Cinderella and the Surgeon

She pressed her lips together and tried not to snap. Everything about this guy just seemed to annoy her. Even the way his aftershave seemed to linger in the air between them. ‘I guess when you move around a lot you don’t know what’s normal in each NICU. But you don’t need to worry about the Queen Victoria. We have a reputation of excellence because we’ve earned it.’

Was that too pointed? She didn’t think so. It seemed more factual to her.

He wasn’t wearing a typical doctor white coat and her eyes were drawn to the muscles beneath the pale blue shirt he wore. The shirt was clearly tailored, defining all the parts of him it should. It had short sleeves—just like all doctors were supposed to wear in clinical areas, but the short sleeves drew her attention to his biceps. Some place she definitely didn’t need to look.

‘Point taken,’ said Harry frostily. ‘But I’d still like my post-op instructions followed. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.’

He was still holding the piece of paper towards her. It was like a standoff. She didn’t want to take it. She didn’t. But Jill came out of the kitchen and started walking towards them. The last thing she needed was for Billy’s mum to think there was any kind of issue between the staff looking after her child. Esther reached out and grabbed the paper, stuffing it in her pocket.

‘Fine.’

One of his eyebrows quirked upwards. ‘Fine,’ he agreed before turning and walking away.

She moved quickly, doing her routine checks on Billy, followed by routine checks on the little girl she was taking care of too.

She’d hoped that Harry would take the cue to leave the NICU. Surely he must be tired? Or at the very least have other work to do. But apparently not. He settled in and made himself comfortable in a corner of the NICU, opening up a laptop and sitting next to one of the phones.

The phone calls were brisk. He seemed to consult on a whole host of cases, some in the UK, and some in Europe.

Not that she was listening to what he was doing. Of course not. She just kept hoping that one of those calls would give him an incentive to actually leave the NICU.

Every time she turned around she felt as if she could feel his eyes on her. At first she told herself it was her imagination. But on the few occasions she looked up, they definitely locked gazes, making heat rush into her cheeks.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she logged in to one of the patient monitoring systems to update her nursing notes on Billy.

There was a little pink flash in the bottom right-hand corner. Someone else was in these notes. That wasn’t too unusual. The lab could be uploading results. Or someone else could be viewing x-rays or ultrasounds. But then the little flash turned blue, and Esther’s temperature turned red.

Now, someone was looking at the nursing notes. Her nursing notes. The ones she hadn’t even written yet. And all of sudden she didn’t have a single doubt who it was.

This guy was checking up on her, and that made her mad. She couldn’t even remember being supervised this much as a student nurse. When she’d come to the Queen Victoria to do her additional midwifery training it had only taken a few shifts for the staff she worked with to realise she was already trained as a nurse and was clearly competent. Of course, labour and deliveries were supervised. But when she was giving out regular medicines and writing up notes, the staff didn’t need to double-check as she already had a professional registration. So this definitely felt like being under the microscope. And she didn’t like it—not one bit.

The temptation to write Get Lost in the electronic system was overwhelming. It would appear to him in live time. Unfortunately this system was designed to keep a permanent log of everything recorded. So, if she typed it once—even if she deleted it a few seconds later—it could always be pulled up on a previous search.

It was designed to stop users changing records at a later date, but had actually proved a fail-safe for one midwife who’d accidentally recorded notes in the wrong patient record, deleted them, then had to deal with an emergency. The timing had meant she’d totally forgotten to go back and add the notes into the correct patient record. When questions had been asked later, the system could prove the record had been made, just not in the right place.

The midwife still got into trouble, just not as much as she could have.

Esther ignored Harry. She had to. Instead, she quickly typed Billy’s latest observations and results, along with a few thoughts of her own. Then she flipped into the records for Jill and made a few notes too. Jill was also still under observation and Esther had a few concerns.

An hour later, Harry was back by her side. He didn’t speak, but his shoes came into her line of vision. Italian handmade leather shoes. Something she’d only ever seen on movie stars before. Even his shoes annoyed her.

Was she maybe being irrational?

She waited until he’d sounded Billy’s chest again. ‘Why were you checking my notes?’

His hands flinched. ‘I wasn’t specifically checking your notes, Esther.’

‘You were. I can tell when someone is looking at the page I’m on.’

He gave her a sideways glance. ‘I was reviewing all of Billy’s records. From his delivery, to his first films, his consecutive test results and all of his medical and nursing notes. I like to be cautious. I like to take a big-picture look at my patients.’ He turned to face her. He gave her a reluctant kind of look. ‘I often think that the observations of the midwives or nurses that care for the patients are the most important. They might notice things that other people miss.’ He paused and ran one hand through his thick rumpled hair. There was something about that motion. The look on his face as he did it that made her breath catch somewhere at the back of her throat. Sorrow. Pain. Regret.

‘I’ve found over the years when we’ve had to do significant adverse event reviews, or even child death reviews, that often in case notes we can pick up tiny comments that might not seem like much to begin with, but when you stop—’ he held up his hands and swept them around ‘—and look at the whole picture, they all prove to be part of the jigsaw puzzle. The one that we often don’t put together until it’s far too late.’ He bit his bottom lip... There was something about this; she could tell he was keeping his emotions in check, and it made her stop feeling quite so angry at him. He took a deep breath. ‘So, I’ve learned to pay attention. To read all the notes—by everybody involved—and keep everything in mind.’ His toffee eyes locked on hers. ‘Because what’s the point in doing all these reviews if we don’t actually learn anything from them?’

Her mouth had gone dry. There was so much more to this story. Yes, she felt under the spotlight by him. Yes, she felt as if his words yesterday had been unjustified. But now he was telling her exactly why he was being meticulous, and her previously irritated brain could absolutely understand it.

He worked around a variety of hospitals. It was doubtful that he could remember anyone’s name. Everyone knew that some hospital units were better run than others. Esther could write a list right now of places she would never apply for a permanent position. Was it any wonder he didn’t think twice about handing over written instructions postsurgery for a patient?

Maybe she was letting her annoyance with him yesterday colour her judgement.

He was still standing there. Just a few steps away from her. She could see the rise and fall of his chest under his tailored shirt. The shirt that probably cost more than any outfit in her closet at home.

It was hard not to see the differences between them both. His cut-glass accent both annoyed and intrigued her. What was it really like to be a member of the upper classes? She was pretty sure she’d never met anyone before who would fall into that category. Had Harry been guaranteed a place at one of the best medical schools as part of his birthright? Or was all that outdated nonsense? She really had no clue.

What she was sure about was that he hadn’t had to juggl

e school work with two part-time jobs at school, and study into the late hours to make the grades he needed. Esther wasn’t some natural genius. She’d worked hard to get what she needed to get into university in Scotland. Doing the conversion course to midwifery in London had only been possible because of a grant from a Scottish millionaire who stayed in her area and invited Scots people to apply. Scotland was one of the few places on the planet where university tuition was free for their kids. But if a Scots kid wanted to do a course that was only offered in England? Then, like everyone else, they had to pay. She’d only been able to get to the Queen Victoria through getting the grant to fund her fees. It had also covered her rent during her training, so she was much luckier than most. But somehow she knew that Harry Beaumont had never had to worry about tuition fees or accommodation in his life.

Her mind drifted. Wondering if he’d ever been to Buckingham Palace or knew anyone there. Maybe he’d been best friends with one of the younger princes? He’d be around the same age.

Esther’s eyes fixated on his arms again. The muscles made her wonder if he was a rower. That would be it. He’d probably been part of either Oxford or Cambridge’s row teams.

There was a soft cough to her left and she jerked, turning to see Jill watching her with a strange expression on her face.

‘Everything okay?’

Jill looked between them both. ‘That’s just what I was about to ask you. You both seem to have been here awhile. Is there something wrong with Billy?’

Harry automatically stepped backwards. ‘No, no, everything is fine. I’m very pleased with Billy’s progress.’

He seemed to rethink his words. ‘Of course, we’re still going to keep monitoring him closely for the next few days. But, so far, he’s making a good recovery.’

Esther felt a tiny flash of something. The way he’d retreated from his initial words. It was almost like he didn’t want to seem too confident that Billy was out of the woods. Not to give Jill too many reassurances that could lead her to think that nothing else could go wrong.