His Emergency Fiancée (19 page)

‘I never wanted to make the case in the first place,’ she reminded him quietly.

‘Right.’

Why did she feel so guilty?
She
wasn’t the one who’d called a halt to their relationship. And she really, really couldn’t stay here, watching him date other women and longing for what they had. But that look on his face…She’d hurt him by not even discussing it with him. ‘We’ll still be friends. It’ll just be long distance, that’s all.’ For the first time since she’d known him. ‘We can arrange our off-duty so I can come down and paddle in the sea with you, and you can come up for the odd weekend in London. We can go and feed the flamingoes in Hyde Park and what have you. Have a picnic at Kew. Do the Planetarium,’ she offered. The kind of things they’d enjoyed doing together as students in London.

‘Of course.’ But his smile, to Kirsty, looked forced.

* * *

The night before Kirsty left, Ben organised a surprise party for her. Everyone from A and E and the surgical ward was there, apart from Chambers. Paul Fisher looked slightly sheepish but gave her a hug and told her not to forget them. She was touched when Jenny presented her with a beautiful framed watercolour of the beach at Southbay, painted by a local artist, on behalf of all her friends at the hospital.

She absolutely refused to dance, though, with Ben or with anyone else. Ben had no shortage of willing partners, and Kirsty knew she’d made the right decision to leave. Even seeing him dancing with women she knew were just colleagues made her stomach knot with jealousy. Funny to think it had only been a few weeks ago when they’d danced together at their impromptu engagement party.

The walk home was a nightmare. They both avoided the subject, but they both knew the other was thinking of the previous party, the party where they’d finally fallen into each other’s arms. Right now, it would be so easy to turn to each other, hold each other and…

No. Ben was off limits, Kirsty reminded herself.

‘See you in the morning,’ Kirsty said as soon as they were back at their house. ‘It’s going to be a long day tomorrow—I need my sleep.’

‘’Night, Kirst,’ Ben said quietly. She was aware of him watching her all the way up the stairs, but dismissed it as an idle fancy.

She slept badly, and there were dark circles under her eyes the next morning as she made coffee and munched her toast in between loading boxes into the Transit van Ben had hired. She didn’t dare look at Ben for long enough to see whether he had matching circles under his eyes. The drive to London was awkward. Ben kept fiddling with the radio station rather than talk to her, and Kirsty was relieved at not having to be polite.

‘You really didn’t have to do this, you know,’ she said as he walked in the door of her first-floor flat with the last of the boxes.

‘Of course I did. Any mate worth their salt would check out your neighbours and make sure your new place isn’t damp or falling to pieces.’

‘I did view the place twice before I rented it,’ she reminded him.

‘Yeah. Where do you want these shelves, then?’ he asked.

She showed him, and made them both a coffee while he drilled and hammered and did the kind of DIY stuff she hated. He barely paused to drink his coffee, so she unpacked while he finished putting up her pictures and shelves.

‘Pizza or Chinese?’ she asked when the noise stopped.

Ben glanced at his watch. ‘Actually, I’d better be getting back. I’m on early tomorrow. I’ll grab something on the way home.’

Home. She stifled the surge of longing. Southbay wasn’t
her
home any more.

‘Right. Well, thanks for all your help.’

‘Pleasure.’

Was this how it ended? Polite strangers? Awkwardly, she hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself.’

‘You, too. I’ll ring you tomorrow to see how your first day went.’

‘Right.’

She watched him from the window. He glanced up as he reached the van and put his hand up in salute. And then he was gone and her flat seemed dark and gloomy, and Kirsty found herself mooching round.

This is crazy, she thought. We both knew it was time to move on.

But she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

* * *

The house felt empty. Kirsty hadn’t taken that much with her, but there were pale squares on the wall where some of her prints had hung, and Ben noticed the spaces on the mug-tree where Kirsty’s mugs had hung. He noticed the gaps on the shelves where her books had been, the gaps in the CD rack. It felt as if half his life had just disappeared.

The sooner he found a new housemate, the better. He should have started looking as soon as she’d told him she was leaving, but he hadn’t wanted to try and replace her before she’d even gone.

Though maybe Kirsty wasn’t replaceable.

He stifled the thought. Her career was important to her. She would have been crazy to turn down the London job. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But a small part of him still wished she
had
turned it down.

‘Grow up, Robertson,’ he told himself loudly. ‘Time to move on.’ Just like Kirsty had.

Though he found himself rushing home the next day and dialling her number. Funny, he hadn’t even had to look it up. He shook himself. No, it didn’t mean anything. He’d always had a retentive memory.

The phone rang. And rang. ‘C’mon, c’mon, pick up!’ he said impatiently.

‘This is Kirsty Brown. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll call you back.’

His throat dried. He didn’t want to talk to her answering machine. He wanted to talk to
her
, find out all about her first day.

He tried again, half an hour later.

And half an hour after that.

And half an hour after
that.

Finally, as he was forking over the scrambled eggs he’d made himself and had then decided he didn’t really fancy after all, the phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Do you understand what answering machines are for, Benjamin Robertson?’ a tart voice asked him.

He grinned. ‘Yes. But they don’t have conversations with you, Kirsty Brown.’

‘Hmm. Just as well I dialled 1471, isn’t it?’

Well, who else would have called her? Her parents, he supposed, and her brothers. Maybe even Morag, who hadn’t made a single comment about Kirsty choosing to go to London. She’d just said, ‘Hmm,’ in that way grandmothers had.

‘So how was your first day, then?’ he asked.

‘Brilliant,’ she enthused. ‘Ben, the stuff they’re doing here—it’s light years away from Southbay. I’ve got more laparoscope work booked for the next week than I’ve done in the months since Tony went off sick. And Ted’s brilliant.’

‘Ted?’ That tight feeling in his stomach wasn’t jealousy. Of course it wasn’t.

‘Ted Baker. My consultant. He really knows what he’s doing and he’s an excellent teacher. He’s very much like Tony, actually—a younger version.’

‘Younger?’ The word was out before he could stop it.

‘He’s thirty-seven.’

Ben only just managed to stop himself asking if this Ted was single, too. ‘That’s good,’ he said carefully. ‘A team with a young outlook.’ Young, gifted and it sounded as if Kirsty adored him already. Ben wondered if warts could appear all over someone’s nose just from wishing.

‘The scrub team’s great, too. And the ward staff—though I think we’d have to go a long way to find someone like Jenny.’

And an even longer way for him to find someone like Kirsty. ‘Mmm.’

Kirsty chattered on excitedly about the operations she’d performed that day, and how Ted had glued a damaged spleen rather than removing it. Although it was good to hear her so enthusiastic again, hear the pleasure in her job that Chambers had nearly suffocated, Ben couldn’t help feeling…excluded. He had only a very part-time part in her new life, and it hurt.

Stop it, he told himself. This is Kirst’s chance to shine and you’re not going to spoil it for her.

‘So how’s everything with you?’

‘You know. Same as always.’

‘Any replies to your ad yet?’

‘Not yet.’ Because he hadn’t placed it. Having someone else to fill the house was a good idea, he knew. Right now the place seemed empty. At the same time, he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone in Kirsty’s place.

‘I’m sure you will soon.’

She chattered on for another quarter of an hour. ‘I’d better let you go,’ she said.

‘Yeah. Kirst, your flat’s near the hospital, isn’t it?’

‘Walking distance,’ she confirmed.

‘They work later shifts than we do, then?’

‘No. I went for a drink with Ted after work. Ted and the team,’ she amended.

Serious, studious Kirsty had gone for a drink after work? But
he’d
virtually had to drag her away from her books! Then he realised what she’d said. She’d gone out with
Ted.
Her first day away from him, and she’d already gone out on a date with another man…

Ben shook himself. It was none of his business anyway. He’d had his chance with her and he’d blown it. He should be nice and wish her luck. Wish her the happiness she deserved. He shouldn’t be wanting to rip this Ted—a man he’d never even met—limb from limb. ‘I’ll ring you later in the week, then.’

‘Cheers. Give my love to everyone.’

‘Will do.’ Ben’s heart was heavy when he replaced the receiver.

* * *

Things didn’t get any better over the next few weeks. Ben discovered that he couldn’t even flirt with his patients any more the Saturday afternoon he had to do a reduction on a dislocated shoulder.

‘Dirty tackle,’ the shapely brunette captain of Southbay Ladies FC told him cheerfully. ‘The cow owes me an Indian
and
a few pints tonight.’

Ben didn’t even notice how good her figure was in the well-cut shorts and baggy top. He was too busy looking at the anterior dislocation. ‘Don’t tell me—you took a tumble, stretched your hand out and landed on top of it?’

‘That’s about right, Doc,’ she agreed.

The body had rotated over the hand and caused the anterior dislocation. It was common in this age group, Ben remembered, usually through a sporting accident or being thrown from a motorcycle. ‘We’ll get you to Radiography just to check,’ he said, ‘but we’ll make it fast—the longer it’s out, the harder it is to fix.’

Radiography confirmed his diagnosis and he smiled at the footballer. ‘The good news is, it’s easy to fix—it might hurt a bit, though, so I’ll give you something to relax your muscles and something to ease the pain.’

She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. ‘I’m all yours, Doc.’

For a moment, Ben almost told her that he was married. Or gay. Anything to stop the way her lips curved like that—because the sexy, inviting smile he wanted belonged to someone more petite, someone with eyes that turned gold. He shook himself, then gave her an opioid analgesic and IV diazepam. When he’d trained, they’d placed patients like this prone on a trolley with their arm hanging over the side: the combination of gravity and the muscle relaxant usually led to the shoulder going back in naturally. He had a feeling that this one would need a bit more help so he manipulated her shoulder, easing the bone back to where it should be.

Within minutes, the footballer was sitting normally again and giving him a real come-hither smile.

‘Take it easy for the next few days. You’ll need a body bandage,’ he said, ‘including to your forearm—just to make sure your shoulder doesn’t slip out again. The more it happens, the more likely it is you’ll need surgery. You’ll need some physio as it is.’

‘Gonna do it for me, Doc?’

How easy it would be to say yes. Except he didn’t want to. He wanted
Kirsty.

‘No. There is something I want to test, though.’ Sometimes a dislocated shoulder could affect the nerves running under the armpits, leaving the patient unable to use the arm properly and needing months of physio. He needed to check for any signs of axillary nerve palsy, as it was called, so he took a needle. ‘Just tell me if you feel this,’ he said, lightly pricking the outer aspect of her shoulder.

‘Ouch!’

He smiled. ‘You’ll do. Good luck with the rest of the warm-up matches.’

‘Yeah. Last time
I
play a friendly with that daft cow’s team,’ she said wryly. ‘You want a ticket to a match next season, you just ring the team and ask for me. Lorraine Dexter.’ The look in her eyes made it clear she was offering more than just a ticket.

‘Thanks. I will,’ Ben said, though he knew he had no intention of ringing.

* * *

Although he didn’t actually advertise for a new flatmate, the hospital grapevine was working well and Ben had several offers—offers which he turned down with increasingly feeble excuses. It just wouldn’t feel right, having someone in Kirsty’s room.

He tried going out for a meal or to the cinema, but he knew he was less than good company and the girls he asked out didn’t seem to mind when he didn’t suggest a second date. In the end, he stopped going out altogether. Nothing in his world seemed to fit any more. Whenever he phoned Kirsty she was out, and whenever she phoned him back she was full of Ted this and Ted that.

It was unbearable.

Part of him wanted to storm down to London and check out the fabulous Ted Baker for himself. Was the hotshot consultant really everything Kirsty seemed to think he was? Was he treating Kirsty properly, and not messing her about? And anyway, wasn’t it unethical to get involved with someone on your team?

‘Listen to yourself. Anyone’d think you’re jealous,’ he told his reflection scornfully.

He didn’t have the right to be jealous. Hadn’t he pushed Kirsty away when she’d told him she loved him? She owed him absolutely nothing. She was a free agent. She could go out with anyone she pleased—she could be dating
twenty
big-shot consultants if she wanted, and it was none of his business.

‘Get a grip, Robertson,’ he said roughly. ‘She’s not yours.’

She had been, once.

But she’d left him.

And he’d finally lost his ‘Dr Charming’ tag. He’d overheard the senior sister on A and E describing him as ‘Dr Grouchy’ to the new house officer when she was showing the doctor round the department. He hadn’t stayed to hear the rest.