Cinderella and the Surgeon

Harry leaned closer, his cheek brushing against hers. ‘What are you smiling at?’

She looked up at him. He was so close she could see every eyelash and the pale gold flecks in those toffee eyes. She kept her voice low. ‘I’m just thinking that if you served those in a pub in Scotland you’d have your head in your hands to play with.’

He let out a low laugh and shook his head. ‘I love your crazy expressions.’

‘Oh, I have lots more where those came from.’ She blinked.

‘And I want to hear them all,’ he whispered, moving closer.

‘Harry!’ The voice came from directly behind them and they jumped apart.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. ‘Penelope! How nice to see you.’

A woman with blond hair wound over one shoulder and an enviable figure slid into the chair on the other side of Harry. She was wearing a bright cerise pink dress that clung to every curve. She flung her arms around Harry and kissed him on both cheeks—just a little too close to his lips—leaving her bright red lipstick on him like some kind of marker. Esther stiffened in her seat.

A waft of expensive perfume floated across the table towards her. Harry returned the hug, a little less enthusiastically, before sitting back in his chair and allowing Esther an even better view of a woman who could simply be described as perfection.

‘Penelope, I want you to meet my good friend Esther McDonald, who has accompanied me tonight.’

Penelope didn’t seem at all perturbed. She slid her arm across Harry’s body, showing a set of immaculate pointed nails, exactly the same colour as her dress, inviting Esther to shake her hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Esther.’ She beamed.

Esther gulped and shook the hand far more limply than she intended to. Wicked thoughts immediately dashed through her mind. Like how Penelope could easily whip a man’s testicles off with one swipe of her nails. She could see Penelope having a quick glance at Esther’s short blunt nails. Just the way a nurse’s should be. But Esther couldn’t help wishing she had put on a quick coat of nail varnish before she’d left the house tonight.

Penelope slid forward, one arm draping conspiratorially around Harry’s neck. ‘So, how did you two meet?’

It was the voice. It was delicious. Like syrup. All accented, immaculate sounds. Esther knew her own accent was thick. She liked it that way. A few times she’d purposely spoken much quicker than usual in order to put another person firmly in their place. A Scots accent could do that—particularly when dealing with a drunk in A&E. There was a real no-nonsense attitude about a thick Scottish accent that Esther relished.

But tonight? It just made her feel uncouth.

She tried to speak properly, dulling her accent and finishing every word. ‘We met at work,’ she said, ignoring the look that Harry shot her. ‘I’m a midwife in NICU.’

Penelope blinked. ‘What’s NICU?’

‘Prem babies,’ said Esther quickly.

Penelope slapped her other hand on Harry’s chest—and left it there. ‘Oh, of course. Silly me.’

Her eyes went between them both, her smile getting wider. ‘So, you met at work. That’s kind of cute.’

Harry shifted in his seat. Esther was suddenly intensely aware that on both times Harry had introduced her—first to Penelope’s parents, and then to Penelope—he’d described her as a ‘good friend.’ What did that mean exactly? It was sort of bland. Sort of nothing. Or at least nothing important.

Was that what they were? They hadn’t even had that conversation yet. And Esther didn’t like the way that burned inside.

She was also trying really, really hard not to bristle at the way Penelope had draped herself possessively around Harry. The girl wasn’t giving off vibes. The kind of ‘I was here first’ thing you sometimes got with exes. Instead, she was showing how comfortable she was around Harry.

Penelope waved her hand for some more wine and a waiter appeared immediately. He lowered his head to Penelope’s. ‘My usual,’ she said easily. ‘Harry’s too, and—’ she leaned forward ‘—pick your poison, Esther.’

Esther didn’t miss a heartbeat. She named a tonic wine that was commonly known in Scotland. Something she was entirely sure a posh place like this wouldn’t have in a million years. She wasn’t quite sure why she did it.

Was it because she already knew she didn’t fit in and wanted to send a message that she had no intention of conforming? She didn’t even like that tonic wine, and hadn’t touched it since she was a teenager. But it was like all her spiny prickles were coming out at once.

Penelope blinked and smiled. ‘Never heard of that one.’ She repeated it to the waiter, who quickly disappeared.

A tuxedo-suited man stepped up to the podium at the end of the room, announcing the start of the auction. Penelope shot Esther an excited glance. ‘Which one do you want to bid on?’

Every cell in Esther’s body prickled. She was almost sure that Penelope didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. The woman had a generally welcoming nature. Maybe she just believed the rest of this room was just as rich as she was. But Esther had already told her that she and Harry worked together. Did she honestly expect a NHS worker to have funds to spend on the charity auction?

Within a few minutes Esther realised that the bidding here wasn’t for the faint-hearted. Her knuckles were turning white holding the programme as the bids climbed and climbed.

The room felt oppressive, as if the heat were closing in around her. The waiter appeared back with the drinks. He shot Esther a grin as he lowered her familiar drink next to her. ‘None of the monk’s wine,’ he said, revealing his Scots accent. She started. Only someone who’d been brought up in Scotland would know that the traditional tonic wine was made by monks. The man’s eyes gleamed as he sat down a tall glass in front of her. ‘So I brought you our other favourite.’

Esther laughed out loud as she looked at the bright blue liquid topped by ruby red, a memory of home shooting through her. She hadn’t even been much of a drinker as a teenager, but this definitely reminded her of stale village halls and sitting in the park on a summer’s day.

Harry leaned closer. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘A bit of my past.’ She grinned, taking a sip and grimacing.

‘What’s in it?’ he asked.

‘Vodka and port.’ She pushed it towards him. ‘Try it.’

He took a tentative sip and wrinkled his nose. ‘It tastes like...’ He paused, clearly trying to place it.

Esther named a popular fruity carbonated drink.

‘That’s it,’ he said, throwing his hands up.

‘Harry Beaumont, thank you for your bid.’

Esther felt the colour drain from her as Penelope let out a shriek of laughter. Her hand landed on Harry’s arm again. ‘Oh, you clown. Do you know what you just bid on?’

He sat back in his chair, looking relaxed, if a little stunned. Esther couldn’t breathe. She felt sick. This was her fault.

Penelope opened her programme and pointed to something. ‘Here. You’ve just bid on a two-day break in a cottage in Scotland.’

Harry shrugged. ‘How much did I bid?’

‘Twenty thousand,’ said Penelope, as if she’d just mentioned a sum of money that bought a chocolate bar.

‘Oh, okay,’ said Harry, barely blinking.

‘Okay?’ All heads at the table turned to Esther’s incredulous voice. Inside she felt like she was dying. Harry had just spent twenty thousand pounds by mistake and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Just how rich was this guy?

That thought alone made her immensely uncomfortable.

Penelope leaned in front of Harry and gave Esther a comforting grin. ‘Don’t worry. That’s spare change to this guy.’

Esther just couldn’t find words. She sat back in her chair and watched the spots form in front of her eyes. She’d never

felt more like Cinderella in her life. This must be some kind of warped fairy tale.

The auction continued and she sat in a blur. Every cell in her body told her she should be apologising to Harry for being part of the mistake, but she could see he honestly wasn’t the least bit bothered and that worried her much more than a blazing argument over whose fault the errant bid was.

Money meant everything to her. In a horrible, materialistic, never-admit-to kind of way. She counted every single penny. She had to, in order to help her mum. Five days out of seven she would pack her lunch. She only allowed herself a coffee from the cart on the Thames twice a week. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought herself something new to wear. Why buy more clothes when she had perfectly reasonable ones in her cupboard?

A thought of her own life back in Scotland shot into her head. How different it was. This place was all smoke and mirrors. The words Lady Brackenridge had spoken were stuck in her mind. Harry hadn’t experienced the same love that she had. Would she have swapped her parents and small house in Scotland for a life like this? Never.

She kept her face perfectly calm as she took some long slow breaths in and out. Harry’s hand had crept over to hers and his fingers intertwined with hers. Tingles shot up her arm. Tingles that she really liked.

But this was wrong. Nothing about her and Harry was a match.

She watched as he chatted easily to Penelope. The girl was gorgeous. She seemed genuinely nice and every now and then tried to include Esther in the conversation. But they were talking about friends and casual acquaintances—people that had never, and would never, move in the same circles as Esther.

The more she watched, the more she felt a distance grow between her and Harry. Penelope was a good match for him. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She fitted easily into his life.

Not like Esther, with her extra shifts and shabby flat.

Even though she was sitting here in Carly’s beautiful gown, her previous confidence was ebbing away little by little.

Then all of a sudden the auction was over. The guests all stood as the tables were removed and a band was spirited in through another door. The music began as waiters started to circulate with drink-filled trays again.