She whipped her head back round, her mind whirling, and pretended to scribble some more notes about what Jules had just reported on her sheet. But her pen remained still above the paper.
It’s him. It’s him! Oh, God, oh, God, oh...
Her trembling fingers touched her lips and her nausea returned in a torrent so powerful she thought she might be sick with nerves right there and then—all over Mona’s shoes. She wanted to get up and bolt. Run as fast as she could. But it was impossible.
She frantically eyed the spaces between the rows of staff and wondered how quickly she could make a break for it at the end of the briefing.
It couldn’t be possible. How could it be him? Her one-night stand.
‘Jamie is with us for a couple of months, filling in for Sandra who’s away on maternity leave, so I’d like to say welcome to the team, Jamie, it’s good to have you here. For the rest of you—Jamie has been working all over the country in various midwifery posts, so he’s got a lot of experience, and I hope you’ll all take the time to welcome him here, to Queen’s.’
Jules smiled.
‘Right, then. We’re all off. Have a good shift, ladies. And Jamie!’
She smiled, waved, and the majority of staff disappeared off to the locker room, to grab their things and go.
Freya, frozen to the spot, wished she could do the same.
Okay, so the simplest thing to do is to stay out of his way.
So far she’d done a sterling job of that.
Mona was showing him around, pointing out where everything was, getting him acquainted with the temperamental computer and how to admit people to the ward—that kind of thing. Freya, on the other hand, had just been given the task to introduce herself to the two labouring mothers and work on the labour ward—which she was very happy about because that gave her the opportunity to stay in her patients’ rooms and not see or have to engage with him.
The irony of the situation was not lost on her. The first time they had met she had been brimming with temporary confidence, an urge to experience life again as a normal woman meeting a handsome guy at a party. But now she was back to reality. Hiding and skulking around corners, trying her best to avoid him. The man she’d propositioned.
And what the hell were the odds of him turning up on the very same day that she took a pregnancy test? It had to be millions to one, didn’t it? Or at the very least a few hundred thousand to one?
Jules had said he’d been working in various posts around the country. Why hadn’t he got a job at one of those? Why did he keep moving?
What’s wrong with him?
The weight of the pregnancy test in her left pocket seemed to increase, its weight like a millstone.
She entered Andrea Simpson’s room quietly.
‘Hello, it’s Andrea, isn’t it? I’m Freya and I’m going to be your midwife tonight.’
She smiled at her new charge and then glanced over at her partner, who was putting his phone in his back pocket and standing up to say hello.
He reached over to shake her hand and she saw him do that thing with his eyes that everyone did when they noticed her face—noticed that she’d been burned, somehow, despite her corrective surgery and skin grafts. Noticed that she’d had work done.
His gaze flittered across her features and then there was that pause.
‘Hi, I’m George,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m just here to do what I’m told.’
Freya smiled. ‘Mum’s the boss in this room.’
She glanced over at the belt placement on Andrea’s abdomen and checked the trace on the machine. The trace looked good. No decelerations and the occasional contraction, currently seven or eight minutes apart. Still a way to go for Andrea.
‘I want you to stay on this for ten more minutes, then I’ll take it off—is that all right?’
Andrea nodded, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a short drink.
‘Do you have a birth plan?’
‘Just to have as much pain relief as I can get.’
‘Okay. And what sort of pain relief are you thinking of?’
‘I want to start with gas and air, see how I go with that, and then maybe get pethidine. But I’m open to whatever you suggest at the time.’
Freya smiled. ‘So am I. This is your birth, your body. I’ll be guided by you as long as it’s safe. Okay?’
‘Yes...’
Freya could see that Andrea had questions. ‘Nervous?’
Andrea giggled. ‘A bit. This is all so new!’
Tell me about it.
Freya had seen hundreds of babies come into the world. She never tired of it. Each birth was different and special, and now she knew that if all went well and she didn’t miscarry she’d be doing this herself in a few months. Lying on a bed...labouring. It was actually going to happen.
‘You’ll do fine.’
She laid a reassuring hand on her patient’s and wondered who’d be there to hold her hand during labour? Her mum?
Her mind treacherously placed Jamie beside her bed and she felt goosebumps shiver down her skin.
No. It can’t be him.
It can’t be.
But isn’t that what you always wanted? A cosy, happy family unit?
It had been. Once.
* * *
It was her. He’d have known those blue eyes anywhere. The eyes that had been haunting his dreams for weeks now.
He’d been invited to that charity ball after he’d attended a small event in Brighton that was meant to have been low-key. But word must have reached the ears of the hospital that the heir to the throne of Majidar, Prince Jameel Al Bakhari, was around and an invitation had got through to his people.
It had been for such a good cause he hadn’t been able to refuse it. A children’s burns unit. He’d seen the damage burns could cause, from a simple firework accident right through to injuries sustained in a war zone, and it was shocking for anyone. A painful, arduous road to recovery. But for it to happen to a child was doubly devastating.
So he’d attended, dressed as a pirate, complete with a large hoop earring and a curved plastic scimitar that had hung from his waist by a sash.
He’d not intended to stay for very long. He’d made them keep his presence there quiet, as he didn’t enjoy people bowing and scraping around him. He hated that whole sycophantic thing that happened around members of his royal family. It was part of why he’d left Majidar. To be a normal person.
It was why he tried to live his life following his passion. And his passion was to deliver babies. Something that was not considered ‘suitable’ for a prince back in his own country.
But what could you do when it was your calling? Delivering babies was what he had always yearned to do, and he’d never been destined for the throne. His elder brother had been the heir and was now ruler. So surely, he’d reasoned, it was better to spend his life doing something worthwhile and selfless instead of parading around crowds of people, smiling and waving, a spare heir that no one needed?
He’d faced some considerable opposition. Mostly from his father, who’d been appalled that his second son wanted to do what he viewed as ‘women’s work’. His father had forbidden him ever to speak of it again and, respecting his father, he had kept that promise. Until his father had passed away. Then his brother Ilias had taken the throne, and Jamie had approached his new King and told