The Doctor's Lost-and-Found Bride (8 page)

A
T EXACTLY
half-past seven that evening, Max rang Marina’s doorbell. Her flat was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction to his from the hospital, though it was a pleasant walk, past two parks and in a road lined with trees.

A few moments later, she answered the door. Tonight she was dressed in a black, crinkle-pleated, silky skirt that fell almost to her ankles, a matching vest-top and a bright-pink georgette shirt which she’d used as an unstructured jacket; her hair was down, and her feet were bare apart from the nail polish on her toes that matched her shirt. She looked incredibly feminine and Max found it difficult to resist the urge to yank her into his arms and kiss her until both their heads were spinning—but the sensible side of him reminded him that it was a bad idea to push her too hard or too fast. He wanted her to relax with him. So he simply smiled and handed her a bunch of deep-blue irises. ‘For you.’

‘Thank you, Max.’ She looked stunned, then pleased.

Did she really think he’d forget her favourite flowers that quickly?

‘I wasn’t sure what you were cooking, so I thought I’d play it safe.’ He gave her the bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.

‘That’s lovely. Though you really didn’t need to bring anything—it’s only supper.’

‘I wanted to,’ he said simply. ‘And I didn’t want you to think that I’m taking you for granted.’

‘Come in. I’ll put these in some water.’

He followed her into the flat.

There were photographs hanging in the narrow hallway, and he’d just bet the mantelpiece in her living room was crammed with more framed photographs. There was a cork board in her kitchen with photographs and postcards pinned to it; some of the photos were clearly of work nights out, as he recognised several of their colleagues, and others were of Marina’s family. Several sheets of artwork were fastened to the fridge with magnets—abstract patterns of thick paint, liberally sprinkled with glitter, which he guessed were Phoebe’s. Pots of herbs grew on the windowsill, and there was a spice rack on the worktop that Max knew from experience was well used rather than just sitting there for decorative effect.

Marina’s kitchen was obviously the heart of her flat, just as it had been in their home together; and suddenly he felt wistful. He could remember how it had felt to come home on days when their duties hadn’t matched; walking into a room had been like walking into her arms for a hug, even when she wasn’t there, because everywhere had felt so welcoming.

So different from his almost-empty flat.

And so very different from his parents’ ultra-formal house, where he felt guilty about putting a dent into a pristine cushion and wouldn’t dream of putting his feet up on the sofa.

In Marina’s flat, he instantly felt at home. It made him realise again how much he’d missed her. How empty his life had been since he’d lost her.

Could they give each other a second chance?

‘Sorry, I’m running a teensy bit behind, so dinner’s going to be another twenty minutes. Do you want a coffee, or do you want to start on the wine?’ she asked.

‘Coffee would be lovely,’ he said politely.

She put the wine in the fridge and switched on the kettle. ‘Make yourself comfortable. You can go through into the living room, if you like, and I’ll bring our coffee through.’

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ He indicated one of the chairs at her kitchen table.

‘Sure. Help yourself.’ She smiled at him and started arranging the irises in a clear-glass vase.

‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘You can get the milk out of the fridge, if you like.’ She busied herself shaking coffee grounds into a cafetière.

He opened the fridge and blinked. ‘Your fridge is full,’ he said as he retrieved the milk and set it on the worktop.

‘That’s what a normal person’s fridge looks like.’ She laughed. ‘Yours
isn’t
normal, Dr Hubbard.’

The only answer he could give to that was a wry smile, and a change of subject. ‘Something smells wonderful.’

‘Supper,’ she said, frothing the milk in a jug with a tiny whisk before adding it to the coffee and handing him a mug.

It was typical of Marina to make proper coffee rather than instant, he thought, and to add those extra touches without making a big deal out of it.

‘Sorry, I haven’t had time to lay the table yet.’

‘I’ll do it, if you tell me where everything is,’ Max offered.

‘Sure. Cutlery’s in the second drawer along, place-mats
are in the drawer next to them, and the glasses are on the middle shelf of the cupboard above the kettle.’

So she still kept everything in the same places as she’d kept things in their kitchen. No wonder he felt as if he knew his way around already.

‘I didn’t get a chance to see Rosie today,’ he said. ‘How’s she doing?’

‘OK, but horribly bored,’ Marina replied. ‘Mind you, I don’t think I’d cope too well with being confined to a hospital bed.’

Max certainly hadn’t. He’d brooded and brooded and brooded. Then again, he’d had a lot to brood about. Finding a new job, dealing with his father’s death—and then coming to terms with the bombshell his father had left. Not to mention the sea-change in his own feelings afterwards, losing his respect for his father and discovering a new sympathy towards his mother, even at the same time as he loathed the way she fussed over him and smothered him. ‘Spending a day in bed with a book is a treat. But if you’re forced to do it for a month it’ll drive you crazy.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounded personal, Max. Is that what happened to you after the earthquake?’

He backtracked swiftly. Marina didn’t know any of the stuff about his family, and he wasn’t going to burden her with it, despite the fact that she’d asked. ‘Yes. And I know other people who’ve been stuck on bed rest. Not for pre-eclampsia, admittedly, but the principle’s the same.’

‘So that’s why you visit her almost every day?’

He shrugged. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, it’s kind of you. And it really does help take her mind off how bored she is.’ She looked over at him, seeing
that he’d retrieved the cutlery and the place-mats. ‘Just stick the books on one of the spare chairs, or on top of the fridge.’

He glanced at the textbooks as he moved them, noting that the subject was paediatric emergencies. ‘Is this what you’re doing your special-reg training in?’

‘Yes. It’s why I spend Wednesdays in the children’s assessment unit with Rhys Morgan. He’s offered me a temporary post in the paediatric department.’

‘Oh, has he?’ Again, Max felt that twist of jealousy in his stomach and was cross with himself for being ridiculous. Maybe the consultant recognised Marina’s abilities as a doctor. Just because Max himself found her incredibly attractive, it didn’t necessarily mean that every other man would. For all he knew, Rhys Morgan could be gay and completely uninterested in Marina as a woman.

And he was even crosser with himself when Marina said, ‘It’d be as maternity cover for Katrina, his wife—she’s expecting their first baby in just over a month. They’re a great team, and I’ve learned a lot from them both over the last few months.’

How wrong could he get? Not only was the other man completely straight, he was married. Preparing to become a father.

As Max himself had been four years ago. The news of Marina’s pregnancy had been unexpected, shocking—and yet when he’d got used to the idea he’d loved it. It wasn’t until the miscarriage that he’d realised how much he’d been looking forward to becoming a father, to having a family with Marina. To coming home and being kissed hello by a little girl who was the image of his wife, and who had the same love in her eyes when she looked at him. To coming home and teaching his son how
to ride a bike and how to bowl a cricket ball. To telling bedtime stories and going to school nativity plays and sports days.

He pushed the thoughts away. ‘Are you tempted to take the job?’

‘A bit,’ she admitted. ‘But I know I’d miss the buzz of the emergency department.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Maybe I’m just an adrenaline junkie.’

He smiled back. ‘No, you’re just used to being too busy. You were very good with young Jessie today.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And I was thinking, if you want anyone to do spot questions with you for the exams, give me a yell.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, he regretted them. He could remember studying-sessions with Marina from her days as a junior doctor. And how he would reward her with kisses for giving him the right answers—but only at the end of the session, so he didn’t distract her from learning…‘Am I keeping you from your books tonight?’

‘No, it’s fine—I’ve already done some studying. That’s why I was running a bit late.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry. It’s a really interesting subject, and the time ran away with me.’

‘No need for apologies.’

Supper turned out to be sweet potato wedges, chicken fillets stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in parma ham, and steamed green vegetables, followed by bananas that had been studded with chocolate and baked in the oven, served with low-fat Greek yoghurt.

Max ate every scrap. ‘That was wonderful.’

‘It was just supper.’ She flapped a dismissive hand and topped up their glasses.

Then he remembered something else that had been
bothering him. ‘What was Jessie’s mum saying about seeing you in the paper?’

‘I do a column in the local paper once a week. Milly in the press office talked to Ellen about it—’ Ellen was the Director of Emergency Medicine and head of their department ‘—and she suggested I should do it as part of my training. The idea is to give people more of an idea of what we do in the emergency department and what they can do to help themselves.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘I’m trying to cover the most common cases and keep them as seasonal as I can—so I did Colles’ fractures a couple of months back, and I’ll do stings in the summer. It’s a bit of a mix of first-aid advice and raising awareness of where else people can go for help—their friendly, local pharmacist for minor things, their GP or nurse practitioner for more serious things and us for accidents and emergencies.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘It’s fun,’ she said. ‘The only downside is that the paper insists on using my photograph. So when people do come in sometimes they’re a bit wary of me because they’re not a hundred per cent sure that I’m a real doctor.’

‘Like that woman who was shouting at you the other week.’

‘From what her friend said,’ Marina said, ‘she was deeply unhappy with her life and I was a convenient target for her to let off some steam.’

‘She still shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You came to my rescue,’ she said lightly.

Marina made more coffee, and shepherded him into the living room. As he’d suspected, the mantelpiece was
crowded with photographs of her family, and the comfortable sofa was covered with cushions.

What he hadn’t expected was the up-to-the-minute television and games console. He didn’t remember her being into video games.

Clearly she followed his line of thought, because she laughed. ‘I’m still not into “shoot ’em up” or car-racing games. But this is a lot of fun.’ She gave him a sidelong look. ‘Challenge you?’

‘To what?’

‘Up to you—there’s a ten-pin bowling one, or there are some word games—or there’s one that’s full of mini-games, where you do all sorts of things, from hula-hooping to pretending to be an elephant. Which sounds completely ridiculous, but it’s hilarious.’

‘I’ll follow your lead,’ Max said.

It turned out to be enormous fun. Marina showed him how the controls worked; she beat him at the first couple of games, but as he grew more used to the controls he overtook her.

Finally, she flopped on the sofa. ‘Enough! Do you want another coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ He sat down beside her. ‘I enjoyed that.’

‘Me, too.’

He found himself staring at her mouth; when he glanced up, he noticed that she was looking at his mouth too. He leaned forward very slightly, intending to do no more than just touch his mouth to hers in a brief and sweet kiss. But somehow they ended up lying flat on the sofa, with Marina underneath him. Her legs were wrapped round his waist as he traced a line of kisses along her col
larbone. How he loved her scent, the softness of her skin beneath his mouth. The tiny little noises of pleasure she made when he rediscovered a place she liked being kissed. The feel of her pulse beating strong and hard beneath his mouth, growing more rapid as she became more aroused.

Then he came to his senses.

He was practically making love to her on her sofa, when she’d invited him over simply for supper. This really wasn’t supposed to be happening, and he was acting way out of line.

He pulled back slightly; he could see that her eyes were huge and dark, her mouth reddened from his kisses, and she was clearly as turned on as he was. Yet there was an undercurrent of worry beneath it all.

Was she scared that if she let him close again they’d end up making the same mistakes they’d made last time?

‘Sorry. I didn’t intend this to happen.’

She gave him a dry smile. ‘Neither did I. This was really just an invitation to dinner.’

‘And I’ve really overstepped the boundaries. Overstayed my welcome. I’d better go.’

But her legs were still wrapped round his waist and she hadn’t moved. She reached up to stroke his face. ‘Max, you don’t have to go.’

‘If I don’t, I’ll end up carrying you to bed and making love with you,’ he warned. ‘Because I still can’t keep my hands off you.’

‘Funny, that. I’m having the same problem. And, right now, you feel so good.’ She slid her hands round his neck and drew his face down to hers, then touched her mouth to his.

As the kiss deepened, Max was completely lost. It was only when they rolled off the sofa together, she landed on
top of him and all the breath hissed out of his lungs that he stopped kissing her.

‘Uh. Remind me that I’m thirty, not eighteen,’ he said.

She stroked his face. ‘I’m not that far behind you. Only two years. Hey, do you realise that we’re practically halfway to being pensioners?’