Playing the Joker. Caroline Anderson

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘EXCUSE me a moment.’

      The man seated behind the desk stretched out a hand and picked up the phone, his manner briskly professional as he dealt with the caller.

      ‘Davie—yes, Jo. Ah, right—can you fill me in?’ There was a pencil-tapping pause. ‘I see—how many weeks is she?’

      The other man stood up and walked over to the window, his warm brown eyes scanning the view with interest. The office—soon to be his office—was at the rear of the building on the third floor of what was apparently known affectionately as the Stork’s Nest, the six-storey maternity block that overlooked the rest of the hospital and the woodland beyond.

      The trees were rich and green, but it would soon be September and then, as the nights drew in, the leaves would blaze with colour, giving way in time to the stark beauty of winter and then the bright, soft fullness of spring.

      God knew he was ready for some beauty and fullness in his life.

      ‘Right, that’s that. Shall we go down for coffee and meet the team?’

      Alexander Carter straightened his tie, drew back his shoulders and gave Davie a brief nod.

      Thank you.’

      He followed the man through the door, down the stairs and along a wide, busy hospital corridor to the staff canteen and coffee lounge.

      There is a consultants’ dining-room, but in practice very few of us use it—the food’s the same, but it lacks the ambience.’

      ‘I can imagine.’ He glanced around him at the laughing crowd that seemed to shift and flow with a life of its own. ‘It’s popular.’

      Owen Davie laughed. ‘It’s eleven o’clock—everyone’s come for their fix of caffeine. Ah, here’s part of the team. Allow me to introduce you. Dr Anne Gabriel, your SHO, and Dr Maggie Wells, paediatric SHO. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other, I imagine. Ladies, this is Alexander Carter, who’ll be taking over from me from Monday.’

      As his mouth made the usual and accepted noises, Alex’s eyes registered and catalogued the two women—Anne Gabriel, his SHO, a little brown mouse of a woman, her face remarkable only for its guarded expression and a certain wistfulness in the wide hazel eyes, and Maggie Wells, the paediatrician, her long red-blonde hair tied over one shoulder, her deep blue eyes in her fragile-seeming face bright and alert, assessing him with interest. They were both slightly on the small side of average, but, where Maggie was full of coiled energy and youthful enthusiasm, Anne, although slimmer, was somehow fuller, more mature—a woman to Maggie’s girl. He glanced at her ring finger and saw it was empty—not that that necessarily meant anything these days, but he was curious. She would, after all, be working very closely with him over the next few months at least.

      They chatted for a few minutes, but first Maggie’s bleep and then Anne’s called them away, and he was left alone with Owen Davie. The man turned to him.

      ‘Your senior registrar won’t be here for a few minutes; she’s admitting a patient from one of the antenatal clinics at the moment. Perhaps I should warn you about her. She’s a very good doctor, but given to rather radical tendencies. We’ve had a few minor barneys over procedure on occasion, but nothing drastic. I think you should know, though, that she applied for my job. Her age and lack of experience went against her, but given time and the moderation of maturity she should be an excellent consultant one day. In fact, if it hadn’t been for you, she might well have been given the post.’

      Alex frowned. He really didn’t want to start with staffing difficulties. ‘Do you think she’ll work for me, or do you think she’ll look for another job?’ he asked.

      ‘Oh, I’m almost certain she’ll stay. I’m only telling you this because you might find her a little resentful, but she’s very professional in a rather off-the-wall kind of way, and she knows she’ll get promotion soon enough. She’s just a bit of a wild card—the joker in the pack, you might say. Ah, here she is now—Dr Harding!’

      Alex looked across the room towards the doorway, and saw a tall, elegant woman with flaming dark red hair tumbling down her shoulders. Her back was towards them, her white coat flung over her arm, her body clad in a figure-hugging bottle-green linen dress that was belted in to her narrow waist with a broad cinch of scarlet. Her body was slender but lush, her curves full of promise, but it was that unbelievable hair that drew him.

      Perhaps it was just wishful thinking that made her seem familiar—achingly, intimately familiar—but then she threw back her head and laughed, and, as she did so, she turned away from her companions and strode towards them on impossibly high heels.

      Alex felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. His heart crashed against his ribs, his tongue felt so thick that he thought he would choke on it, and