CHAPTER EIGHT
‘FORCEPS! Forceps, please, Staff Nurse,’ growled Benedict and Verity realised, to her absolute horror, that she had been miles away.
‘S-sorry,’ she stumbled and quickly slapped the instrument into his gloved hand.
There was a tense, awkward silence and then Benedict said, in tones of frozen ice, ‘I asked you for a pair of forceps, Verity. This happens to be a retractor!’
‘Oh, heck!’ said Verity, half beneath her breath, and gave him the forceps instead although, from the grim-looking expression that still tightened his mouth, anyone would think that she had just handed him a time bomb!
From above his mask a pair of green eyes bored into her. ‘If I’m keeping you from something then do let me know,’ he ground out sarcastically. ‘If not then perhaps you’d be so good to keep your mind on the job in hand.’
Verity glared as she slapped a swab in front of him. Sarcastic beast! He had been like a bear with a sore head all week ever since that ill-fated kiss on her sofa when they had decided, or rather he had decided, that he would take her and Sammi out on Saturday.
Tomorrow.
And if he was going to be in this kind of mood then, frankly, she was tempted to cancel it.
Except that she couldn’t cancel it. It was not a date, subject to the whims of either participant. This was an opportunity for father and daughter to get to know one another. And it hadn’t just been the father who had been driving Verity mad all week, either. Sammi had come a close second. Every sentence she spoke seemed to contain a question or a reference to my ‘Daddy’. She had accepted the idea of Benedict being her father with such ease that Verity had felt positively guiltridden.
Wondering if she had been wrong to exclude Benedict for all these years. Once her temper had cooled down after finding him with another woman shouldn’t maturity have taken over? At any time she could have tracked him down and told him and given him the opportunity to get to know his daughter from babyhood.
‘Suction, please, Staff,’ asked Benedict tonelessly and saw Barney, the anaesthetist, pull an expressive face at his nurse. He could translate that half-amused look with complete accuracy. They wanted to know why the senior reg was in such a filthy mood.
And Benedict could tell them exactly why. The reason was a stunning blonde with the most amazing aquamarine-blue eyes and a body to die for and she was standing about three feet away from him, doing dangerous things to his blood pressure. What was more, she had been avoiding looking at him all day, which he couldn’t quite decide was a good thing or a bad thing.
Why the hell had he done the gentlemanly thing the other night and stopped? Why hadn’t he just made mad, passionate love to her? Imprinted himself on her mind and on her body so that she would never look at another man again.
You arrogant so-and-so, he thought as a rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth beneath the mask.
He closed the pelvic peritoneum over the vaginal vault and waited until his senior house officer had sucked away the excess blood and then swabbed at the wound before starting to suture the second layer of the abdominal wall.
He sighed as he closed the layer of muscle. It had been a long case. A long day. A long week.
Delicately he began to pull the needle through the bobbly yellow layer of fat which lay just below the skin. He had just performed a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy—the removal of womb, Fallopian tubes and both ovaries.
The woman in question was only thirty-two. An untreated bout of venereal disease in her teens had led to a chronic infection of her reproductive organs and she was infertile as a result. Benedict had sat with her for half an hour on the previous evening while the woman had sobbed her regrets for both past and future. And her fears that her boyfriend might leave her now that all chances of her having her own baby had gone.
He finished off suturing just below the skin line with his distinctively swift yet skilful technique. At least the woman would have a neat scar, he told himself, but it was scant consolation. People thought of surgeons as cold and unfeeling—treating their patients like pieces of meat to be operated on. As though surgeons couldn’t be touched by the tragedy which was a daily part of hospital life.
While the truth could not be more different—for Benedict, certainly. He never saw the patient in terms of just their illness and its surgical solution. He saw the patient as a whole person—there could be no other way for him. It was one of the reasons why he had achieved the highest marks ever recorded in his membership examination for entry into the esteemed Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists.
It was also one of the reasons why he had chosen the dual speciality of obstetrics and gynaecology.
Because when you were dealing with the obstetric bit—with pregnancy—you were for the most part dealing with young, healthy women. Cases like the other night—the maternal death—were exceedingly rare, thank heavens. And Benedict found dealing with childbirth a good counter-balance for the more depressing side of his work.
His houseman snipped the final suture and Benedict peeled his gloves off. ‘Thanks very much, everyone,’ he said, noticing that Verity had her head bent and was pretending to count a load of instruments on her tray.
Why the hell wouldn’t she even look at him? he wondered and flounced out of the theatre in the time-honoured style of the arrogant surgeon.
Verity watched him go, hating him and yet wanting him all at the same time. Dreadmg the next day’s outing and yet almost ticking off the wretched moments until it arrived. And reminding herself of what it had been like the other evening when she had let him kiss her. She wondered how far she would have let him go had they not stopped.
No. She corrected herself hurriedly. They had not stopped. He had been the one to stop. He hadn’t wanted to make love; she had. And she would do very well to remember that.
Verity pushed her trolley towards the sluice, glancing up at the theatre clock as she did so and thinking about Jamie and Harriet for the first time in days. With the time difference between here and the States they would probably just be getting up, she thought, her mouth softening with uncomplicated affection.
At that moment she really missed them.
‘More!’ Sammi yelled delightedly.
‘More?’ chuckled Benedict, heaving an exaggerated sigh of fatigue. ‘You can’t want more, surely?’
Sammi bobbed up and down in the turquoise water, her bright orange armbands blinding as she waved her plump arms around like a helicopter. ‘I do! I do!’ she declared and began to giggle excitedly as Benedict hoisted her up onto his broad, bare shoulders, down which the water from the swimming-pool trickled enticingly.
‘Oh, let Benedict rest,’ protested Verity, but only very half-heartedly. Her stomach ached from laughing; she could not remember laughing so much in years.
Benedict had called at the house at eight-thirty, a good half-hour before he was expected, and although the two of them were dressed they hadn’t even had breakfast. In fact, Verity was about to scramble eggs.
‘Would you like some?’ she asked in a rather nervous and polite voice. She just didn’t know how to act with him in a situation like this.
‘No,’ and he took the egg-box firmly out of her hand and put it on the side. ‘It’s your day off so go and get your coats on,’ he instructed.
‘But we’re hungry!’ objected Sammi.
He grinned, suddenly boyish. ‘You and me both, sugar! And if you’re good I might just buy you breakfast!’
It seemed particularly decadent to Verity to go out for breakfast, particularly when it was at the Grantchester Hotel in the middle of London’s West End. They were given a table set amidst lush tropical foliage next to a vast swimming-pool and waitresses fussed over Sammi and seemed prepared to indulge their every whim.
‘This is ridiculous!’ Verity said crossly.
‘What is?’
‘Breakfast here—it must cost an absolute fortune.’
His green eyes held the light of genuine chivalry. ‘Let me worry about the cost, Verity. Please.’
Put like that, how could she refuse? Verity stared down at a menu that was as long as her arm and glanced up to find Benedict studying her, an oddly satisfied expression on his face.
‘So, what would you like?’ he asked softly.
‘Eggs?’ she shrugged, rather helplessly. ‘I just don’t know how to choose between hens’ eggs, ducks’ eggs, quails’ eggs or guinea-fowl eggs!’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t. First rule—never eat in a restaurant what you were going to eat at home!’
He thought she had quails eggs at home? ‘You’re making rules for me now, are you?’ she challenged with a smile.
‘Only for breakfast.’ He gave one of his heartstopping smiles. ‘So let’s have raspberries and blueberries. And croissants.’ He crinkled his eyes at the waitress. ‘And mango sorbet and a pot of coffee. Oh, and an iced cappuccino for the young lady.’
‘Ooh! Thank you, Benedict!’ cooed Sammi, casting an envious eye at the rather corpulent American businessman who was puffing his way up and down the swimming-pool.
Benedict saw the glance and interpreted it correctly. ‘Do you like swimming?’ he asked, and Sammi nodded her head vigorously.
‘Because we could come back later and swim, if you’d like to?’ And Sammi squealed her delight.
‘I think that goes without saying,’ commented Verity drily. ‘But how can we come back? It’s a hotel.’
‘Oh, there’s a sports club here,’ he said casually, ‘and I’m a member.’
And that would explain how he managed to have the kind of hard-packed, muscular physique which any self-respecting sportsman would be proud of, thought Verity. Though goodness only knew how much it would cost to belong to a place like this.
‘But we don’t have our costumes here,’ Verity pointed out.
‘There’s a boutique in the foyer.’
And she could just imagine how much a swimming-costume would cost there. She opened her mouth but he anticipated her objection.
‘Verity,’ he said mock-sternly, ‘aren’t I allowed to spoil my daughter? And it wouldn’t be fair to take her swimming and not her mother, now would it?’
For brazen charm he just about took the biscuit but Verity was enjoying herself too much to put up any objections. ‘I suppose not,’ she murmured.
‘Good. That’s settled, then.’
Under the guise of sipping at her fruit juice she allowed herself a good look at him. And she wasn’t the only one. He was the kind of man who attracted looks from both men and women, even in a place like this where good looks and wealth were common enough to be unremarkable. He wore beautifully cut dark green cords, with a linen shirt in a much paler green. His tie was a silk affair—a rather wild explosion of peacock blues and greens which suited him perfectly.
He caught her looking at him. ‘And do you approve?’ he mocked.
She raised her glass to him. ‘Best juice I’ve ever tasted!’ she mocked back, and he laughed.
To Verity’s pleasure the breakfast was followed by a walk in Hyde Park, where they threw scraps of stale bread to the ducks. She had been awfully afraid that he would provide such a packed, hightech and expensive day that Sammi would be completely dazzled by it all. And she wanted Sammi to get to know him and to like him as a person and not for what he could provide for her.
In the event they stayed in the park for ages—there seemed so much new life to explore and see. Benedict had been planning to take them to a restaurant for lunch but when he suggested it Verity shook her head.
‘It’s such a glorious day,’ she said. ‘We don’t get many like this. Can’t we buy a sandwich somewhere and have a picnic?’
‘Sure we can,’ he replied but he frowned.
‘Of course, if you really want to eat in a restaurant—’ Verity began but he shook his head.
‘It isn’t that. It’s just—’
Verity stilled. ‘What?’
He shrugged in an effort to be light-hearted but his voice was grave. ‘Oh, the mention of sandwiches made me think of Ethel. I got the results back from Histology last night. I’m afraid it’s what I feared. She has adenocarcinoma of the body of the uterus. I’m going to have to perform a Wertheim’s hysterectomy on Monday.’
Verity sucked in a breath as he mentioned adenocarcinoma—a particularly virulent type of cancer. And Wertheim’s operation itself was fraught with dangers. Suddenly it seemed very important to comfort him, to take his mind off what lay ahead of him. ‘Let’s walk,’ she said suddenly.
Their eyes met understandingly. ‘OK,’ he nodded.
They walked for well over an hour, briskly and without speaking, Sammi happily skipping ahead and depleting the park’s daisy stock! The wind whipped Verity’s hair up and put roses in her cheeks and she began to hum beneath her breath, without being aware that she was doing so.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked Benedict.
His deep voice broke into her little daydream and reminded her of how things were, not how she would like them to be. He was walking close enough for her to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow, if she had chosen to do so. And that was what she would have done if they had been a proper family.
But they weren’t, were they?
And, maybe, once Sammi was totally at ease with her father it might make more sense for the two of them to conduct their outings alone.
Because, sooner or later, Benedict would find a woman he loved and wanted to settle down with and if they carried on having carefree days like this one then Verity might just build up a hopeless emotional dependence on the man, one which he would never be able to fulfil.
But her good intentions went to pot later on when, after their swim, he took them to see a film. Verity was still a little breathless from the sight of seeing Benedict wearing nothing but a pair of very sleek, black swim-shorts. And even more breathless from the way he had been unashamedly admiring the shocking-pink Lycra swim-suit that she had chosen for herself—although she had had reservations about it. It was cut much too high on the leg to be decent but it also happened to be the only one in the shop in her size.
‘Has she seen Bambi yet?’ he asked, as the three of them studied the seven films showing at the giant complex.
‘No. We’ve got the book.’
‘Think she’d like it?’
‘I think she’d love it.’ She wasn’t so sure about herself though. Verity could remember crying buckets the last time she had seen it—and that had been about fifteen years ago!
In the darkness of the cinema she tried vainly to eat the popcorn Benedict had bought but she found herself sniffing on more than one occasion and when it reached the bit about Bambi’s mother dying she thought of Kathy and Jamie and Harriet and everything, really, and just dissolved. Benedict did nothing, except silently hand over a large, clean handkerchief and Verity was grateful to him for his tact.
She had managed to regain her composure by the end of the film, although when the lights went up she thought that Benedict’s own eyes looked suspiciously bright and she threw him a curious look.
‘Disney was a master at blatant manipulation of his audience,’ he observed laconically.
Verity hid a smile. ‘Cynic!’ she responded.
They took a black cab back to Verity’s flat and Benedict looked down at his watch. It was still only seven and Sammi had fallen asleep on his lap. His heart warmed with pleasure as he stroked a silken curl from his daughter’s cheek. Was it always going to be this easy to love her, he wondered? This simple?
He sneaked a glance at Verity, who was staring out of the window as all the famous London landmarks flashed by. When they reached her flat he would ask her out to dinner and if she couldn’t get a babysitter then they would send out for something. He felt as nervous and as excited as a teenager on a first date.
He carried Sammi up to the flat and waited while Verity managed to get her into her pyjamas and into bed and when she came back into the room she brushed the back of her hand ruefully over her forehead.
‘Whew!’ she exclaimed, something in the way that he was looking at her making her babble in excitement. ‘What a battle! I’m afraid that she’s had to go to bed with her teeth unbrushed, not the best thing in the world when you consider the amount of sugar she consumed in the cinema. Still—’
‘Verity—’ he began, suddenly urgent, when the warbling of her telephone halted him.
‘Excuse me,’ said Verity quickly, relieved to have a reprieve. She knew what she had said she was going to do—not get her hopes up and play cool. But she had been wrong or deluded. Because if Benedict asked her out this evening, as she suspected he was about to, then she was almost certainly going to say yes.
‘Of course,’ Benedict answered. He went over to her bookcase and pretended not to listen, though naturally enough he could have recounted her end of the conversation word for word afterwards.
‘Verity? Hi!’
‘Jamie!’ she squealed with delight. ‘You sound so American!’
‘Guess I do, y’all,’ he drawled.
She laughed. ‘How are you?’
‘Exhausted! And frightened to within an inch of my life. Harriet insisted on dragging me on every infernal ride in the park today—including the ones which warned against it if you have a nervous disposition!’
‘But you haven’t got a nervous disposition,’ Verity pointed out.
‘I have now!’ he countered, and she laughed again. ‘Harriet wants to say hello to Sammi. Is she there?’
Verity swallowed, suddenly serious. ‘She’s in bed.’
‘That’s early.’
‘I know...’ Her voice trailed off awkwardly. Suddenly she felt stricken with guilt. ‘Jamie,’ she said, and didn’t notice Benedict’s shoulders tense.
‘Listen,’ said Jamie, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I’m coming home on Monday.’
‘Monday?’ Verity exclaimed. ‘That soon?’
‘I’ve been away almost a fortnight,’ he reminded her gently. ‘Didn’t you miss me?’
‘Yes, of course I missed you,’ she replied truthfully.
Benedict quickly put the book down as if it had been contaminated.
‘Can you meet me at the airport?’ he queried. ‘About seven?’
‘How?’
‘Take my car—my secretary will give you the keys.’
‘Drive your Jag?’ asked Verity disbelievingly. ‘You trust me enough to drive that?’
‘I’m the man who taught you to drive, remember?’ he reminded her. ‘Though I did have a sensible saloon at the time. Just go easy on the accelerator, right? Oh, and bring Sammi. Can you do that, Verity?’
‘Sure I can,’ she answered softly.
‘Thanks.’ He paused as if he was about to say something more but when he did it was nothing other than a casual, ‘Bye for now.’
‘Bye,’ echoed Verity thoughtfully and slowly replaced the receiver to find Benedict staring at her, an oddly frozen look on his face.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said abruptly.
‘Oh.’ She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. ‘Won’t you stay for a drink? Or supper?’
He shook his head, trying to swallow down the black tide of jealousy that was sweeping through his veins like an illicit drug. ‘No, thanks.’ He picked up his jacket from the back of a chair. ‘I have a paper I’m writing for the Lancet.’
‘Benedict, it’s been a lovely day—’
He couldn’t bear it. To witness her formal little declarations of gratitude when all the while she probably wanted to work out what to wear to meet Jamie Brennan at the airport. ‘Yes,’ he replied, equally formal. ‘I enjoyed it very much and I hope that Sammi did, too. I’ll speak to you during the week about taking her out again. Maybe she might feel relaxed enough to come out with me on her own—give you a little free time. If that’s OK.’
Verity nodded but it was an effort to prevent her face from crumpling. She had expected him to want to take his daughter out on his own, yes, just not this soon. ‘That’s fine!’ she said brightly.
‘Good. Goodnight, Verity,’ and, turning swiftly away from her, he walked out of the flat without a backward glance, leaving Verity staring after him in bewilderment and dismay.