Anyone Can Dream. Caroline Anderson

no, it’s the least I can do.’

      A blaze of anger flared behind his eyes, and he laid his hand over hers on the tap, preventing her from turning it on again.

      ‘No. You don’t have to earn favours in this house, Charlotte.’

      She flushed. ‘But I can’t just leave it all——’

      ‘Yes, you can, and you will.’

      ‘But——’

      ‘No more buts. Come on, the coffee’s done. Let’s go back into the sitting-room.’

      She followed him with a sigh. If only he’d let her tidy up, then she needn’t feel so guilty about——

      ‘Stop it.’

      ‘Stop what?’

      ‘Trying to balance the books. You’ve had fun, so you have to pay—is that right? Is that what he did to you? If you went out and enjoyed yourself, you had to pay for it?’

      She flushed, and he reached for her and pulled her down on to the sofa against his side.

      ‘Oh, Charlotte,’ he said softly.

      She straightened away from him. ‘I’m all right,’ she said.

      ‘In a pig’s eye.’

      ‘I am—really.’

      ‘Is that why you’re on your own? Because you’re all right?’

      She looked at him blankly. ‘You’re on your own, too. If everything’s so hunky-dory in your world, how come you haven’t got a nice cosy little wife and family?’

      Something shifted in his face, some lingering regret.

      ‘I never said everything was hunky-dory in my world,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Are you divorced too?’ she asked him, and found herself dreading his reply.

      He shook his head. ‘No—not divorced. My wife’s dead. She died five years ago.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      IN THE next few days, Charlotte ran that conversation through her head over and over again, but the shock of it didn’t leave her. Instead she found herself growing more and more curious about the circumstances of his wife’s death.

      He had said nothing more, changing the subject and leaving Charlotte with the distinct impression that it was a topic that was strictly taboo.

      She hadn’t stayed long after that, driving home to her flat and going straight to bed, to lie there and remember the warmth of his mouth, the touch of his hands, and the incredible sensations he had wrought in her.

      That he had denied himself still amazed her, all these days later, and the other thing that amazed her was how easy it was to work with him in the hospital without shame or embarrassment. She had expected at the very least to feel uneasy, but he was his usual warm, open self, and any fears she’d had were soon laid to rest. In fact he was so busy putting her at her ease that she ended up wondering if the whole event had been completely meaningless for him.

      On Wednesday night they were on duty again, and, although Charlotte by this time had had a little more experience and had even done her first unsupervised repair, still William insisted on being close at hand.

      ‘It wouldn’t take you long to come from home,’ she reasoned, but he wouldn’t be moved.

      ‘If you don’t recognise a problem quickly enough, that extra five minutes could make all the difference. Mrs Rimmer doesn’t seem to be getting on all that fast, and I’d rather be around.’

      So she agreed, and in the end she was glad because in the early hours of the morning one of the midwives, Bev Linari, was about to get the switchboard to page Charlotte just as she arrived back on the ward after a coffee break.

      ‘Oh, you’re back. It’s Mrs Rimmer—she’s making no progress. I’ve had to get her out of the water and I think the baby’s becoming distressed—we need to use the ventouse.’

      This special vacuum cup which was applied to the baby’s head and used rather like forceps had almost taken the place of the more brutal tongs of previous years, especially since the advent of silicone cups, but so far Charlotte had used neither, and said so.

      ‘Is William about?’ Bev asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      The woman’s face cleared. ‘Good—you know his nickname, do you? Dr Ventouse?’

      Charlotte smiled. ‘Really?’

      ‘Oh, yes. He’s fantastic. Get them to call him and come in, could you?’

      ‘Sure.’ Charlotte turned back to the desk and used the phone to ask the switchboard to page William, then followed Bev into the delivery suite.

      The woman, Mrs Rimmer, was looking very tired and despondent, and Charlotte understood from Bev that she had requested no pain relief in the interests of the baby.

      Now, however, she was getting more and more distressed, probably with worry, and Bev and Mr Rimmer were busy calming her down.

      Just when Charlotte was convinced she was going to have to learn about the ventouse by trial and error, William walked in, took one look at Mrs Rimmer’s face and took charge.

      After examining both the progress chart and the patient, he explained that the baby wasn’t descending fast enough and was beginning to get rather tired.

      ‘Like you, really,’ he said with a grin, and Mrs Rimmer smiled weakly back.

      ‘What I want to do is help the baby down, using your contractions to do the work and the vacuum cup to guide the baby’s head in the right direction, because what’s happening is it’s turning slightly and getting jammed. Now, I know you don’t want any pain relief like pethidine, but how would you feel about local anaesthetic?’

      ‘Is it necessary?’

      He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hope not, and I’ll be as gentle as I can, but it may not be very pleasant. One thing I can assure you is that it will hurt a lot less than forceps, and it may even be better than a normal unaided delivery. It’s just getting the cup on that can be a bit tricky.’

      Tricky wasn’t the word for it, Charlotte thought a few minutes later as William tried yet again to position the silicone cup against the baby’s undescended head.