Caroline Anderson - Relative Ethics

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Cover

Title Page Relative Ethics Caroline Anderson www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

‘How do I look?’

Elizabeth Jones glanced up at her daughter, and swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a big day for them all, but especially for Bron.

She forced herself to run her eye professionally and dispassionately over Bronwen’s slim, neat figure, from the glowing tumble of shining dark hair cut into becoming layers, down over the clean lines of the navy suit-jacket which hid the soft curves of her daughter’s slender figure and lent her an air of brisk efficiency, down the narrow navy skirt and the matching sheer tights to the neat navy pumps, and then back up again, to study the face, bravely confident and yet with a touch of uncertainty mirrored in the wide grey eyes.

‘Perfect.’ She cleared her throat, and tried again. ‘Just right. You look approachable and yet efficient. Have some breakfast.’

Bronwen shook her head. ‘No—oh, Mum, I couldn’t eat a thing——’

‘Bron, you can’t start your first day without a single calorie inside you. Now sit down and do as you’re told!’

‘Bully,’ Bron said softly, but she smiled and obeyed, struggling with a piece of toast and a cup of coffee.

‘Livvy still asleep?’ Her mother’s gentle query brought a flush of guilt and anxiety to Bronwen’s pale cheeks.

‘I didn’t like to wake her just to say goodbye. Oh, Mum, I’m sure she won’t really be scarred for life if I go back to work, but somehow—I just feel so wicked——’

Her mother laid her hand gently over Bronwen’s slim fingers, and squeezed reassuringly. ‘Don’t be silly—I went back to work, and you aren’t exactly scarred for life. She won’t go short of love, darling. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine together. Now get off to work before you’re late.’

‘I wasn’t fifteen months old, and you only worked part-time. I suppose I can always hand in my notice if it doesn’t work——’

‘Over my dead body!’ her mother chided. ‘Without your work you’re only half a person. You belong there, Bron. You need medicine—and medicine needs you.’ She walked Bronwen to the door, and gave her a firm hug. ‘Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?’

‘Oh, Mum—I love you!’

Eyes misting with emotion, feeling the same tingling dread and anticipation as she’d had on her first day on the wards, Bronwen started her car and drove carefully the three miles to the Audley Memorial Hospital.

A new day, and a new start. Another chapter in her life closed. She stifled a pang of regret and dragged her mind away from the memory of a pair of vivid blue eyes the colour of a Mediterranean dawn, burning with passionate intensity, and a gravelly voice saying over and over, ‘I love you, Bron, I love you …’

Lies, all of it. Yet even so, she wouldn’t change a thing. And damn it, she still loved him, even after all this time and knowing the way he had lied. And there was Livvy, bright, vivacious, her tumble of gold curls framing a smiling face, and those incredible long-lashed blue eyes she had inherited from her father. For the thousandth time, Bron wondered where he was and how he was—not that she ought to care, but somehow hearts tended to go their own way.

She parked in the area set aside for medical staff, using the plastic card Jim Harris had given her to raise the security gate, and, squaring her shoulders, made her way through the door marked ‘Accident and Emergency’.

The smell hit her as she walked in, a sort of busy antiseptic smell composed of polish and institutional food and Hibitane, totally familiar and very reassuring. Her mother was right, this was where she belonged.

She walked on, past the doors marked ‘Staff Only’, round to the right, second door on the left. Here it was—Dr J E Harris. Drawing a deep breath, she rapped twice.

‘Come in!’

She opened the door and did as she was bidden, smiling to herself at the huge man sprawled like a teddy-bear across the chair and desk. He grinned, covered the mouthpiece of the telephone with one large paw, and mouthed, ‘Have a seat—won’t be a tick.’

She perched on the edge of the desk while he terminated the call, and then dropped his feet to the floor and stood with surprising grace, coming out from behind the desk to wrap her hands warmly in his.

‘Good to see you again, Bronwen. Welcome to the team. Come and get a cup of coffee and meet the others. They’ll be glad to see you—we’ve been awfully pushed just recently. Hell of a weekend, I gather. Pile-up on the A45—holiday traffic, I suppose. I was sailing.’

‘Very sensible,’ she said with a wry smile, and he laughed and patted her shoulder.

‘Nervous?’

She shrugged. ‘A bit. It’s been eighteen months. Dr Harris?’

‘Call me Jim, Bronwen. What’s the matter?’

She paused, unsure of how to word her unusual request. ‘It may seem silly to you, but I’d rather the others didn’t know about my daughter, if you don’t mind. There’s enough speculation about single women doctors without adding fuel to the fire. Of course, if you’ve already told them, it doesn’t matter——’

‘Tell ’em what you like, my dear. I’ve told them only that you’re joining the department—frankly, we’re so pushed they wouldn’t care if you had three heads!’

‘They would if I were a cannibal,’ she said with a grin, and Jim Harris chuckled and opened the door.

‘They’d probably line up to be nibbled by you. They’re a miserable collection of rakes, by and large, but good doctors nevertheless. Just don’t let them take themselves too seriously!’

He wheeled her down the corridor and into the staff lounge. Forewarned was forearmed, she thought as the two young men lolling in the chairs raised bleary faces to her and then stumbled to their feet, interest flickering in the sunken depths of their bloodshot eyes. How tired would they have to be before they failed to register a reasonable-looking woman? Bron wondered, and tried not to laugh at their enthusiasm as they squabbled amicably over who was giving her a cup of coffee.

It turned out to be academic because the loudspeaker on the wall squawked as they reached the coffee-pot, and they groaned and tossed a coin.

‘See you later,’ one of them grumbled, grabbing his white coat off a peg, and Jim waved at his retreating back.

‘That was Steve Barnes. This——’ he indicated the other doctor, who had forgotten about Bron’s coffee and slumped back down in a chair ‘—is Mick O’Shea.’ The loudspeaker squawked again, and Jim excused himself with a mild expletive and a muttered apology.