‘Fibroids are caused by too much oestrogen in the body. If we can decrease the level, the fibroids usually shrink, and the pain and excessive bleeding lessens, but—’
‘The drugs can’t cure the fibroids, and as they tend to have side-effects if taken for too long, it’s not a long-term solution,’ she finished for him.
He stared at her thoughtfully. Woody had said she was bright, and she obviously was, but bright doctors didn’t necessarily make good ones. Annie could have all the book learning in the world, but if her communication skills with patients were as poor as they were with him…
He cleared his throat. ‘On Carol’s last visit I told her she really only had two options. A hysterectomy, or a laparoscopic myomectomy. She’s coming in today to discuss those options, and I’d like you to advise her.’
‘Me?’ she faltered. ‘But—’
‘As you said yourself, you’re here to learn.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’m not going to abandon you, Annie,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll sit in—put in my pennyworth if you need it—but I think it would be a useful exercise, don’t you?’
She obviously didn’t, and he could see her point. Throwing her in at the deep end on her very first clinic was deeply unfair. It was also, as it turned out, a revelation.
The minute Carol Bannerman walked in, Annie became a different woman. Gone was the nervous, apologetic person he kept meeting, and in her place sat a calm, understanding professional. A professional who gently and simply outlined the two procedures, showing not a trace of impatience or irritation whenever Carol asked for clarification.
Which made her decision not to immediately apply for a junior doctor’s position after she’d finished med school all the more puzzling. She was bright, confident—just so long as he wasn’t around—so why had she put her career on hold for four years?
It was a mystery, and one he intended solving, but not right now. Not when it seemed that Carol had finally come to a decision.
‘I want to have the laparoscopic myomectomy,’ she declared. ‘I know Mr Caldwell said my fibroids might come back if I had that, but to have a hysterectomy…’ Tears filled Carol’s eyes and she blinked them away quickly. ‘I’m only thirty-six, Dr Hart, and my partner and I really want a baby.’
Annie glanced across at Gideon, but his face gave her no clue as to what he was thinking. Her brother always said that consultants who performed hysterectomies for fibroids were lazy surgeons, but if it was Gideon’s preferred choice…
Go for it, Annie, she told herself. He asked you to advise Carol Bannerman, and if he doesn’t like what you say, so be it.
‘I see no reason why anyone should have a perfectly healthy uterus removed just to get rid of some benign tumours,’ she said firmly.
‘Then you agree with me?’ Carol said uncertainly. ‘You think I should have a myomectomy?’
Deliberately Annie avoided Gideon’s gaze. ‘Yes, I do. There’s only one thing I should warn you about,’ she continued when Carol let out a sigh of relief. ‘If you do become pregnant after the myomectomy, you’ll almost certainly need a Caesarean section to deliver. The procedure tends to weaken the uterine wall, you see.’
‘A Caesarean sounds good to me,’ Carol observed with a shaky laugh. ‘Eliminate all that painful huff, puff and pant stuff, and just get the baby out.’
‘If it was as simple as that, every mum-to-be would opt for one.’ Annie smiled. ‘But a Caesarean’s not something to be undertaken lightly. It’s an operation—a big one—and most women take six to eight weeks to recover from it. Not a very attractive proposition if you’ve a young baby to look after.’
‘I’ll cross that bridge when—if—I ever get to it,’ Carol declared. ‘How long will I have to stay in hospital?’
‘I…um…’ Annie glanced across at Gideon in mute appeal and he leant forward in his seat.
‘A couple of days at most, and if everything goes to plan you should be back at work within a fortnight. It’s not a difficult procedure,’ he continued when Carol looked surprised.
But was it what he would have recommended? Annie wondered as he made a note in his appointment book. Surely it must be, or wouldn’t he have contradicted her advice?
But he didn’t say anything—not even after Carol had gone. To be fair, there wasn’t really the time—not with a waiting room full of anxious, nervous women—but she thought he might have said something. Even if it had only been, ‘Annie Hart, you’re an idiot.’
‘So what did you think of your first clinic?’ was all he said when the last of their patients had finally gone.
‘I enjoyed it,’ she replied. ‘Especially meeting your IVF patient—Mrs Norton. She was so thrilled to be pregnant.’
‘I’m surprised she wasn’t a little smug.’
‘Smug?’ she repeated in confusion.
‘I wanted her to stop when her third IVF treatment failed. It’s so emotionally devastating, you see, when the procedure doesn’t work, but Jennifer was determined to give it one last try, and as it turns out she was right and I was wrong.’
He’d given her the opening she needed, and she took it. ‘Carol Bannerman—the lady with fibroids. I was right, wasn’t I, to suggest she opt for a myomectomy?’
His eyebrows rose. ‘I think the more important question here is, do you think you were right?’
‘But—’
‘But me no buts, Annie. Do you think you advised the best possible course of treatment for her?’
Quickly she mentally reviewed Carol Bannerman’s case notes, then took a deep breath. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
For what seemed like an eternity he said nothing, then his lips curved. ‘So do I.’
‘Then why didn’t you say so?’ she protested, letting out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. ‘I’ve been sweating buckets all morning—’
‘I noticed.’
‘Why, you…you rat!’ The words were out before she could stop them, and she flushed scarlet. ‘I’m so sorry—’
‘Please—oh, please, don’t apologise,’ he exclaimed, his face creasing into a broad smile. ‘You’re absolutely right. It was a rotten thing to do, but I was curious to see how long it would take you to crack and say something to me other than “Sorry”.’
‘Your entire clinic apparently,’ she said ruefully, and his smile widened.
‘That’s better. That’s what I’ve been wanting to see—some lightness about you, some humour.’
She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t realise I was so grim.’
His brown eyes caught and held hers. ‘Not grim. Just tense, and nervous, and there’s no need for you to be. I’m not an ogre, you know.’
No, he wasn’t, she thought as she gazed up at him and felt her own lips curving in response to the smile on his. He was nice, and understanding, and…
This is a mistake, her mind warned. A big, big mistake. You’re starting to like him. Not as your boss, but as a man, and remember what happened the last time you liked your boss—the heartache it caused, the devastation when he walked away. Do you want that again?
‘Annie—’
‘Good grief, is it a quarter to two already?’ she exclaimed, catching sight of the clock on the wall behind him. ‘I have to go.’
‘But I was hoping