His Emergency Fiancée (18 page)

‘Thanks. I really appreciate it,’ Ben said, smiling warmly at her. On his next break, he dropped into Personnel again. ‘Just to say thanks,’ he said, handing Jan a large box of chocolates.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ she protested, her cheeks becoming pink.

‘Just to let you know I appreciate the trouble you went to,’ Ben said. He smiled at her, and left the office.

A dozen phone calls later, plus a few very hefty favours owed, he had the information he wanted. And when Kirsty came home, tired out after a long day in Theatre plus an hour’s travelling, he virtually dragged her into the kitchen.

‘Ben, I’m not in the mood for any of your schemes,’ she said. ‘All I want is a bath and to fall into bed.’

Bed. Bad move to link Kirsty and bed in the same thought. He shook himself. ‘No scheme. Sit down. Here.’ He handed her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. ‘Dinner will be…’ he glanced at his watch ‘…three minutes after the kettle’s boiled.’

‘You don’t have to cook for me,’ she said, yawning and stretching. ‘You’ve had a busy day yourself.’

‘And I need to eat. It’s just as quick to cook for two as it is for one.’ His lips twitched. ‘If you can call chucking fresh pasta into boiling water, heating up a jar of sauce and putting Parmesan on the top cooking.’

‘That’s all I was planning to do,’ she admitted. Ben was virtually hopping about from foot to foot, and he had the look on his face that usually heralded a new relationship. Kirsty’s heart sank. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to listen to him singing the praises of his latest love?

‘All right. Out with it,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘You’re obviously dying to tell me something.’

‘Chambers.’

She clenched her teeth. ‘I don’t care if I never hear that man’s name again.’

‘I found something out about him. He used to work at City General in West London.’

‘So?’

‘So, they had problems with him there—they virtually pushed him over to Southbay.’

‘Ben, you don’t know that for sure, and if you go round telling everyone that he’ll probably sue you for libel.’

‘Slander, actually, if it’s verbal.’

Trust
him
to know the difference. ‘Smug git,’ she muttered.

‘It’s only slander if you can’t prove it. And I can prove it, Kirst.’

She frowned. He could prove
what
exactly? ‘Ben, what have you been doing?’

‘Calling in a few favours.’ He didn’t admit to the ones he’d promised. ‘Anyway, there’s enough for you to build a case for constructive dismissal. He’s done this kind of thing before—pushed and pushed and pushed until someone on his team resigned.’

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t get quite that far in my research,’ he confessed. ‘But the thing is, he was known for having personality clashes with his juniors, particularly female ones. It got worse after his wife left him. Maybe you remind him of her or something.’

‘I remind him of his ex-wife? Oh, thanks. You’ve just managed to put me off my dinner,’ she said wryly.

Ben waved an impatient hand at her and dished up the pasta. ‘Shut up and eat. Seriously, Kirst, you could have him for constructive dismissal. All you need is to ask Paul Fisher to give a witness statement.’

‘And put his career on the line? I don’t think so.’

‘It won’t come to that. All he has to do is tell the truth—that Chambers didn’t treat you fairly. Jenny and Mandy on your ward will be witnesses, too.’

Kirsty glared at him. ‘Ben, you’re overstepping the mark.’

‘I am not. I just had a little chat with them, that’s all. They’re as worried about you as I am.’

‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

‘Kirst, you’re wearing yourself out. Two hours’ travelling on top of a heavy caseload isn’t good for you. Or your patients.’

‘I’m quite competent in Theatre, thank you very much!’

‘I
know
that.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not trying to say you’re useless. Just that you’re doing too much. I don’t want to see you wearing yourself out.’

‘Ben, I’m fine.’

‘Talk to Paul Fisher tomorrow,’ he pleaded. ‘Just talk to him.’

She sighed. ‘If I get time.’

‘Make time.’

‘Stop fussing.’

‘Promise me, and I’ll shut up.’

Defeated, she nodded. ‘OK. I’ll talk to him.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

E
XCEPT
Paul didn’t want to talk to her.

‘Kirsty, I’m really sorry about what happened, but…I can’t really do anything,’ he said miserably. ‘If he knew I was talking to you even now…’ His voice tailed off.

She knew exactly what he meant. If Chambers found out that his SHO was talking to his ex-registrar and planning to help her with a constructive dismissal case, Paul would be out on his ear, too. Chambers would make the younger man’s life hell until he resigned or became nervous enough to make a mistake that would justify Chambers dismissing him. ‘You have to stand up against bullies,’ she said gently.

‘You did, and look what happened to you,’ the younger doctor pointed out. ‘I’m sorry—I know you helped me a lot when we worked together and I owe you, but I can’t do this.’

‘OK. No hard feelings. It wasn’t very fair of me to ask,’ Kirsty said. ‘I’d better let you go before you get into trouble.’ She put the phone down regretfully. She’d half expected Paul’s reaction, but it still saddened her.

Ben was rather less charitable when he found out. ‘Spineless little creep!’ he said. ‘I’ll have a word with him tomorrow.’

‘Leave it, Ben,’ Kirsty said tiredly. ‘He’s got a point. If he leaves under a cloud—’

‘Like you did?’

‘I’m older, more experienced, and I can handle it. Drop it, Ben. Please?’

She could see by his face that he wanted to argue with her, but to her relief he nodded.

‘I’m still going to build your case, Kirst.’

And what then? A row in court? What was the point? She’d already moved on. All she wanted now was to work as a surgeon—to do the job she loved and do it well. She couldn’t do that in the same hospital as Guy Chambers. ‘We’ll see,’ she said guardedly.

* * *

‘I—I thought it was something I ate,’ Marcia Hammond said, wincing as another wave of pain swept through her. ‘Or maybe my appendix or something.’

‘Where does it hurt?’ he asked gently.

‘My tummy,’ she said, touching her abdomen lightly and then pulling her fingers away with a wince. ‘It hurts.’

‘Have you missed a period at all?’ Ben asked.

She shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I’m not that regular—anything between four and six weeks.’

‘Can you remember when your last period was?’ he asked.

‘Five, six weeks ago?’

‘I’m sorry to ask you such a personal question, but is there any possibility you might be pregnant?’

‘Hardly. I haven’t got a boyfriend.’

He decided not to press her, but then she began to gag. Recognising the signs, Ben ducked out of the cubicle and grabbed a bowl from the nearest trolley. ‘Here,’ he said, and she promptly vomited into it.

Not green, he noted as he mopped her face and glanced into the bowl, so possibly not her appendix.

‘It hurts,’ she said, her face paling.

Ben noted the sweating, and quickly checked her pulse. Rapid and weak, and her hands were cold. A quick check of her blood pressure showed it was dropping.

‘Marcia, I need to examine you. I’ll try to be gentle,’ he said, ‘but just tell me if it hurts too much and I’ll stop.’

Her abdomen was distended and tight; she flinched as he touched her. Textbook presentation, he thought, but she was adamant that she couldn’t be pregnant. She was clearly too tender for him to give her a pelvic examination, but he needed to be sure—an acute ruptured tubal pregnancy was as life-threatening as a ruptured appendix. ‘Marcia, I’d like to do an ultrasound just to check something out. And…I know you say you can’t be pregnant, but I’m going to do a pregnancy test.’

‘But…’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, hell.’

‘What?’

‘I…It was about three, four weeks ago. I had a night out with the girls, met a bloke, drank too much—and I can’t remember the rest of the evening. I woke up in my own bed so he must have dropped me back at my place.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Oh, God. I can’t even remember doing it with him.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up. It happens,’ Ben said sympathetically.

‘But I never get that drunk. I…I felt ill all the next day, but I thought it was a hangover. Maybe…’

Rohypnol, the ‘date-rape’ drug? Maybe, but they didn’t have time to think about that now. Not if he was right. ‘We’ll talk about that later, but I really need to check you out right now,’ he said gently.

The ultrasound and the pregnancy test confirmed his suspicions. ‘I’m sorry, Marcia. You’re having an ectopic pregnancy—that means the egg implanted in your Fallopian tube instead of in your womb, and as it’s grown it’s stretched the tube and caused it to burst.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. We’ll need to operate to remove the foetus and the tube.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘But I’m only twenty-two! You can’t remove my tubes! What if I want to get married and have kids in a few years’ time?’

‘It doesn’t mean you can’t ever have children,’ Ben said, ‘but you will only have one Fallopian tube so that may make things harder for you to get pregnant in the future. The gynae team will be able to give you some good advice and more information, but my main priority right now’s to stop your pain.’

‘But…’ She began to sob. ‘This can’t be happening.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll get you up to Theatre. Is there anyone you’d like us to call?’

‘My mum.’ She covered her face with her hands, her voice broken as she muttered, ‘I want my mum.’

‘We’ll get her for you. Just tell me her number,’ Ben said, ‘and she’ll be here by the time you’re back out of Theatre.’

Poor kid, he thought as he left the cubicle, giving Marcia’s mother’s number to the A and E receptionist before he rang the obs and gynae team. Thank heavens it wasn’t Kirsty’s old team he had to ring. Chambers was the last person Marcia needed right now—she needed someone thoughtful and kind, who’d talk her through the op and explain her options afterwards, listen to her and help get to the bottom of her ‘missing’ evening. Someone like Kirst—

He stopped himself. Job first, he reminded himself, and rang up to the obs and gynae team.

* * *

At the end of another week, Kirsty had to admit to herself that she was tired. Bone-achingly weary. The travelling on top of a demanding job really was getting too much for her. Maybe she should get digs in Southampton and just come back to Southbay on her days off. Maybe she should move to Southampton, full stop, until she found a permanent post. She was still thinking through her options when she came home to an empty house and found her post stacked neatly on the table. Including a brown envelope offering her a registrar’s post in a teaching hospital in London.

It was a chance to work in a department with a cutting-edge reputation in keyhole surgery, the area she wanted to work in. A fresh start, where her row with Chambers wouldn’t be hanging over her. And when she’d passed her last set of exams she’d be made up to senior reg with research duties, with the prospect of a consultancy in a reasonably short space of time. She’d be mad to turn it down. But it was also a good two and a half hours from Southbay, too far to commute. And that meant leaving Ben.

She was just about to start listing all the reasons—other than Ben—to stay in Southbay when the phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Is Ben there?’ a breathy, feminine voice asked.

Kirsty didn’t recognise the voice, which made it a fair bet that the woman wasn’t a colleague. So did that mean Ben was back to his old ways, having a new girlfriend every three weeks? Clearly the blonde college liaison officer hadn’t lasted long either. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said coolly. ‘Can I take a message?’

‘Tell him that Becca rang. He knows the number,’ the voice cooed.

Kirsty just bet he did! ‘I’ll leave him a note.’

‘Thanks, sweetie.
Ciao!’

Kirsty was actually growling as she put the phone down, though half a packet of chocolate biscuits and two lattes later she decided that Becca, whoever she was, had actually done her a favour. She’d finally woken Kirsty up to the fact that what had happened between her and Ben had been just sex. Mind-blowing sex, admittedly, but just sex. If Kirsty stayed in Southbay, she’d have to live with that—and grin and bear it every time Ben went out with one of his drop-dead-gorgeous women.

Could she do that?

In the old days, yes. Now…Despite all her protests to the contrary, she couldn’t go back to thinking of Ben as just her best mate. She couldn’t forget what they’d shared. And she couldn’t forget that she loved him.

It was time, Kirsty thought, to make a clean break. Forcing back the tears—pointless tears, because they wouldn’t make Ben love her back—she scribbled Ben a note, left it under the salt-cellar, then switched on her computer and typed out her acceptance letter for the London job.

* * *

It was three days before she saw Ben to tell him the news—she’d wanted to tell him face to face rather than leaving him a note, but he’d been out when she’d come home late, or working late when she’d been home early and she’d ended up going to bed before he’d come in.

‘What do you mean, find myself a new flatmate?’

‘I’ve been offered a job in London. It’s a dream job, Ben. I’d be mad to turn it down. It’s in a teaching hospital, doing keyhole surgery, a post with research duties attached when I’ve finished my exams. Everything I’ve always wanted.’

‘I see.’ His face was unreadable. ‘When did this happen—today?’

‘Three days ago,’ she admitted.

‘Three days ago,’ he echoed.

‘Look, if you’d been here I’d have discussed it with you,’ she said, catching the quickly masked flicker of hurt in his eyes. ‘You were out. I had to make a quick decision. So I listed the pros and cons and decided it was the right thing to do.’ The main pro being that she wouldn’t have to pretend to Ben that she thought of him just as her friend.

‘So you’re going to drop the case against Chambers?’