CAROL MARINELLI - The Italian's Touch

“You’re running yourself ragged, trying to take the blame for everything and compensate for all that has happened.

“You need to see what a great job you’re doing and stop imagining the worst.”

Fleur stiffened at the rather backhanded compliment.“I think you’re being rather premature in drawing your conclusions about me, Mario. We’ve known each other for barely more than a couple of weeks.” His hands were still on her shoulders and Fleur was suddenly conscious of his touch. Casting her eyes down she waited for the next tirade of Calm down and Don’t blame yourself .

“Has it really only been two weeks?” The genuine bewilderment in his voice made her look up.“I feel I have known you so much longer.”

Her mind drifted back to last night on the balcony, and the emotions that had coursed through her then. Could so much have happened for them both in such a short space of time?

CAROL MARINELLIdid her nursing training in England and then worked for a number of years in Emergency. A holiday romance while backpacking led to her marriage and emigration to Australia. Eight years and three children later, the romance continues…. Today she considers both England and Australia her home. The sudden death of her father prompted a reappraisal of her life’s goals and inspired her to tackle romance writing seriously.

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

‘WHAT time do you call this?’ Bleary-eyed, Kathy pulled open the front door. ‘Whose bright idea was this job share again?’

‘Yours,’ Fleur said pointedly. ‘And next time you have one, please, don’t run it by me.’

‘You know you can’t wait really. Ben’s in the living room, watching cartoons.’ She smiled at Alex who was nervously clinging to Fleur’s leg. ‘Time for a cuppa?’

Fleur looked at her fob watch.

‘Come on,’ Kathy urged. ‘You don’t want to put the rest of us to shame.’

Realising Alex wasn’t going to let her go without a fight, Fleur nodded her acceptance, taking a reluctant Alex through to the lounge before joining Kathy at the kitchen table.

‘Getting nervous?’ Kathy asked, placing a steaming mug on the kitchen table along with a saucer of chocolate Tim-Tams.

‘Terrified,’ Fleur admitted, automatically reaching for a biscuit. ‘I would have thought toast and Vegemite would be more the go at this hour.’

‘It’s not every day you go back to work. I’d say chocolate was definitely more appropriate.’

‘I’m beginning to wonder what on earth I’ve taken on,’ Fleur said gloomily as her Tim-Tam dissolved into an unsalvagable wreck in her coffee.

‘You’ll walk it,’ Kathy said brightly, pushing the saucer towards Fleur.

‘If you tell me it’s like riding a bike, I won’t be responsible for my actions,’ Fleur replied, carefully choosing another biscuit. ‘I’m so rusty I’m even struggling to keep up with the medical dramas on television. Maybe I should have done a refresher course.’

‘Rubbish,’ Kathy said fiercely. ‘You’ve only been away two and a half years, and you’re going to have a reorientation program organised by Super-nurse Danny. You told me yourself that you weren’t going to be in Resus for a few weeks until you got your confidence back, so what’s to know? The sink in the sluice still blocks up. Len the porter is still moaning about his back and Danny ‘‘Mr Unit Manager’’ still thinks that he’s God’s gift to the nursing profession, though I don’t know how, considering the fact he spends most of his day in his office. Mind you,’ she said lowering her voice, ‘there has been a considerable improvement in the EB stakes.’

‘EB?’ Fleur enquired anxiously. Another thing she didn’t know!

‘Eligible bachelors. Namely the dashing Mr Mario Ruffini—he’s the new visiting consultant I’ve been going on about. Let me tell you that when God made that man he certainly had his contact lenses in. Mario Ruffini is reason enough to put your lipstick on in the morning. Now before you say, ‘‘But you’re a happily married woman,’’ I know all that. So happily married, in fact, that I can appreciate a fine specimen when I see one. When you meet him in the flesh you’ll see what I mean!’

She glanced over to the clock on the cooker. ‘Time you weren’t here, I think.’

Fleur never cried—well, almost never and even then only in private—but as she stood to go she felt the sting of moisture as her eyes filled. ‘I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I, Kathy? With Alex, I mean. He’s so clingy at the moment, so scared of any changes…’

Kathy, ever practical, handed her a tissue but, realising a bit more was needed in this instance, enveloped her friend in a warm hug. ‘Of course you’re doing the right thing, Fleur. It’s been over two years since Rory died. It really is time to move on a bit.

‘Look, today you start back at work; it’s a whole new chapter in your life and just what you and Alex both need. It will force you to cut the cord a bit, so to speak. This is going to be the making of both of you and I truly believe things really are going to get easier now. You’ll see.’

And so, after a bit of a last-minute dash, Fleur found herself at handover bang on seven-thirty, feeling rather self conscious in her new uniform, her thick blonde waves tied securely at the nape of her neck. But apart from a couple of anxious stares cast in her direction, on the whole she felt pretty much welcome.

Monday morning in Accident and Emergency, it seemed, hadn’t changed one iota. The waiting room was starting to fill and a few patients lay on trolleys in the cubicles, waiting for the ward rounds to be completed, which would hopefully clear the way for them to move from the department into a bed.

‘In the observation ward, we currently have two patients.’ Moira, the night charge nurse, suppressed a tired yawn. ‘Kane Dwyer, eighteen years old, put his hand through a window late last night. He’s sobering up and starting to feel very sorry for himself. Currently nil by mouth and first on the theatre list for a tendon repair. Strictly speaking, he’s under the orthopaedics, but the beds were full and Mr Richardson gave the OK for him to be held here until he goes to Theatre.’

Fleur listened intently, jotting down the information on a small pad.

‘The other patient is Hilda Green, sixty-five, fell at home with query loss of consciousness. No fracture on the X-ray but Mr Ruffini wasn’t happy and wanted her to stay overnight. She’s for a CT scan this morning.’

Though she was paying attention to all that was being said, Fleur couldn’t help but glance over to the empty resus area. The resus area where Rory had been worked on, where she’d kissed him for the last time while he’d still been warm…

‘Fleur, perhaps you could take the obs ward this morning. A quiet morning might be the best way to go.’ Danny’s voice snapped her back to attention.

‘Sure,’ Fleur replied, relieved at the apparent reprieve from the beastly resus room. ‘Is the hand clinic still held there at ten-thirty?’

‘Yep, and judging by our theatre book it’s going to be a big one. Half of Melbourne must have been stitched up this weekend. I’ll send Lucy, the student, in to help you with the clinic. If you need anything in the meantime, don’t hesitate to buzz on the intercom.’