Carol Marinelli - Playing the Playboy's Sweetheart

‘I’ve already heard about your weekend, Hugh,’ Alex said, as he was helped into his gown and gloves. ‘I’ve heard about it from several sources, in fact, and so I don’t need to hear it again.’

Hugh just grinned.

All joking was cast aside, however, when the patient was opened up and the tumour was found to be worse than Alex had been expecting.

Emily was, this morning, the circulation nurse, a part of which meant ensuring the operating field was uncontaminated as well as accounting for equipment. Emily loved most roles in Theatre but circulation or scrub nurse were her two favourites and today it was nice to watch how the surgeons worked from a distance, so she could know their nuances when she scrubbed in.

‘Not good,’ Alex said, once he had opened the patient and taken a good look around. ‘We’re going to be here for a few hours, Rory,’ he said to the anaesthetist.

It was a very long and intricate operation but it went very smoothly, even with a difficult turn of events—though not for the patient. Instead, there was unexpected news for the chief surgeon.

‘Alex, Jennifer is on the phone,’ Louise said, and Emily watched as Alex paused and frowned.

‘Bring the phone over to me.’

Louise held the phone to Alex’s ear and Emily glanced over at Hugh, who was looking at his boss as he spoke to his wife—she had clearly asked not to be put through.

‘Well, they’re under my instructions to put you through if you call,’ Alex said, and then listened for a moment. ‘I’m here for a couple more hours at least,’ Alex said, and then listened some more. ‘Okay, darling, please keep me informed. I love you.’

When Louise turned off the phone Alex was quiet for a moment before revealing his news. ‘Jennifer’s up on the delivery ward.’

‘When is she due?’ Hugh asked.

‘Not for another six weeks.’ He carried on working. ‘How long do fourth babies take, Louise?’ he tossed out to the runner. ‘Small ones?’

‘Hopefully more than two hours.’ Louise answered his black humour with her own. ‘I’m a midwife as well,’ she explained to Emily.

Theatre was an intricate and complicated world.

Every swab was counted, every pause noted, every instrument’s date of sterilisation checked, not a single blade or needle went unnoted—a seemingly seamless task but it was the black box of surgery and one that required a whole lot of effort from the first to the last in the room.

A small pause in proceedings ensued as Alex and Hugh had a drink of water and then re-gloved then they got back to work and Alex somehow did what he had to and concentrated on the patient.

There was no rushing.

For the young man on the table Alex Hadfield’s work was his very best chance at life. Emily watched as Alex explained things to Hugh and carried on as if his wife wasn’t in premature labour halfway down the corridor, but close to midday he looked over at Hugh.

‘I can take it from here,’ Hugh said, as Louise took a phone call.

‘I have your wife on the phone,’ Louise said, and Alex pulled of his gloves and took the phone and told Jennifer that he was on his way.

‘Oi,’ called Hugh as Alex walked off. ‘Don’t we get to know?’

But Alex was gone.

Hugh asked for a swab count before he closed, as was procedure.

Then he asked for another one.

Emily took no offence.

The operation had been interrupted, and she was also new.

Emily took absolutely no offence and counted again all the swabs and the instruments carefully.

It was her job to do so.

‘Thanks,’ Hugh said as, satisfied nothing was amiss, he started to close.

Lunch was very welcome but Emily found herself concentrating on more than her food when Hugh took a seat near her.

He smelt fantastic—somehow crisp even after hours spent operating—and his long outstretched legs were far too easy on the eye.

Oh, he was so far from ideal!

Emily’s ideal man came with some very specific prerequisites—looks didn’t matter, she would prefer that he was serious and that he didn’t make her laugh too much.

Neither must Emily’s perfect man imbue in her a sudden desire to get naked.

No, Emily’s perfect man was perfectly nice if somewhat staid.

In her ideal world they would have sex on Saturdays, more out of obligation than necessity—occasionally on Tuesday if Emily was on a late shift the next day and there was nothing good on television.

‘You’re new?’ Hugh said.

‘Emily has been working here for a year now!’ Louise, the nurse who had warned Emily about him in the changing room, quipped. ‘How rude that you haven’t noticed her before.’

It was just a small exchange, a teeny bit of fun, but Emily felt a slight flutter of unease as his green eyes told her that he certainly had noticed!

‘Emily Jackson,’ she said.

Hugh certainly had noticed her—from her pale blue eyes to her creamy skin. He wanted to know if the dark curl that peeked from beneath her theatre hat came from long or short hair and Emily’s soft Scottish accent also had him curious.

‘How long have you been in London?’ Hugh asked. ‘It can be a bit daunting at first.’ He was about to suggest that he could show her around perhaps when she interrupted him with a slightly wry smile.

‘I guess it was at first but I’ve been living here for years now, so I’m completely undaunted.’

She had meant to shut him down but Hugh had merely smiled. ‘Really?’

Let the flirting begin, his eyes said.

Except Emily refused to go there.

Quite simply, he daunted her.

Hugh took a phone call and his face broke into a smile. He offered his congratulations and then told everyone the good news. ‘It’s a little girl and her name is Josie and she’s doing very well.’

‘How much did she weigh?’ Louise asked.

‘I forgot to ask,’ Hugh admitted, and then stood. ‘I’d better go—a hernia repair awaits me.’ He turned and smiled at Emily. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘Same,’ Emily said, and she smiled but, and Hugh couldn’t quite get it, there was something about her smile that he could not put his finger on. It was pleasant, friendly even and yet … he could not find the word.

The afternoon list flew by and Hugh was just about to head up to the wards to check on his postoperative patients when he found out about the hair beneath her theatre cap.

Emily’s hair was long, thick, dark and curly. Without the shapeless theatre scrubs Hugh also noticed a curvy figure dressed in jeans, a heavy jacket and long boots.

‘See you,’ Hugh said.

‘Have a good night.’ There was that smile again and Hugh found the word he was looking for.

Sparing.

It was an incredibly cost-effective smile—it did its job but no more than that.

Already he wanted more.

No doubt Emily had been warned about him, Hugh reasoned, because he had felt the coolness of her brushoff. Or perhaps she was already involved with someone?

Still, even with Emily’s best efforts to deny that he moved her, the sparks flew between them whenever they were in Theatre together. So much so that at a Christmas work party a few weeks later Emily was relieved when Gina, an anaesthetist, offered her a lift back to her flat from the party, though she warned Emily that she was leaving in fifteen minutes.

With that deadline in mind, knowing she had a legitimate reason to leave soon, when Hugh offered to get Emily a drink she didn’t refuse.

‘Just a small one,’ Emily said, handing him her glass. ‘I’m going soon and I don’t want to miss my lift.’

Hugh returned with her drink a short while later and an offer too. ‘I can give you a lift if you want to stay a bit longer.’