had come straight from left field—certainly not what she’d expected from a child this young. But, then again, maybe he’d heard Eliot talk about his job at home. ‘I’m impressed,’ she said. ‘Are you going to be a doctor like your dad when you grow up?’

‘No.’

Well, that was her fault for asking a closed question. She thought of Jed again. ‘How old are you, Ryan?’

‘Seven.’

‘Do you like dinosaurs?’

Another flash of those beautiful eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got some in my office. Do you want to see them while I get your dad?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What would you like?’

‘Milk, please.’

‘OK. Come this way.’

‘It’s the third door on the right,’ he said, surprising her. ‘I saw it on the map.’

‘How did you get here, Ryan?’

‘On the bus. Number 17 bus, four stops. Change to a number 20 bus to the hospital. There’s always a map of a hospital in Reception. This is the fourth floor, and all the wards on this floor start with D because D’s the fourth letter of the alphabet.’

Ryan was definitely like Jed: hated small talk, but could hold forth for hours on subjects that interested him. Facts and figures, maps and dinosaurs, sea creatures. She’d bet good money that Ryan loved trains, robots and astronomy, too. ‘Well done, you. We’re going to stop by the nurses’ kitchen on the way to get you some milk.’

‘Thank you.’

Polite, quiet and that steadfast refusal to make eye contact for more than a second. He gave information rather than having a proper conversation, and she had a feeling that Ryan would be a stickler for routine. Typical of a child with Asperger’s syndrome.

Which explained why Eliot worked the shifts he did, and why he hadn’t wanted to be late. But why hadn’t he told her himself? Was she that much of a dragon?

‘You should pour it with your right hand,’ Ryan remarked when she took the milk carton from the fridge.

‘Sorry, Ryan. I’m left-handed. If I pour it with my right, I’ll spill it everywhere.’

There was a nasty pause while the little boy digested the information. Then he shrugged. ‘OK.’

‘Tell me when to stop.’ If her suspicions were right, Ryan would be as particular as Jed about how much milk he had in a cup.

‘Stop,’ he said solemnly when the liquid was one centimetre below the brim.

‘Rightio. We’ll go to my office and get the dinosaurs, and then I’ll fetch your dad.’

‘You’ve got a shark screensaver,’ he said immediately when they walked into her office.

‘It was my birthday present from my godson,’ she said.

‘It’s cool.’

‘I like it, too.’ She rummaged in her desk and found the collection of dinosaurs, plus the set of cards she’d bought for Jed that contained facts and figures about various dinosaurs. ‘This game’s better for two or more people but you can play it on your own, against yourself, if you like. Now, are you OK to stay here while I get your dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you need anything before we get back, just go to the nurses’ station and ask for Tilly.’

‘Tilly,’ he repeated dutifully.

‘I won’t be long.’ She smiled, left and went to find Eliot in one of the side rooms. ‘Can I have a quick word, Dr Slater?’

Eliot looked up from his patient, surprised by her formality. ‘Of course.’ He followed her outside the room.

‘You have a visitor in my office,’ she said coolly. ‘Name of Ryan Slater.’

Panic gripped him, oozing out of every pore. What was his son doing here? Was he hurt? And why hadn’t Claire mentioned Fran? Eliot forced himself to calm down. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine. Right now he’s looking at my dinosaur cards. I’ve given him some milk. He wants you, so I’ll finish off here.’

‘Thanks.’ Eliot bit his lip. ‘Look, I hope he—’

Clearly his worries were written all over his face, because she cut in, ‘He’s been no trouble at all.’

‘Thanks for looking after him. Um, I’m sorry about this.’

‘Not a problem.’

It was, by the look on her face. A big problem. But he’d have to deal with that later—his priority right now was Ryan.

He almost ran to Claire’s office, and could have wept when he saw that Ryan was on his own. Had Fran got fed up with waiting and dropped him off at the hospital? ‘Ryan! Are you all right?’

‘Hi, Dad.’ Ryan was acting as if it was nothing out of the usual for him to be sitting in Eliot’s boss’s office. ‘Look, Claire’s got these dinosaur cards. It’s a game. You have to—’

‘Ryan,’ Eliot cut in, ‘what’s happened?’

‘I had some milk.’

Specific. He had to remember to ask specific questions. Ryan dealt in pure logic. ‘Where’s Fran?’

‘At home with Jon.’

‘Who’s Jon?’

Ryan shrugged.

Her boyfriend. He must be Fran’s boyfriend. ‘Does she know you’re here?’

‘No.’

Then why the hell hadn’t Fran phoned him to let him know Ryan was missing?

‘How did you get here?’

‘Number 17 bus. Four stops, change to number 20 bus to here,’ Ryan recited. ‘This is the fourth floor—’

‘Didn’t the bus drivers ask you where your mummy and daddy were?’ Eliot cut in.

Ryan shrugged. ‘I gave them the right money for my ticket.’

He would. Ryan was excellent with money—he’d grasped the concept much quicker than his classmates, and his maths skills were way ahead of his age. Then a nasty thought hit Eliot. ‘Where did you get the money?’

‘I took Fran’s purse.’

Eliot scooped up his son and sat down with Ryan firmly on his lap. Ryan wriggled, clearly uncomfortable with the close contact. ‘Ryan, sweetheart, you really can’t just take money from people and get on the bus.’

‘But I just did,’ Ryan pointed out logically.

‘OK. It’s something you’re not supposed to do. Number one, you don’t take things without asking and, number two, you always tell someone if you want to go somewhere.’ He paused. ‘What was Fran doing?’

‘Giggling. Jon was taking her clothes off.’

That explained a lot, Eliot thought grimly. ‘Has this—has Fran brought Jon to our house before?’

‘Yes.’

‘A lot?’

‘Most days.’

Eliot kept his temper, with difficulty. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault. But he was angry with Fran—angrier than he’d ever been in his life. To think he’d trusted her with his precious son, and she’d been snippy over him being late when all the time she’d been neglecting Ryan and canoodling with her boyfriend...God only knew what Ryan had seen. His mouth tightened. ‘What do you do when Jon’s there?’

‘Make models, watch telly. But I couldn’t find the remote control and Fran told me to go away. So I came to see you.’

‘I see.’

‘Did I do wrong?’ Ryan looked anxious.

‘No, sweetheart. You were right to tell me. I’ll make it all better again.’ Somehow. Maybe the school knew someone who could step in to help—just until he found another childminder. One who, this time, would look after Ryan properly. Who wouldn’t pull the wool over his eyes. And he’d check every single reference face to face. Twice.

‘Can you stay here for just a moment while I have a word with Claire?’

‘Yes, Dad. I know I’m not allowed to go near the babies in case I give them germs.’

‘Good boy.’ Eliot dropped a kiss on the top of his son’s head. ‘I’ll be back in less than five minutes.’

Remembering her formality with him a few minutes before, he didn’t quite dare use her first name. ‘Dr Thurman? May I have a word, please?’

‘Sure. I’m done here anyway.’ She joined him in the corridor.

‘I’m sorry to ask, but may I leave early? I have a...’ No. He wasn’t going to dump his problems on her. It wasn’t fair. ‘I have a personal problem that needs sorting out.’

‘Whatever.’

Brisk, professional. But there was a hint of disappointment in her face. Disappointment that he had a child? Or that he was proving her jaundiced views of locums correct? ‘I’ll make sure the hospital isn’t billed for the time I’ve had to take off.’

‘Fine.’

‘And thanks for looking after Ryan.’

She shrugged. ‘No problem.’

Clearly it was, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.

He collected Eliot, walked him to the car and then sat on the bonnet out of Eliot’s earshot while he rang Fran.

‘Hello?’

‘Fran, it’s Eliot.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded flustered, then suddenly snapped into the sullen mode he’d grown used to over the last couple of months. Ever since she’d been seeing this Jon person. ‘Are you going to be late again?’

‘No. Early, in fact. I wondered if you had anything missing?’

‘No.’

His mouth tightened. It must have taken Ryan half an hour to get here. And she still had no idea he was missing? ‘Check your handbag,’ he advised coldly.

‘What?’ She sounded slightly scared. ‘Why?’

‘Just check your handbag, then come back to the phone.’

Thirty seconds later, she was shrieking. ‘My purse has gone!’

‘It’s here. With Ryan.’

‘Ryan? I, um...No, he’s in his room, making models.’

‘He’s sitting in my car, in the hospital car park,’ Eliot corrected her. ‘I think we’ve got some talking to do—don’t you?’

‘Eliot, I’m sorry, it’s just—’

‘Save it.’ She hadn’t even asked if the boy was all right. Hell, hell, hell. How had he managed to get it so wrong when he’d hired Fran? At the time she’d seemed young but sensible and Ryan hadn’t minded her. Maybe he’d just been so desperate to find someone that he’d seen what he’d been looking for rather than what had really been there. ‘Ryan’s already explained. We’re on our way home now.’ If Fran had any sense, her boyfriend would be long gone before Eliot arrived. And he’d check the house over before she left. Get the locks changed tomorrow. And he’d need at least one day off...This was rapidly turning into a nightmare.

He consoled himself—just—with the thought that at least Ryan was OK. He’d found his way across Ludbury without any problems, he wasn’t hurt. He’d sort this mess out, one step at a time.

And then he’d face Claire.

* * *

A personal problem. He could say that again. Claire wasn’t sure whether she was angrier on Eliot’s behalf or with Eliot himself. Angry because Ryan was much too young to have travelled across Ludbury by bus on his own—particularly a journey that involved changing buses. And angry because Eliot hadn’t said a word about his personal circumstances. He’d let everyone assume that he was young, free and single.

To think that she’d nearly fallen for him...

Stick with your career, she told herself firmly. That at least won’t let you down.

All the same, she was smarting again over that near clinch with Eliot, so she was relieved when Tilly called her over to look at one of their newer babies and she could concentrate on work again. ‘Second-born twin, born at thirty-five weeks gestation,’ Tilly said. ‘The symptoms developed about an hour after birth so they’ve sent her up here in case it’s RDS.’ Respiratory distress syndrome was common in premature babies because their lungs hadn’t matured enough yet. ‘Her breathing’s fast, she’s grunting a bit, she’s got nasal flaring and intercostal recession.’

Claire noted the way the baby’s skin sucked in between and under her ribs. ‘She’s, what, two hours old now?’

‘Yes.’

Claire listened to the baby’s lungs. ‘The air entry’s reduced and I can hear creps.’ She did some more checks. ‘Heart rate 125 a minute, low blood pressure.’ They could both see that the baby was lying in the ‘frog’ position, not moving as much as they’d expect from a newborn. ‘OK. We need the usual bloods—haemoglobin, white-blood count, platelets, gases, blood group and cross-match. Check the electrolytes, creatinine and calcium so we’ve got a baseline; blood culture plus deep ear and throat swabs to rule out any infection; and a chest X-ray to check we don’t have any extra problems.’

Gently, she stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘Hang on in there, little one. I know it’s tiring, but we’ll soon help you breathe more easily.’ She looked at Tilly. ‘Is the mum downstairs?’

Tilly nodded. ‘Probably frantic—and panicking in case the other twin has the same problem.’

‘I’ll go down and see her,’ Claire said. She rang down to the maternity unit, then went to see Carla Jennings.

‘I’m Claire Thurman, senior registrar on the neonatal ward,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d like an update on Gillian.’

‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘We hope so. We’re doing some tests at the moment, but I’m fairly sure she has what we call RDS—respiratory distress syndrome. It’s fairly common in premature babies, and second-born twins are more likely than the first-born to get it. All it means is that she’s having problems breathing because her lungs aren’t mature enough. We’re going to keep her warm, give her some oxygen to help her breathe and, depending on the test results, some synthetic surfactant to make her lungs mature.’

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