The Heart Surgeon's Proposal Page 5

  ‘He’s arrested again,’ Rachel said quietly, and the other theatre sister wheeled the crash cart back close to the baby, while the circulating nurse pressed the alarm button for the surgeon to return.

  Surgeons pulled on gloves, the wound was reopened, the baby shocked again. Maggie injected drugs into his veins as the surgeon ordered them, her fingers trembling as she measured out the doses, her heart clinging to hope.

  Muttered curses, demands, frantic, dramatic measures to save an infant who’d been born with the odds against him from the start—every member of the team rigid with tension as they willed him to survive.

  Babies born with such huge problems die, Maggie reminded herself, but she desperately wanted this one to live.

  For Phil’s sake so he wouldn’t feel badly later.

  For her own, because she knew it could have been her baby…

  But no amount of stimulation would bring him back and as they left the theatre, for reasons more to do with the stresses of the morning and the long hours in Theatre than her own condition, Maggie found tears sliding down her cheeks.

  So she did cry for these babies, she realised, wiping them angrily away before Evan, or anyone else, saw them. But it was too late. The tall man had hooked his arm around her shoulder and drawn her close, and she put her head against his chest and cried for all the babies they couldn’t save.

  And cried for Phil, who would be devastated but, she guessed, would never cry…

  ‘Very touching,’ a cool voice said, and Maggie jerked away from the comfort of Evan’s arms to see the man she cried for standing only feet away from them.

  ‘The baby died,’ Maggie said bleakly, then realised from the set expression on Phil’s face she’d get no sympathy from him.

  She got her confirmation in the shrug he gave as he walked towards their rooms.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ Evan asked, and Maggie shook her head.

  ‘Colleague,’ she explained, but didn’t elaborate. Evan would go back to his hospital and get on with his life, while she and Phil would continue to work and live together.

  The problem was, she’d get over the death of this baby far more easily than Phil would, for the demons that drove him would always be questioning whether he could have done better—could have saved the tiny boy’s life.

  She said goodbye to Evan, and was heading for the suite herself, needing a coffee and sugar jolt and a chance to unwind, when he called her back.

  ‘Hey, don’t rush off without telling me where I can get a decent cup of coffee around this place. Don’t you guys have somewhere you unwind?’

  They did, of course, but she had a feeling the atmosphere in the suite of rooms, with Phil there, wouldn’t be very conducive to unwinding. More likely they’d get wound even tighter.

  ‘There’s the canteen,’ she began dubiously, then heard Phil’s voice again.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Maggie, take the man into the suite and give him a real cup of coffee. I’m leaving, so you needn’t worry about me getting in the way.’

  He stalked past them and Maggie watched him go, seeing anger and something else in the stiff set of his shoulders and the swift strides he took.

  ‘They asked him to do the op,’ she explained to Evan as she led him into their rooms. ‘He believed the baby was too young—that the operation had more chance of success in a month. Statistically, it’s true, apparently.’

  ‘Well, the baby died so maybe he feels justified.’

  Maggie swung towards her companion, unable to believe he could have meant what he’d just said.

  ‘I hope I’d never feel a baby’s death was justification for one of my decisions,’ she snapped, and Evan held up his hands.

  ‘Hey, I phrased that badly. Don’t jump all over me.’ He peered down at her. ‘Sure he’s not your boyfriend?’

  She didn’t answer, fussing with the coffee-machine, and he continued, ‘All I meant was that he’s now been proved right. You’re correct in saying it’s a terrible way to be proved right, but he was, wasn’t he?’

  Maggie knew where he was coming from and nodded.

  ‘But I don’t for a moment think Phil will see it that way. His torment will be whether he could have done it better, and whether, by refusing to do it, he signed the baby’s death warrant.’

  ‘But that’s like playing God,’ Evan protested, accepting the cup of coffee and adding three sugars to it. ‘Assuming you’d do better!’

  ‘This is a stupid conversation,’ Maggie said crossly. ‘Phil’s the last person who’d do a “playing God” routine, but he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t have some what-if questions rattling in his head.’

  She stirred her coffee and shifted the conversation to Evan’s work at the Children’s hospital, asking about staffing and working conditions, general questions that couldn’t possibly lead to an argument.

  ‘Do you realise how late it is?’ Evan said some time later. ‘As neither of us have eaten, how about we grab a bite somewhere?’

  Maggie felt and heard her stomach gurgle obligingly at the mention of food and looked at her watch. It was after nine, far too late to prepare the meal she’d planned for herself and Phil. And by now he was sure to have eaten. Hadn’t he said he and Alex, when alone in the house, did their own thing?

  ‘Good idea,’ she told Evan, thinking of the added benefit of putting off going home so she wouldn’t have to discuss what had happened in Theatre. ‘You have a choice of Thai or Italian restaurants within walking distance. I like both so you choose.’

  Evan chose the Italian but insisted on driving, although it was only a short distance. Over the meal, they talked shop, Evan expanding on some studies he’d done and what he’d like to do.

  ‘You’re probably aware that not so long ago, people believed neonates and infants didn’t feel pain, and as recently as 1995 a study showed not all anaesthetists used pain relief during an operation.’

  ‘It depends on the relief and the age of the child,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m wary of using opioids on premmie babies, but on most infants I use a cocktail of morphine, codeine and fentanyl for pain. I wonder if it’s because babies seem to recover so well from really major surgery that we believe they either don’t feel pain as much as adults or don’t know what it is so it isn’t a negative in their recovery.’

  She finished her glass of wine and sat back in her chair, suddenly exhausted.

  ‘I really should get going. Tomorrow’s a workday and I only shifted house this morning and haven’t settled properly in.’

  ‘I could help you settle in,’ Evan said, and Maggie caught the suggestiveness beneath the words.

  She smiled at him.

  ‘I think I can manage on my own.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said easily, ‘but I’d like it put on record I’m single, uncommitted to anyone at the moment, disease-free and attracted to you. Any chance we might see each other again?’

  Maggie hesitated. She’d had a pleasant evening, and had relaxed enough to enjoy Evan’s company, but…

  ‘You’re seeing someone?’

  She looked into his clear grey eyes and couldn’t tell a lie.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘but I’m a bit up in the air at the moment. I haven’t been in Sydney long, and I’ve just moved house for the third time in two months…’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be anything hot or heavy,’ Evan said, picking up on her uncertainty. ‘A few casual dates to see where things might go—you said you liked dancing, I do too—and I could take you to some great dance places in Sydney. You like the salsa?’

  Maggie did and couldn’t deny it, so she smiled at him.

  ‘Maybe when I’ve settled in,’ she said, as Evan signalled for a waiter then insisted on paying for their meal.

  ‘I asked you to eat with me,’ he reminded her, when she argued.

  He drove her the short distance back to Alex’s house, where lights downstairs told her nothing. Phil could be down there reading or watching TV—she realised she had no i
dea what Phil did in his spare time—or he could be out and have left the lights on for her.

  ‘I’ll see you to the door,’ Evan said, opening his car door.

  ‘Really, there’s no need,’ Maggie told him, realising she’d never got the key Alex had said he was going to leave for her at the house, and if the front door was locked she’d have to ring the doorbell.

  And hope Phil wasn’t out.

  But having Phil open the door to find her and Evan standing there wasn’t an appealing prospect either.

  She hesitated, but Evan showed no sign of leaving, and by now Minnie had realised someone was outside and was doing a fierce watchdog imitation, yapping furiously from inside.

  The door opened before Maggie could make a decision, and Phil stood there, the light behind him throwing his face into shadow.

  ‘Forget your key?’

  ‘Forgot to pick one up. Did you meet Evan properly? Evan Knowles, anaesthetist from the Children’s. Evan, this is Phil Park.’

  She managed the introduction, watched the two men shake hands—an awkward move for Phil who had quietened Minnie by lifting her into the crook of his left arm—then turned to Evan and offered her own.

  ‘Nice to have met you and thanks for dinner. I’d be pleased to hear more about your pain studies some time.’

  She shook his hand formally, and hoped he get the message this was not the time to say something personal. Not that there was anything between her and Phil—apart from that one night and a pregnancy—but the tension in the air suggested something different.

  Something possessive?

  Surely not. For all Phil’s talk of rose-bowered cottages and domestically devoted families, his dating behaviour suggested he was more a ‘why buy a book when you can join a library’ man, too scared of commitment to go out with any woman more than once or twice.

  ‘Knowles,’ he had growled in acknowledgement of the introduction, then he remained standing in the doorway, glowering like a cloud looking for a parade on which to rain.

  ‘I’ll give you a call,’ Evan said, then to Maggie’s surprise, he leant forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Quick worker!’ Phil muttered, while Maggie watched Evan walk down the path and through the gate—shutting it carefully behind him—then to his car.

  Maggie contemplated pointing out to Phil that it was none of his business, then decided she had no desire to continue the conversation. She stepped forward, intending to move past him and up the stairs to her room, but he was too quick, shutting the door and setting Minnie down on the floor, then grasping Maggie’s arm.

  ‘But he hasn’t a clue how to kiss a woman good-night, has he?’

  He swung her around and, before she had any idea of what he intended, his head descended then his lips claimed hers, so fiercely demanding she had to grasp his shoulder to remain upright.

  Don’t kiss him back!

  The warning sounded somewhere in her head but it obviously didn’t penetrate to her lips which were clinging to his, not only responding but making demands of their own.

  For a few minutes Maggie managed to remain detached so she felt like an onlooker watching this passionate embrace from afar, then the heat the kiss was generating took control and her mind ceased to function.

  Minnie saved the day—or night!—her hysterical noise finally penetrating Maggie’s consciousness enough for her to pull away from Phil.

  ‘Does she want to go outside?’ she asked, too breathless to do anything more than mumble the words.

  ‘She can get outside through the hatch in the back door,’ Phil said, and Maggie was pleased to hear his usually precise voice was also a little strangled.

  ‘I’ll take her through,’ Maggie said, bending to lift the little dog into her arms.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered when they were out of earshot. She pressed a kiss on the dog’s soft downy head.

  By the time she returned, Phil was gone, so she turned out the downstairs lights and went up to bed.

  Alone.

  Though she had doubts that would have been the case had the hot kiss continued any longer…

  Agreeing to Alex’s request that Maggie move in was obviously the worst thing he’d ever done, Phil decided as he tossed and turned in his bed that night. As if he hadn’t had a bad enough day, with the decision not to operate and then the baby’s death, then seeing Maggie with that lanky anaesthetist—first crying in his arms, then coming home so late they had to have been out to dinner together.

  But you didn’t need to kiss her, his picky conscience said.

  No? libido replied. When that long skinny streak of misery had just pecked her on the cheek? Someone had to show her what a real kiss felt like!

  Did you a lot of good! a new voice muttered, and Phil, tired of listening to voices in his head, listened instead for noises in the house. Noises that suggested Maggie might be on her way up to bed.

  Alone!

  It was better this way—that wasn’t a voice, it was common sense, of which he had apparently retained a few shreds.

  But his body didn’t believe what common sense had suggested. His body longed to once again have Maggie’s body tucked against it.

  And not just for sex, though he’d be a liar if he said that didn’t come into it.

  Sure he wouldn’t sleep, he counted sutures, spacing them just the right distance apart, and woke to daylight and someone tapping on his door.

  ‘Come!’

  The door opened a crack and Maggie peered dubiously inside.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m decent,’ he assured her, pulling up the sheet to hide his bare chest, although on that one memorable night she’d seen more of his skin than that of his upper torso.

  She edged into the room but only far enough for him to see the whole person rather than just the head.

  ‘I’m on my way to work and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be woken. If you were called out during the night and trying to catch up on some sleep, I’m sorry, but I slept in myself and wondered if you might have done the same.’

  Maggie sounded so flustered Phil checked to see he was decently covered. His sheet had become untucked, so his feet were poking out the bottom, but unless Maggie had a thing for feet, he couldn’t see anything to embarrass her.

  Damn! It must be the kiss. How could he have been so stupid? Only yesterday he’d decided how nice it would be to have Maggie as a housemate, then he’d blown the platonic colleague scenario to bits with his behaviour.

  ‘Well, as long as you’re awake, I’ll be going,’ Maggie was saying, still flustered he could tell, but apparently it was by his feet as that was where her gaze had been directed.

  Hmm! Turned on by toes? libido wondered, but the real Phil slapped him down.

  ‘Thanks for waking me,’ he said. ‘I doubt if anyone will be looking for me, but if they are, tell them I’ll be there in half an hour.’

  As he spoke, memories of the events—the medical events—of the previous day came rushing back, and the depression he’d managed to keep at bay with thoughts of kissing Maggie returned in full force.

  ‘OK, I’ll see you later,’ Maggie said, and she fled down the stairs, one hand against her stomach as she made silent apologies to her baby.

  It was Phil’s fault—firstly because he’d slept in and she’d had to go into his bedroom. Then for leaving his feet on show. Pale, slim, really elegant feet, with straight, well-manicured toes. Except that the second toe was longer than the big toe and Maggie had a sudden image of her baby, not nearly up to growing toes as yet, being born with the same distinctive feet—slim and elegant, with the second toe longer than the first.

  As if it mattered what her baby’s feet were like, she scolded herself as she hurried up the road to work—hurrying not because she was late but to put physical distance between herself and Phil.

  Had she had strange thoughts flipping in and out of her head during her previous pregnancies?

  Pregnancy, singular. She hadn’t known about th
e first until she’d had her second miscarriage and had realised she’d been through it before.

  And as for toes, in planned pregnancies, most women would have done some genetic comparisons with the baby’s father, and toes were almost sure to have come up in conversation.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘AND what are you so deep in thought about?’

  Maggie came back to earth to find Rachel standing just inside the gate that led into the hospital grounds.

  ‘Toes!’ Maggie told her, smiling when she saw Rachel’s surprise.

  Her colleague shrugged and said, ‘As good a subject for contemplation as any other on a Monday morning,’ then linked her arm through Maggie’s and continued towards the hospital.

  The gesture put all thoughts of toes out of Maggie’s head. Rachel had never sought her out before, yet today it seemed as if she’d been waiting for her.

  The events of the previous day—the loss of the baby—came flooding back. If the usually super-confident Rachel had felt in need of a little moral support to walk back into the hospital this morning, how much worse must Phil be feeling? Maggie wondered.

  Not that Phil would appreciate someone pandering to him, but the questions that had bedevilled him the previous day must still be racing around in his head.

  Which would explain his strange behaviour with the kiss. It had been a release of physical tension, nothing more.

  ‘Maggie, you’re wanted in the cath lab,’ Becky Myles, their unit secretary, said when she walked in. ‘Neonate with pulmonary stenosis.’

  Maggie dropped her handbag into a desk drawer and grabbed her coat. The catheterisation lab was just off the adult ICU, a room with a big glass window behind which the technician sat, talking through a microphone to the medical staff and controlling the huge X-ray machine that hung above the operating table. Pictures from the machine were visible on screens on the wall, so the person performing the procedure, which entailed passing a wire from the groin of the patient up into the heart, could see where the wire was going.

  Babies were sedated before the procedure to keep them still, and with newborns the amount of sedation was critical, which was why the cardiologist had called Maggie in.