And Daughter Makes Three
by
Caroline Anderson


CHAPTER ONE

"You aren't taking this interview seriously, are you?"

Robert blinked in astonishment.  "I beg your pardon?"

The girl sighed and rammed the long fingers of her right hand through
once tidy mousy hair.  Well, not really mousy.  There were actually
some rather beautiful gold lights lurking in it, he noted absently,
just waiting for a stray sunbeam to bring them to life "I'm just your
statutory woman interviewee, aren't I?  Why can't you admit it?  I'm
only here because you have to appear unbiased, but I can tell by your
questions that you think I should be curled up somewhere behind a desk
chatting to pregnant mothers and peering down children's throats!"

Robert shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, embarrassed at
being so easily read by the young woman in front of him.

"Not at all," he demurred, but her fine dark brows shot up sceptic ally
and he sighed.  "All right, perhaps a little.  I've got nothing against
women doctors; I think they're a necessary "Evil?"  she supplied
helpfully.

He sighed.  "I was going to say balance.  The problem isn't so much
your gender as your physique.  Orthopaedic surgery is physically
demanding "So is general practice.  The point is, I don't want to do
general practice, I want to do orthopaedics, and I want you to give me
the chance."

Stubborn little cuss.  Robert eyed her with fresh interest.  "So what
makes you think you'd be any good?"

"I can spot fractures' on X-ray plates that other people miss "So you
can diagnose.  But can you treat those fractures ?  Have you got the
strength to reduce them, to realign the bones and reduce dislocations?"
He studied the slender hands lying on the edge of the desk, palms down,
the long, fine fingers outspread as if she was ready to spring up and
dash off.  "Look at your hands.  I doubt if you could even wring a
chicken's neck."

She smiled wryly.  "I doubt if I could but that's probably because I'm
vegetarian and nothing to do with brute force and ignorance."

"I never mentioned ignorance."

"You didn't mention skill, either.  Or patience and persistence.  You
need those too, and on that score I'm definitely your man-so to
speak."

Robert was beginning to think that her patience and persistence would
be the death of him.  "What evidence have you got to support that
extravagant claim?"  he asked drily.

"I can do jigsaws," she told him.

His jaw sagged slightly.  Jigsaws?  She could do jigsaws ?  He could
play badminton, but it was hardly relevant "You know the double-sided
baked bean variety that nobody has the patience for?  I don't give up.
I persist until whatever I'm doing is done to my satisfaction.  I'm a
perfectionist, but I know how to compromise.  I'm strong I'm fit and
I'm prepared to go to any lengths to do the job well.  I won't let you
down."

"Won't', please note, not wouldn't, he thought wearily.  As if he'd
offered her the job.

"It's physically punishing," he warned.  "Long hours in Theatre,
bending over shattered limbs, piecing them together

"Like jigsaws.  Exactly."

"Can you bang a nail in straight?  Saw straight?  Drill and screw with
total accuracy?"

"Yes," she said.  Just like that, without any hesitation.

"Yes?"  he pushed.

"Yes.  I've been practising.  My brother's got a Victorian house.  I've
been helping him do it up.  I'm a dab hand with an electric drill, and
I can hammer and chisel and paint in straight lines

"How useful," he said drily.

"Well, if I can paint in straight lines I can cut in straight lines,
which might be relevant, I suppose?"  she replied, just as drily.

He sighed.  "Look, Ms "Bradley.  Frances-Frankie, for preference-and
it's Miss but Dr.  will do.  Please, Mr.  Ryder, give me a chance.  I
won't let you down."

"Won't' again.  Damn her.  He rammed his own fingers through his own
hair and sighed again.  "Look, Dr.  Bradley, I won't lie to you.  I've
seen another applicant who looks ideal

"A man?"

Robert groaned inwardly.  "As it happens.  As I was saying, I've seen
him, he's right for the job, and I was simply waiting until I'd
interviewed you to offer it to him.  He's got more surgical experience
than you

"I can learn.  I loved my time in surgery-check my references.  I was
good at it."

"Slow, it says.  Good, but slow."

She swallowed, but, damn her, she didn't give up.  "That's because I'm
thorough.  The SRI was working with missed a thrombosis in a mesenteric
artery, and the patient would have died if I hadn't pointed it out.
He'd just removed her perfectly healthy appendix and said that must be
the trouble, and some people didn't know what pain was.  He was so busy
flirting with the scrub nurse they could have sewn up the rest of the
surgical team inside the woman and not noticed.  A loop of necrotic
bowel was far too subtle!"

He bent over her references again, cupping his chin in his hand and
using his fingers to cover the little smile that wouldn't be
suppressed.

"What if I gave you the chance and you couldn't do the job in the
end?"

"You'd face that possibility with anyone," she said fairly.  "I was
good on fractures in my time in A and E, and God knows I saw enough of
them.  It frustrated me to bits not to be able to follow them up to
Theatre and finish the job.  What if you got someone whose only asset
was his strength?  What about the jigsaws'?"

He looked up at her again and her eyes trapped his, mesmerising him. He
cleared his throat and tried again.  "As you haven't met the other
applicant I can't see how you can make that judgement "I'm not making
any judgements just putting forward for instances."  She leant towards
him, resting on those long, elegant fingers, her energy vibrating in
her voice.  "Look, I'm prepared to do it on a trial basis.  If you give
me three months, I'll do everything I can to justify your faith in
me."

He stared at her in amazement.  "You're prepared to do it on a trial
basis?"  he repeated, unable to believe the brass neck of the woman.
"You want me to turn away a perfectly good applicant so I can give you
a trial?"  He was stunned.  Justify his faith, indeed!  What faith?  He
had no faith in her, none at all!

She surged to her feet, nearly six feet of willowy, tormenting woman,
and paced to the window.  She was so slender he could have snapped her
in half with his bare hands, he thought disgustedly.  How did she
imagine she could cope?

The sunshine caught her hair and for a moment she looked like an angel,
the gold strands surrounding her enthusiastic, lovely face like a
shimmering halo.  Then she turned, a coil of energy that made him feel
exhausted just to watch hr, and came back to the desk, bracing those
beautiful, slender hands on it and leaning towards him, her eyes
earnest.

"That's right.  It will give us both long enough to see if it could
work.  If it doesn't, then I'll give up and go quietly."

He couldn't stop the little snort.  The very idea of this young woman
giving up and going anywhere quietly was laughable.

She jerked up straight and glared down at him.  "You don't believe me,
do you?"

He met her eyes, serious now.  The last time he had believed a woman
had been his wedding day.  He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm honest.  I'll try, and try hard.  If it doesn't work, I'll
admit it.  What I won't accept is not being given a chance just because
you think I won't stick at it or won't be strong enough to do it."

"And will you?"

"Of course.  Give me your hand."

Warily, a little bemused, he held out his hand and her warm, slender
fingers curled softly round it and gripped with surprising strength.
She settled herself into the chair again, said, "Ready?"  and at his
nod he felt the power in her arm challenge his own strength.

She wanted to arm-wrestle?  Far be it from him to spoil her fun, but he
didn't believe in hurting women "Damn!  How did you do that?"

She laughed.  "You weren't taking me seriously.  You keep doing that,
don't you?"  She shook her head and laughed again.  "Big mistake."

He didn't doubt it for a minute!  He extricated his hand from her warm
and enticing grip and leant back in the chair, regarding her
steadily.

"I let you win," he lied.

She snorted.  "Fiddlesticks.  You underestimated me, Mr.  Ryder.  My
point is this-I'm strong.  I take care of myself-probably better than
you do.  I won't let you down-I promise."

Her eyes were grey, not the blue-grey of his but a soft slightly greeny
grey, wide and clear, and they locked with his and wouldn't let go.  He
could still feel the strength of her grip, the warmth of her hand and
he was achingly aware of the soft rise and fall of her very feminine
curves under her fine wool sweater as she waited for his answer.

"Please?"  she coaxed and her voice whispered over his senses and did
unbidden things to his normally ordered mind.

He felt himself crumble under that misty gaze, and the rigid set of his
shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of his foolishness.  "I'll
probably regret it," he found himself saying, "but yes, Dr.  Bradley,
I'll give you your chance."

For a moment he thought she was going to jump over the desk and hug
him, but with a massive effort she pulled herself together and smiled,
and the smile set off little fires in her eyes that warmed the cold
recesses of his heart.

"Thank you," she said, with commendable control, and leant against the
chair-back as if sheer will-power had been holding her up.  "So-when do
I start?"

He shuffled paper on his desk, still unable to believe what he had
done.  Was he quite mad?  "The beginning of January?  I'll get my
secretary to sort out all the details of your salary and so on-she
might be able to help you with accommodation as well."

He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, going round the desk to
usher her out, and as she stood and smiled at him with her megawatt
smile a shock of heat coursed through his body.

He crushed it ruthlessly and forced a smile.  "Welcome to the team, Dr.
Bradley.  I'll see you in the new year."

Her eyes were dancing and a subtle hint of perfume, sensuous and filled
with promise, drifted over him as she moved.  "Thank you.  I'll look
forward to it.  Happy Christmas.  '

"Thank you.  And to you."

Her strong, warm fingers curled round his again, familiar now and
somehow enticing, and with a mumbled goodbye he closed the door behind
her and leant against it with a groan, grateful for the long white coat
which disguised his body's betrayal.

A knot of tension gripped his chest and he rubbed it absently.  What
had he done?

Ah, well, it was only three months.  Hopefully he could survive.

He wasn't convinced.  Her perfume lingered on the air, conjuring a
memory of her smiling eyes and soft, lush figure.  Frances Bradley, he
realised with a sinking feeling in his gut, was one complication he
could frankly have done without... She found him in the sister's
office, dressed in green theatre pyjamas, his feet, in white
anti-static boots, up on the desk, a file open on his lap.  The remains
of a cup of coffee lurked beside him, and she could see by his shadowed
jaw that he had been up all night.

He looked forbidding and rather cross, she thought, and her heart sank.
Oh, well, it was all her own fault, and if he proved a pig to work with
she had only herself to blame.  After all, he hadn't wanted her.

Frankie approached him cautiously.

"Happy New Year," she ventured.

He lifted his head and stared at her, then gave a tiny snort of
disbelief.  "Is it?"

"I hope so.  So, what's on the menu today?"  she said brightly.

Robert Ryder scowled, his blue-grey eyes as chilly as the January wind
that sliced across the Suffolk countryside.  "Emergency theatre work,
mainly.  Several casualties after last night's festive stupidity-I
thought you weren't coming in until tomorrow?  It's a bank holiday
today."

She shrugged and smiled.  "Thought I'd come and find out where
everything was, see if I could help."

She could see he wasn't convinced.  The scowl lurked in the back of his
eyes, and her heart sank even further.

"It's all under control," he said shortly snapping the file shut.  "You
should have stayed in bed while the going was good."

"It wasn't that good-the bed.  Cold and lumpy, really.  Most
unappealing.  It was no hardship to get out of it."

His scowl worsened.  Oh, damn, she thought, he regretted his impulse.
She stifled the sigh and let her smile slip a little.  "Well, then, if
there's nothing else I can do do you mind if I watch you operate?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders slightly, and a cynical little smile
touched his lips.  "Oh, I think you can scrub-you never know, I might
find a use for you since you're here.  We might as well find out sooner
rather than later if you aren't going to be able to cope."

Oh, hell.  Frankie dredged up a smile.  "Oh, I'll cope, Mr.  Ryder,
don't you worry."

"I'm not worried, Dr.  Bradley-just unconvinced."

"Then give me a chance to convince you.  What's the first case?"

He dropped his feet to the floor and stood up , stretching wearily and
Kneading the back of his neck with one large, long-fingered hand.
"Here."  He snapped some X-rays up onto the light box and stood back.
"What can you tell me about this"

"Ouch," she murmured.

"Would you care to be more specific?"  he said drily.

"Sure."  She pointed to the radiograph of the right thigh and indicated
a long, diagonal fracture of the shaft of the femur.  "This, obviously,
and also here."  She moved her finger up to the femoral neck, where it
angled across to the pelvis.  "There's a slightly impacted fracture
here, and the hip joint's gone on the other side, I think," she
murmured, looking at the other plate of the left side.  She peered more
closely at it, and frowned.  "Is there another view of this?"

He snapped it up onto the screen and she nodded.  "Yes.  The pelvis has
a slight fracture across the acetabulum, here-' she pointed out the
fine line across the socket of the hip joint "-and the whole joint has
probably de stabilised a little in the collision."

"Collision?"

"Oh, yes, I think so-hasn't the patient been involved in a car
accident?  Looks like a telescoped front end, with the bulkhead pushing
up against the knees and transmitting the force of the impact through
into the thighs and pelvis.  I expect she was on the left side of the
car and the pelvic fracture resulted from her being slammed against the
door or the door slammed against her by another vehicle, perhaps?  Were
there any other injuries?"

"Such as?"

She shrugged.  "Foot or lower leg?  Facial?  Whiplash to the neck and
upper spine?  Ribs, maybe, if she was the driver, but I don't think she
was."

"She?"

"Yes, it's a woman," Frankie said confidently.  "You can tell from the
pelvis-and the name on the X-ray plate !  "

His mouth twitched and she felt a ripple of relief.  At least he
appeared to have a sense of humour in there somewhere!

He nodded thoughtfully and answered her previous question.  "Yes, there
were some minor facial and cervical spinal injuries and bruising from
the seat belt.  The other leg was all right.  She was a passenger,
travelling on the left of the car in a front right quarter impact.  The
car then slewed round and hit a wall.  The driver was killed outright,
so was the rear-seat passenger behind him who wasn't wearing a seat
belt.  She was lucky to get away with it so lightly.

"So," he said leaning back against the desk and bracing his hands on
the edge at each side, "how would you deal with her?"

Frankie chewed her lip slightly.  "I'd fix the femur internally, both
because it's a spiral fracture and unstable with traction alone and
because the neck of the femur looks stable and I wouldn't want to go
and tug on it.  At the moment it isn't displaced so I'd want to manage
it conservatively if possible and just watch it.

Also I'd put the other leg in traction to relieve pressure on that
acetabulum and rest the damaged tissues in the hip joint."

"Just like that."

"If the skin's intact or in good enough condition for the operation and
if the soft tissues aren't too badly damaged.  I can't tell that, of
course, from the X-rays."

"No.  Right, well, she's our first customer."

"And?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "And what?"

"Was I right with the treatment?"

A grudging smile touched his eyes.  "Yes, you were."

She had to stop herself forcibly from heaving a sigh of relief. Instead
she turned to the pile of X-ray envelopes on the desk.  "What's
next?"

He took down the woman's X-rays and put them away, then snapped another
set up onto the screen.  "This man."

He sat back on the edge of the desk again, and Frankie could feel his
eyes boring into her.  "Um-he's got lower leg fractures-ah-is that an
old one?"

She swivelled round to look at him and he shrugged nonchalantly.  "You
tell me-you're the diagnostician."

She stifled her retort, turned back to the plates and nodded, running
her fingertip down the shin bone and the finer bone-the fibula-beside
it.  "Yes-there's an old non-union of the tibia, a mal-union of the
fibula and another fracture of the tibia and fibula higher up, a new
one this time.  Looks like a fracture from a direct blow, and as one
end of the tib's free it's probably caused havoc in the soft tissue."

"Havoc" is putting it mildly," he told her, shrugging away from the
desk and coming to stand behind her.  "He was a pedestrian.  He was hit
by a car bumper at this point-" His arm reached round her and as he
carried on describing the result of the impact his finger pointed out
the area of soft tissue damage, invisible on the X-ray.

It would have been invisible to Frankie anyway, because she was
suddenly, chokingly aware of him, of the enticing smell of his skin
lurking under the smell of antiseptic, the warmth of his arm against
her shoulder , the lean, sinuous forearm dusted with dark curls so
very, very close to her face... He muttered something under his breath
and moved away, and she released the block of air trapped in her lungs,
letting it out on a long, silent sigh, and focused on the X-ray
again.

"So what are you intending to do with him?"  she asked in what she
hoped was a normal voice.

"Open up the leg at the sight of the old fracture, repair the soft
tissue damage and realign the old break, pack it with slivers of bone
and put an external fixator on to hold the whole thing.  I can't fix it
internally because of the risk of infection with the soft tissue
injuries, so we'll put screws into all the various fragments , pull
them out into line with a little judicious twiddling, and fasten the
whole lot onto a rod outside his leg and let it get on with it.

"Hopefully the old one'll heal this time, and the new one's got two
chances.  I'm not so worried about the fibula; I want to sort the tibia
out once and for all."

He flicked off the light, returned the plates to the envelope and
gestured towards the door.  "Shall we go?  They're all prepped up and
ready for us."

Watching him operate was a joy.  He was careful, precise and
meticulous, and Frankie realised with a surge of humility how much she
had to learn.  Oh, she knew the theory-she'd studied it endlessly-but
it was nothing compared to watching the real thing.

And he made it look so easy!  Fixing the femur with an intramedullary
nail driven down inside the bone had always sounded fairly brutal.  In
his hands it became a skilled procedure, using imaging techniques to
see the nail slowly descending through the femur until it reached the
fracture, then the ends aligned so that the nail continued on down the
second section.

Finally they were fixed in place with screws through the bone into the
nail and so the bone was held, unable to rotate or slip, with the ends
in perfect alignment, and all without disturbing the break in the neck
of the femur.

He checked on the image intensifier to ensure that all was as he wanted
it, then closed the wound on the thigh and at the top of the femur and
straightened up with a sigh.

"Thank you, everyone," he murmured, and turned to Frankie, peeling off
his gloves and dropping the mask down off his face.  "How about a cup
of coffee while they prepare the operating room for the next
onslaught?"

"Sounds good."

She followed him out, accepted the cup and listened as he talked to the
anaesthetist, Peter Graham.  From the conversation she gathered that
this was far from the first operation they had performed in the last
few hours, and there were at least two more ahead-the man with the
fractured lower leg and another new admission from A and E. Robert
Ryder turned to her.  "I don't suppose you'd like to pop down there and
have a look at the plates, would you, and report back?  Perhaps bring
the plates back here and we can study them together."

"Sure."  She put down her untouched coffee and stood up.  "Um-where is
A and E?"

Peter grinned.  "Out the door, turn left, down the corridor to the end
and turn left again.  You can't miss it."  " She followed his
directions and found herself in the busy bustle of a typical accident
and emergency department.  She found the desk in the middle, collared a
staff nurse and introduced herself.

"Oh, you've come about the cyclist.  He's in here it's a nasty mess."
She opened the curtain to reveal a young man on a trolley, the cot
sides up and a drip running in.  He was lying motionless, his face pale
and clammy, and he looked very shocked.

The staff nurse eased off the thick gauze pad covering the wound on the
outside of his left foot, and Frankie's mouth tightened slightly.  It
was very badly mangled, bent in at an unnatural angle and with
extensive soft tissue injuries.  There was a great deal of grit and
tarmac ground into the exposed bones, and she winced.

"Not nice, is it?"  the staff nurse agreed.  "His X-rays are here."

Frankie studied them thoughtfully.  The bones were nearly all intact,
amazingly, but one or two were broken through the ends and would need
fixing.  The main damage, she could see, was to the soft tissues.

"Do you know what happened?"  she asked the nurse.

"He was knocked off his bike and dragged along the ground for a few
yards by a car.  Luckily for him he had a helmet and leather jacket and
gloves on, or he'd be a lot worse off.  His little finger's broken as
well, by the way-just a minor fracture.  We've put a garter strapping
on to support it.  We've done chest X-rays but there didn't seem to be
anything on them.  He's complaining of pain in the left shoulder,
though."

"May I see?"  she asked, and, studying the plate, she ran her finger
lightly along the left collar-bone to the outer end.  "The clavicle's
partially dislocated," she said quietly.  "Must have happened as he
landed on that shoulder.  We'll have to support that for a while as
well.  OK thanks-can I take the plates up to Theatre to show Mr.
Ryder?"

"Sure.  What do you want to do with the patient?"

She turned back to the foot and studied it again.  The soft tissue
injuries were nasty, infection was likely and the toes were looking
discoloured.  "I'm inclined to think he'll want this one next.  Is the
consent form signed?"

"Yes-his wife's here.  Do you want to talk to her?"

She shook her head.  "Not until I've spoken to Mr.  Ryder.  I think
I'll ring him and ask him to come down."

She contacted him on the phone, explained the situation and then had to
defend her suggestion that he go in next.

"The soft tissues look awful.  I think the circulation could be
compromised," she told him.

"The other man's soft tissues look awful."

"Is the circulation affected?"

She heard him sigh.  "Apparently not.  So you want me to come down?"

"I think you should."

The phone clicked and she replaced it thoughtfully.  Was he cross with
her?  Perhaps she should have just tacked the man on the end of the
list, but she wasn't even officially working and the last thing she
wanted to do was blow her chances at this job by fouling up in the
first few hours!

She needn't have worried.  He came down, took one look at the foot and
nodded.

"Let's do him next," he agreed, and Frankie's fragile ego heaved an
enormous sigh of relief.  The relief quickly turned to horror, however,
when he told her that if she liked jigsaws so much she could do this
one.

"Me?"  she squeaked.

He rolled his eyes above the mask.  "Sure, you.  Why not?  Don't worry,
I'll tell you blow by blow what I want you to do."

And so she did her first orthopaedic jigsaw, carefully reinstating the
circulation by reconnecting the damaged blood vessels as well as
possible.  When the foot turned pink again she could have wept with
delight.

Ryder, however, kept her feet firmly on the ground and her optimism in
the dirt-literally.

"Right," he said, "now you can set about picking all those bits of
tarmac out of the bone-ends and cleaning up the field before closing
the skin."

It took ages, with both of them working although the area was quite
small, and finally it was cleaned up to his satisfaction.

"Right, we need to screw back that small chip of bone with its ligament
attached and we're done," he told her.  "We won't close it because of
the danger of infection.  It was a very dirty wound.,

It was indeed, and once the healing was under way it would need skin
grafts to cover the area.  In the meantime it would be covered with a
non-adherent dressing.

Finally he declared the operation finished, and Frankie sagged against
the wall outside and looked at the clock in disbelief.  It had taken
nearly two hours, but she was very pleased with herself-until her boss
pointed out that it could and should have been done in half the time.

"Still," he added with a slight smile that softened his weary eyes,
"you did a good job.  Well done."

High praise.  She could have hugged him, but thought better of it and
concentrated instead on pouring them another cup of coffee and this
time drinking hers quickly before the phone could ring again.

They were lucky.  His bleeper didn't squawk until later, when they were
back on the ward following up the post-ops, all of whom were doing
well.

Mary O'Brien, the ward sister, handed him the phone and he spoke to the
switchboard briefly before being connected.

Frankie wasn't really listening, but it was impossible not to hear what
he was saying, and anyway she was fascinated.

"What do you mean you're at the station?  Jane, you can't do this to
me!  I'm at work-yes, I know it's a bank holiday.  It just means that
we're even busier no , I didn't get the day off; my senior registrar
did.  He worked Christmas, remember?

"You'll have to get a taxi to the house-what do you mean you haven't
got any money?  Get a taxi here, then.  What about your train fare? Oh,
Jane, for heaven's sake !  '

He looked at Frankie doubtfully.  "Can you hold the fort?  Just for
half an hour?  My daughter's got herself in a mess."

"Of course," Frankie assured him, far from confident.  She didn't know
the hospital, she didn't know all she felt she should about
orthopaedics, even though she'd spent the past month reading solidly on
the subject, and she felt totally at sea.  In, as they said, at the
deep end.

"Mary, look after her for me," he said to the kindly ward sister, and
then, with a wry smile and a weary shake of his head, he strode quickly
off the ward and away to his errant daughter.

At least, Frankie assumed she was errant.  It certainly sounded as if
she was, at least a little.

"Can't his wife drive?"  she found herself asking.

Mary O'Brien snorted.  "Oh, yes-but she's in London and it's her the
child's run away from yet again.  They're divorced-have been for
years."

Frankie blinked, part of her mind registering with interest the fact
that his wife no longer lived with him.  Then her mind belatedly
latched onto the information about the child.  "Run away?"  she
queried.

"I expect so.  I should think there was a wild party last night and she
hates it.  Nice kid.  I expect you'll meet her in a while; he often has
to bring her in when she does something like this, poor little
scrap."

Poor little scrap?  "How old is she?"  Frankie ventured, suddenly
concerned for a little girl torn in the war between irresponsible
adults.

"Oh, thirteen or so.  Twelve, perhaps?"

So, not a little girl at all but quite a big girl-which meant either
that Robert Ryder was wearing better than he had any right to or that
he had started a family somewhat younger than was prudent.

Remembering the warmth of his body and the intoxicating scent of his
skin as they'd stood side by side for hours in the theatre, she thought
the latter most likely.  As sure as eggs is eggs, she thought, he
wasn't any less attractive in his early twenties.  It would have taken
a very level-headed girl to turn him away if he had switched on the
charm.  Heavens, even when scowling the man is absurdly attractive!

The door opened and a staff nurse popped her head round the door. 
"Mrs. Jenkins is in pain-any chance of a boost to her painkillers?"

Mary O'Brien turned to Frankie.  "Would you?"

"Of course."  She stood up and followed the staff nurse out, and was
joined a moment later by Mary O'Brien with the keys to the drugs
trolley.

"What would Mr.  Ryder normally give her?"  Frankie asked the ward
sister.

"Oh, just some stronger tablets-a paracetamol and codeine combination,
usually.  What did she have yesterday ?"  They checked the drug chart
and then Frankie filled it in and Mary dished out the pills and gave
them to the patient.

"Soon have you feeling more the thing," she said kindly, plumping up
the pillows and settling the patient more comfortably against them. She
had had osteoarthritis for years and had been given her second hip
replacement three days before, Mary told her.  She had refused any
opiates and so it was proving difficult to get her pain under control,
but she was being very brave about it and the situation was gradually
improving.

"She gets tired by the end of the day, though, and in the middle of the
night she suffers from it.  If we could give her pethidine it would be
better, but it makes her terribly sick and she says she'd rather be in
pain than be sick."

"Can't the anaesthetist do something to make her pain-free without
nausea?"

Mary smiled.  "I'm sure, but she won't let him try.  She's got a bee in
her bonnet since she had the other hip done ten years ago, and she
can't believe things have moved on that far.  She's convinced she's
better off like this, and so the poor old dear will just have to suffer
for it.  It won't be for long.  She says bad as it is it's better than
her old hip was, so all in all she's quite happy most of the day!"

They went back into the ward office, Mary to do some paperwork, Frankie
to scan the notes and try and bone up, so to speak, on some of the
cases.

They were sitting quietly working when the door burst open and a tall,
slender girl with long, straggly fair hair flounced into the room.

"I suppose I've got to sit here and wait till you've finished-I said
I'd be all right at the house!"  she grumbled.

Her father followed her, his scowl firmly in place, lines of strain
etched round his mouth and eyes.

"Jane, for God's sake, just for once in your life do as you're told,
could you?  Unlike your mother I have a job to do and
responsibilities"

"Yeah, like me."

He sighed and stabbed his hands through his hair.  "Yes, like you, and
the countless patients out there waiting for a little piece of me, and
all the others for whom fate has a little treat in store tonight-I'm
afraid, like it or not, you'll have to share me, and for now that means
sitting there while I ring Mrs.  Bailey and see if she can come and
look after you this evening

"I hate Mrs.  Bailey!"  the girl wailed.  "I don't need a
babysitter-I'm thirteen, for heaven's sake!  You always baby me "Well,
you.  should have thought of that before you got on the train,
shouldn't you?"  he said irritably as he punched numbers into the
hapless phone.

"Why is it always my fault?"  she said unhappily, and Frankie, watching
out of the corner of her eye, noticed a gleam of moisture on her
lashes.  Her father, drumming his fingers on the desk, either didn't
see or wasn't impressed.  His mouth tightened into an even grimmer,
tighter line than before.

"You tell me- Ah, yes, Mrs.  Bailey.  It's Robert Ryder-I wonder if you
could do me a favour and keep an eye on Jane for me?  No, it was quite
unexpected -yes, I know it's a bank holiday- Oh, I'm sorry."  He sighed
and ran his hand wearily over his face.  "Forget it.  I'm sorry to
disturb you.  Have a good evening with the family.  I'll see you
tomorrow."

He cradled the phone in his hand and turned back to Jane.

"She's got her family for the day.  Look, I've just got one or two
people I'd like to see, then if Frankie wouldn't mind I could take you
home and sort things out."

He turned to Frankie, a weary entreaty in his eyes.  "Will that be all
right?"

She smiled faintly.  "I did say I wouldn't let you down," she reminded
him.  "If you take your bleeper so I can get you in a real emergency
I'm sure I can cope."

He smiled, a tired, grateful smile that didn't quite reach those weary
eyes, and left the room.

"So, young lady," Mary said quietly, "what's it all about this time?"

"Oh, Mum's latest boyfriend-he and his chums were all sitting about the
place doing drugs.  It makes me feel sick to see them all giggling and
talking rubbish It's just such a waste of time."

She rolled her eyes, and Frankie quickly stifled a smile.  It was no
laughing matter, but the girl seemed at least to have the issue of
drug-taking in perspective.

Frankie supposed Jane's father should be grateful for small mercies..

CHAPTER TWO

THE rest of that afternoon dnd evening was relatively quiet.  The A and
E staff called Frankie once about an elderly lady who had had a fall
and broken her hip, and it was decided to admit her for surgery the
following day.

After that there seemed to be nothing to do, so armed with her bleeper
Frankie made her way back to the doctors residence and to the room that
for now, at least, was home.

She hadn't unpacked properly.  the night before, so now she opened her
suitcases and put the things away in the drawers, hung up her few
dresses and put the cases under the bed.  Her books she set out on the
shelf above the scarred and battered table, and she was done.

Standing back, she surveyed the room critically and sighed.  There
wasn't much to show for twenty-eight years, she thought with a touch of
melancholy, and then banished it ruthlessly.  Pictures were what she
needed, she decided-pictures and perhaps some flowers to brighten up
the dismal little cell.  Maybe a pot plant.

She went and made herself a cup of tea in the communal kitchen, added a
kettle to the list of necessities and curled up against her pillows
with a book.

She couldn't concentrate.  All she could see was her new boss's weary
eyes, and osteomyelitis simply couldn't handle the competition.

She put the book down.

So, he was divorced-and living alone, if he'd had to ring someone to
look after his daughter.  What a waste, she thought, and then chastised
herself for making assumptions.  Maybe he liked being alone?

And pigs flew.  Nobody liked being alone.  Sometimes it was better than
an existing bad relationship, but given the choice she imagined most
people would choose a good relationship over none at all.

Given the choice.  Sometimes, of course, one wasn't given the choice.
She wouldn't be alone by choice, but fate had played dirty tricks on
her and she had ended up alone, in this dismal little room She snorted
in disgust.  The room was temporary, just until she had convinced Mr.
Ryder that it would be a good idea to take her on permanently.  Then
she'd get herself a nice little flat and start acquiring some little
bits and pieces.

If Mr.  Ryder took her on.

She shook her head.  "Mr.  Ryder' was so formal.  She wondered if he
would expect her to call him that, or if "sir' would do...!

Robert.

She tried the name, and decided it suited him.  Solid, dependable,
utterly trustworthy.  No frills or flounces, just a good, honest name
that could have been made for him.

She wondered if he resented the responsibilities that had been thrust
on him, and decided that even if he did he would never admit it, not
even to himself.

Her brother had resented the responsibility of his younger sister.  He
loved her, but providing her with a home for the past ten years had
taken its toll of their relationship.  And now his wife was on the
scene... With a sigh she picked up her book again and tried to read,
but her eyelids were drooping.  She took off her skirt, slipped under
the quilt and settled down for a rest.  She wouldn't sleep for long.
Inevitably her bleeper would squawk and she would have to get up
again.

Her breathing slowed, her body quickly adapting to rest.  After years
of practice it had learned to snatch sleep when it was offered, and
cat-napping was a gift she treasured.  Within seconds, she was
asleep.

Robeert knuckled the sleep from his eyes with one hand, the other
clutching the receiver as he struggled to cast aside the dream.  "Have
you called Dr.  Bradley?"  Hell, even saying her name made it worse
"Yes, she's with the patient now.  She asked if I could contact you and
get you to come in.  I'm sorry."

Robert sighed.  "I'll be right over," he promised, and throwing the
bedclothes off he pulled on his clothes and went into his daughter's
room.

"Are you going out?"  she mumbled.

"Yes-sorry.  Will you be all right?"

"Mmm."

He dropped a kiss on her cheek, ran downstairs and picked up his jacket
and keys on the way out of the door.  As he drove the short distance to
the hospital, he ran the case through his mind again.

It was the man with the damaged lower leg, the one with the old
unhealed fracture who had been hit sideways by a car the night before.
They had operated just before lunch and put a fixator on the tibia to
support the fractures externally, but the leg had swollen and was now
apparently showing symptoms of compartment syndrome, where the sheath
surrounding each of the muscles refused to allow sufficient swelling
and so caused severe constriction to the muscles and underlying
tissues, with resulting serious consequences if they were not rapidly
decompressed.

He would require a minor operation called a fasciotomy, literally a
slit cut in each of the muscle sheaths to allow for the
swelling-assuming that Frankie had got it right.

Dr.  Bradley.  He must remember to call her that.  The temptation to
call her Frankie was mixed up with all sorts of other forbidden
temptations that he didn't even dare consider except in his dreams-and
they, he thought disgustedly, should be censored.

He turned into the hospital car park, pulled up in his usual space and
headed for the ward.  She was there in the office with the night
sister, her head thrown back and a delicious, deep chuckle bubbling up
from her throat.

She turned to him with a smile and said, "Hi," in her warm honey voice,
and his pulse rate soared as the dream came screaming back full force.
Damn.

He ignored his body, tugged on his white coat from behind the door and
rammed his hands deep into the pockets.

"So, what's the situation?"  he asked gruffly.  "Mr.  Lee's leg.  It's
started to swell more, and he's now got a tense calf with loss of
extension and diminished sensation in the foot."

"Damn.  What have you done?"

"Elevated it, ice-packed the muscles and alerted Theatre.  He's had a
premed and he's ready when you are.

"You're confident of the diagnosis?"

One eyebrow arched delicately, and she stood up and gestured to the
door.  "He's your patient-I'd be delighted for you to check."

He grunted and followed her to the patient's bedside Mr.  Lee was lying
with his leg raised in a "gutter', I packed round with soft wadding to
support it off the calf, and Robert could see the tension on the
skin.

The patient was restless, clearly in pain and the foot was looking
discoloured.  The calf was certainly swollen all round, and there was
no question about the diagnosis.

He swore, softly and comprehensively, and then met Frankie's eyes.

"Well done, Dr.  Bradley," he murmured.  "Ever done a fasciotomy?"

She shook her head, the soft, fine hair swinging round her face.

"Not yet," she said, and the faintest smile touched her eyes.

It was the middle of the night, he was exhausted, and yet still she
made him want to smile back.  He felt his eyes crinkle.  "Well, as the
saying goes, there's no time like the present.  You didn't really want
to go back to that cold, lumpy bed, did you?"

This time she really smiled.  "Actually I was getting used to it," she
said ruefully.

"Tough," he growled, but he was unable to stop the quirk of his lips,
and she smiled again.

"Come on, then, let's go and do this fasciotomy."

She was a willing pupil, he had to admit.  What his grandfather would
have called "a quick study'.  She did only what she was told to do,
exactly as she was told to do it, and with skill and sensitivity, as if
the scalpel were simply an extension of her fingers.  Immediately she
released the affected compartments the muscle bulged through the space,
colour and warmth returned to the foot and the situation improved.

"Excellent," he murmured.  "Right, he can go back down as soon as he's
recovered from the anaesthetic.  I'll be in the hospital for a while-I
want to see him after he's come round and make sure we've done
enough."

He stripped off his gloves and gown, dropped them in the bin and turned
to Frankie.  "You did a really good job.  Well done."

Wonders would never cease.  The man who hadn't wanted to give her the
job dishing out such high praise?  Frankie was faintly dumbstruck.  She
peeled off her gloves and gown dropped them in the bin on top of his
and marvelled at her beginner's luck.

"Thank you," she murmured.  "It wasn't really difficult."

"No, but it's still possible to make a mess of it."

She forced herself to meet his eyes.  "I said I wouldn't let you
down."

He smiled, a slow, lazy smile that made her heart thump a little
harder.  "So you did.  Coffee?"

"Tea?"

"Whatever.  Shall we go to the canteen?  They usually have various
things to eat and I'm starving."

"I've got a fruit cake," she said rashly.

"Home-made?"

She should have denied it, but his eyes were so hopeful, as if it had
been years-possibly forever since anyone had made him a cake.

"Yes, home-made," she said gently.  "It was my Christmas cake, but it
never got iced.  There didn't seem to be a lot of point-I was on duty
so much coming up to Christmas that I didn't have time to ice it, and I
was too busy over Christmas to eat it, so it didn't really matter.  It
was a bit ambitious bothering to make it anyway, I suppose."

He eyed her curiously.  "Didn't you go home for Christmas?"

She thought of Jeff and his new bride, wrapped up in each other to the
exclusion of everyone and everything else.  She certainly hadn't been
wanted.

Her smile probably didn't reach her eyes, but she tried.  "I don't have
a family home any more."

"I'm sorry."  He sounded contrite, as if he regretted hurting her, and
suddenly she wanted to comfort him, to explain that it was all right,
it didn't matter any more, it couldn't hurt her now.  It was too soon,
though.

She didn't know him.  Maybe later, after a few weeks or months-if she
was still here..

They walked in silence through the hospital corridors to her room, and
she opened the door with a flourish.

"Voila!  Welcome to my humble abode."

He went through the door and peered around.

"God it is, isn't it?  I'd forgotten what hospital rooms are like."

She laughed and closed the door quietly.  "Aren't you the lucky one?

Make yourself at home; I'll get the drinks.  Tea or coffee?"

"Oh-coffee, please."

He was thumbing through the textbook she had been unable to concentrate
on, and she slipped past him, made the drinks and returned to find him
sitting on the end of the bed, one leg hitched up and the book lying
open on his lap, asleep.

"I found it riveting too."

He opened one eye and peered at her, then a slow smile tilted his
mouth.  "Sorry.  It's been a rather hectic weekend."  He snapped the
book shut and sat up, taking the coffee from her.  "So, where's this
fabled cake?"

She rummaged under the bed and came out with a cake tin, worried now
that it would taste awful and disgust.  disappoint him.

"I hope you're not expecting Fortnum & Mason's standard," she joked,
stabbing a knife into the centre of the untouched cake and chopping out
a wedge.

He winced.  "I'm glad I've already seen you operate, otherwise that
would really have worried me!"  coming in."

She chuckled and handed him the crumbling slice.  "Sorry there aren't
any plates-here, have the lid."  He took the lid and sniffed the cake.
"It smells wonderful."  "Brandy.  Go on, then, try it."  "So, do you
want to risk it?"  "What about you?"  His eyes searched her face and he
grinned fleetingly.  She raised an eyebrow.  "I want to see if you die
first."  "What do you think?"  He grinned and took a bite, then shut
his eyes and groaned, keeling slowly over onto the bed.

She laughed.  "Come on, then, or we'll be having it for breakfast."

"Ha ha."

He opened one eye and mumbled something totally unintelligible
swallowed and tried again.  "I said it's worth dying for."

Quite unexpectedly she felt her cheeks heat.  It was one thing to be
complimented for her work, and quite another when his remarks were
personal-and somehow the fact that she had made the cake and he was
impressed was very personal, almost intimate.

She was disgusted at how pleased she was, and yet she couldn't hold
down the happiness.  It was absurd that it should matter so much, she
thought, and hacked off another wedge for herself.

He was right, though-it was good, even if she said so herself.  She
finished her chunk, licked her fingers and looked up to find him
watching her, a strange expression on his face.

Her breath lodged in her throat and she coughed slightly, looking away
from those piercing blue-grey eyes.

"More?"  she said, and her voice wavered, to her

"Um-no, thanks.  I thought I'd just go back to the ward and check on
Mr.  Lee, then I ought to go back to Jane."

He stood up, suddenly big in the tiny room, and she put down her cup
and stood too.  "Thanks for

He laughed without humour.  "I should be thanking you for covering for
me so I could sort Jane out, not the other way round."  Oh, well, I'll
see you in the morning.  Thanks for the coffee and the cake-you can
save me a slice for another time.  '

He was right beside her now, just inches away, and he paused and lifted
a hand.

"You've got a crumb on your lip," he murmured, and she felt his
fingertip like a butterfly's wing against her mouth, easing away the
crumb.  It lingered, just a heartbeat longer than was necessary, and
suddenly the butterfly's wing burned against her skin.

Fire shot through her, and as their eyes locked for a long, aching
moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her.  Then his hand
dropped, and with a muffled sigh he opened the door and was gone.

Robert wasn't enjoying this telephone call, but it had to be made.
However, he didn't even try to keep the hard edge out of his voice.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear that during the school holidays
you wouldn't entertain your lovers."

"Oh, Robert, for God's sake, it was New Year's Eve!  Everybody
entertains!"

"I didn't," he growled.  "I was at work, earning your maintenance."

"Jane's maintenance," his ex-wife reminded him with a bitter cut to her
voice.  "If you remember you declined to support me."

Robert sighed.  Not this again.  He refused to get drawn in.  "She
tells me they were "doing drugs"."

"What a revolting expression, darling!  Just a little smoke "I don't
care how you phrase it, Jackie, I am not having my daughter exposed to
drugs and debauchery!"

There was a mock sigh from the other end.  "Here we go-trotting out the
moral outrage.  Just because you don't know how to enjoy yourself any
more "I don't consider getting drunk and smoking cannabis with a lover
in front of my daughter enjoying myself, and I'm appalled that you
should.  I'm sorry, Jackie, but you've gone too far this time.  Jane's
living with me now, for good.  I'll contact my solicitor and sort out
visitation rights, but she's slept the night in your home for the last
time."

He could feel the tension coming off her.  "Robert, darling, you're
overreacting!  I promise it won't happen again

"No, it won't.  I'll arrange to collect all her things this weekend
"But Robert, please, think about it!  You can't just do this

"I can and I am.  You've had plenty of chances, Jackie.  '

"But the maintenance..."

His hand tightened on the receiver and the plastic creaked ominously.
"To hell with the maintenance.  As you've just pointed out, it wasn't
for you anyway, but don't worry, I'll make sure you don't suffer."

He cradled the poor unfortunate receiver with more force than was
necessary and flexed his fingers absently.  He must be mad.  How was he
going to look after Jane?  She had no friends in the area, and he was
working all day and often at the weekends.

Had he been hasty?

He rammed his fingers through his hair and swore, softly and
comprehensively.  Would it never end?

He heard a sound behind him and turned his head slowly to see his
daughter, clad in her nightshirt, leaning against the doorpost and
eyeing him warily as he sprawled in the big uld chair.

"Mum?"  she asked.

"Yes.  I've just told her you're living with me now."

Jane hovered, chewing her lip unhappily.  "Are you sure you want me?"
she asked tentatively.  "I make your life so complicated."

He couldn't deny it.  His life had been complicated by her presence
ever since she had been conceived fourteen years before, when he was
just a green medical student with more hormones than sense, but want
her?  Oh, yes... He held out his arms.  "Come here, sweetheart."

She watched him for a second, then shrugged away from the doorpost and
crossed to him, curling up on his lap the way she had as a little girl,
her head nestled on his shoulder, her fragrant hair tickling his nose,
her light frame angular now and leggy like a foal's.

He snuggled her deeper into his arms, rested his chin against her head
and sighed.  "Love you, JJ."

"Love you too, Dad," she mumbled, and he felt her slim arms creep round
his chest and squeeze.

Anger rose in him, anger at his ex-wife for so callously and selfishly
following her own path to the detriment of Jane's happiness, anger too
at her money grubbing plea about the maintenance.

"Don't be angry with her, Dad.  She can't help it.  It's just the way
she is."

He sighed and stroked the sweetly scented hair.  "It just makes me
angry when she hurts you."

Jane sat up on his lap and shook her head.  "She doesn't hurt me."

"She disappoints you."

Jane nodded.  "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?  Not choosing my mother more carefully?"  She ruffled his
hair affectionately.  "Don't be silly.  Are you going to work?"

"I have to.  I've got a new registrar and she got flung in a bit at the
deep end yesterday."

"Mmm.  Frankie.  I like her; she's got nice eyes."

His mouth quirked in a fleeting smile.  "Yes, yes, she has.  She's
probably got bags under them by now.  I'd better go and give her the
day off, I think.  '

He patted Jane's shoulder, and she slid off his lap and stretched, her
nightshirt rising up to show endless skinny legs.  She's grown even
more, he realised with a start, and she's turning into a woman.  Dear
God, can I cope?

He stood up and hugged her briefly, dropped a kiss on her soft hair and
let her go.  "Will you be all right?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Dad, for God's sake!  I got here from London all
right."

"Yes, well, we won't talk about that.  There's food in the fridge and
Mrs.  Bailey will be in later to clean up a bit and cook supper for
us."

"I could do that."

He chuckled.  "Jane, when you were last here a week ago you couldn't
even make your own bed.  I think we'll let Mrs.  Bailey do it-maybe
she'll teach you how to cook if you ask her nicely."

Jane rolled her eyes again.  "Dad, I know how to cook.  What do you
think Mum eats in the holidays when her boyfriends aren't allowed to
take her out for dinner?"

He smiled, but inwardly he seethed again that she should be so cynical
so young.  Damn Jackie.  When he caught up with her he'd have a few
choice words to say, and out of JJ's earshot, too, so he didn't have to
pull his punches.

"I'll ring you later."

"Daddy, I'll be fine."

He grinned at her.  "OK, love.  Take care."

"You too."  She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.  "Have a
good day.  Say thank you to Frankie for me for covering for you."

Frankie was shattered.

It was easy enough to keep up the cheerful, determined "I can do it'
front while Robert was around.  When she was on her own, however,
doubts began to assail her.

His praise on her first day had helped enormously, but all the time she
was working she was desperately conscious of being under scrutiny.  Not
that that mattered She didn't worry about being watched-it was a
valuable safety net for the patients during her learning process-but
she was beginning to wish she hadn't made the suggestion about being on
trial.

After less than a week she was finding the process unbelievably tiring,
and every time he moved out of sight her cheery smile slipped.

Apparently it didn't go unnoticed.  She was sitting in the staff
coffee-lounge one lunchtime after a gruelling clinic that had had all
the subtlety of a finals viva, sipping strong coffee and chewing
methodically but without enthusiasm on a Danish pastry, when a shadow
fell across her lap.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to find a man of about her own age, dressed in theatre
pyjamas, his dark hair rumpled and untidy, a cautious half-smile on his
generous mouth.

"Do," she answered.  He looked friendly and approachable and not about
to pounce, she thought with relief.  She was too damn tired and strung
out to deal with Tarzan today.

"You're new, aren't you?"  he asked, settling himself down with his
anti-static boots propped on the table and the coffee-cup balanced on
his lap.

"Yes.  I've been here since Monday."

His grey eyes assessed her thoughtfully and the cautious smile touched
his lips again.  "Were you tired when you arrived, or has this place
got to you already?"

She laughed.  "A bit of each.  I did a silly thing.  I talked myself
into a job on a trial basis, and now I feel I can't breathe
spontaneously without it being noted down."

He chuckled.  "You're Robert Ryder's junior reg, aren't you?  I gather
he's excellent."

"Yes, he is.  Rather too excellent.  The shortfall is all the more
obvious," she said with wry self-mockery.

The young doctor laughed softly and leant forward, his hand
outstretched.  "I'm Gavin Jones-Oliver Henderson's junior reg."

She shook the firm, dry hand.  "Frankie Bradley."

"Frankie-that's unusual.  '

"Frances really," she said with a little shudder.

Gavin smiled.  "Frances is fine but Frankie suits you better. So-you're
on trial.  Wow.  I remember when I made a foul-up as a houseman and
Ross Hamilton came down on me like a ton of bricks.  I couldn't breathe
after that either without him watching me!"

"What did you do?"

"Took out an appendix on a girl with Munchausen's-but you'll be safe
there.  It doesn't happen in orthopaedics.  Either it's broken or it
isn't!"

She chuckled.  "I hope you're right.  I'll probably end up recommending
arthroscopy on someone's knee when there's nothing at all wrong with
it."

He drained his coffee-cup and put it down on the table.  "Um-I don't
suppose you fancy a drink tonight?"

The idea was suddenly immensely appealing.  "That would be lovely," she
told him, a smile softening her tired eyes.

"Seven?  I'll pick you up-I take it you're living in?"

She nodded wryly.  "Are you?"

"For my sins.  I'm only just back here-I've been away for a while as a
registrar in Cambridge-and I haven't got a flat sorted out yet.  I
don't think it'll be long, though.  Those rooms are the pits."

She laughed with him, and watched as he left the room.  She was still
smiling as her bleeper went, and with a sigh she got up and went over
to the phone.

"Dr.  Bradley," she told the switchboard.

"Putting you through," the voice replied, and suddenly there was a
young, hesitant girl on the line.

"Um-is that Frankie?"

"Yes, it is.  Is that Jane Ryder?"

"Yeah-listen, can you do me a favour?  It's my father's birthday today
and I'm cooking him a special meal tonight, and I thought it would be
nice if you could join us.  It'd make it more of a celebration, somehow
, and give me a chance to thank you for bailing Dad out so he could
fetch me from the station and bring me home.  So," she said, all in a
rush and running out of breath, "will you come?"

She sounded so hopeful, and Frankie didn't have the heart to disappoint
her.  Besides which, it would be an ideal opportunity to get to know
her enigmatic and very reserved boss a little better.  She could always
put Gavin off for another time.

"Yes, of course I'll come."

"Are you sure?  It's probably the last thing you want to do "Nonsense,"
Frankie interrupted.  "I'll look forward to it.  What time?"

"Seven-thirty?  Oh, and do you like chicken curry?"

"Ah.  Um, Jane, I'm vegetarian."

There was a horrified silence.  "So I guess that means you don't like
chicken," she said eventually.

"Look, if it messes things up for you I don't need to come, Jane."

"But I want you to!"  the girl wailed.

"Then I will.  Don't worry about feeding me-I can have all the
accompaniments."

"Oh.  Well, I could do you some veg in a curry sauce-would that do?"

"That would be lovely," she said firmly.  "Don't worry about me; cook
what your father likes.  It's his birthday.  How do I get there?"

Jane gave her the directions-somewhat haphazard, but hopefully she
could unravel them in the dark.

"What's the phone number, in case I get lost?"

Jane rattled off the number, then added, "By the way, don't tell
him-it's a surprise."  !  It was raining, just to add insult to injury.
Gavin had i, been understanding-to a point.  "Had a better offer?" 
he'd ribbed gently.

"I'm sorry," she'd apologised.  "Perhaps another time?"

His smile had been wry.  "Yeah-maybe.  Have a good evening."  ', She
felt she'd disappointed him, but there was no point in encouraging him
if he had any ideas about their relationship.  He was a nice man, but
he didn't do anything for her-unlike Robert "Damn!"  She slithered to
an undignified halt and reversed back, peering at the road sign.  Was
this it?

No.  Damn again.  She drove on till she found a pub, then went in and
asked the barman the way.

He yelled across the bar "Hey, Fred, how d'you get to Ryder's old
place?  Is that first left or second?"  , "Doc Ryder?"  Fred shrugged
away from the wall by the dartboard, picked his teeth thoughtfully as
he sauntered towards them and eyed Frankie with interest' Going there,
are you?"

"If I can find it."

He nodded.  "Back down to the bottom of the hill, turn right, go about
two miles, first left, along about couple hundred yards or so on the
right.  Thatched place, it is.  Old Tudor job-white gates."

All eyes were on her, as if a woman visiting Robert Ryder was a rare
and notable occurrence.

She forced a smile.  "Thank you.  I'm sure I'll find it now."  She made
for the door, and was just opening it when Fred hailed her.

"Hear his daughter's home."

She turned back slightly.  "Yes."

"Good job, too.  The mother's not worth her weight in chicken shah,
manure."

Amidst the ribald laughter she made her escape from the pub, running
across the potholed car park in the slashing rain.

Just before she reached her car she put her foot into a pothole, jarred
her ankle and splashed muddy water all the way up her clean tights.
Swearing comprehensively and most satisfyingly under her breath, she
slammed the car door, started the engine and drove back down the hill,
along a miserable, rutted lane for two miles or more, until she was
sure that Fred had got it wrong.

Then suddenly there was a little turning, an even smaller road, and on
the right a low, thatched house with lights blazing a welcome from all
the windows.  There was an old-fashioned lamppost at the entrance, and
in its warm glow she saw the name on the opened gate.

Freedom Farm...

CHAPTER THREE

IT was a lovely evening.  Jane had gone to huge lengths to prepare a
meal to remember, and Robert was obviously touched and very, very
proud.

The fact that Robert clearly hadn't been expecting her was obvious from
the look on his face when he opened the door.  However, he quickly
recovered his poise, accepted the bottle of vintage port with a polite
murmur of protest and then showed her through into the drawing room.

It was spotlessly tidy, a lovely, heavily beamed room with formal
furniture and an air of expectancy.  While Robert fetched her a drink
she found herself looking round the room and trying to work out what
was wrong with it, because it lacked something indefinable but very,
very important.

Warmth?  Not heat but warmth-love, perhaps.  She sensed that it was a
room not often used, a room where shared laughter and tender words
never echoed, and so the walls were blank, waiting for history to carve
itself into the atmosphere.  Or recent history, at least.  The aged
walls and heavy oak beams were soaked in history, but it seemed
suppressed, as if it needed the heat of passion to bring it all to
life.

She sensed that Robert, too, was uncomfortable in there, as if there
was another room, another place that was his retreat-a place where he
would rather be.  They had perched in there, sipping sherry and making
stilted conversation, until Jane came in and announced that their meal
was ready.

She was flushed a dull rose, and her cheek was adorned with a dollop of
curry sauce, but her eyes were full of eager anticipation and dread in
equal measure.

How wonderful, Frankie thought achingly, to have someone to try so hard
to please you.  The look in Jane's eyes reminded Frankie of her
brother's wife, eager to please, nothing too much trouble.

And how wonderful, she thought, to have someone you wanted to please,
be it father, husband lover ?

Jane ushered them through into the dining room and seated them at the
worn and well-loved mahogany table, then served up the meal from the
vast number of bowls and dishes that were laid out on its surface.

"JJ, this looks wonderful," Robert said in astonishment , and the girl
flushed with pride and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

Heavens, what a pretty girl, Frankie thought, and then wondered how
Robert would cope without the moderating feminine influence of a wife.
Would he allow Jane any freedom to explore her budding womanhood?

She thought not-or not easily.  He clearly adored her, and the thought
of her turning into a woman with a woman's needs and wants would
torture him, Frankie was sure.

The food broke the ice a little.  OK, the rice was a little cold, and
Frankie had a sneaking suspicion that her "vegetable' curry was a few
frozen veg quickly boiled and then doused in the chicken curry sauce.
But she decided that Jane's sensibilities were more important than her
own and ate it with every appearance of enjoyment, and gradually the
conversation warmed and laughter trickled in.

"So, how are you coping with the old bossy-boots?"  Jane asked her at
one point with a wicked twinkle at her father.  "Is he awful at
work?"

Frankie grinned and studied him.  "Awful?  Only five days a week." 
"You haven't worked with him on Saturday and Sunday yet," Jane pointed
out. "So I haven't.  I expect he'll be even worse then, as it's the
weekend."  Robert closed his eyes and gave a mock sigh.  "Maligned, I
am.  I thought I'd actually been the perfect boss."  Frankie chuckled.
"Of course.  I expect you're really very kind under that grim and
forbidding exterior."  His eyes flew open and he studied her in genuine
astonishment.  "Grim and forbidding?  Really?"  She relented.  "No not
really.  Mostly you're quite civilised.  You only bite if I'm
particularly stupid or you're particularly hungry."  It was an
unfortunate choice of words.  Something flared in his eyes, and Frankie
felt the heat scorch her cheeks.  She dropped her head forward slightly
and her hair swung down and screened her blush.  Damn, what was going
on?  She'd thought she'd imagined the heat between them on her first
night, when he'd brushed the crumb from her lip-but perhaps not?  She
hadn't lied, in fact.  He had been a little grim and forbidding.  Maybe
this uninvited attraction was the cause?  He probably resented it for
getting in the way of a professional relationship.  ; Well, he was safe
with her.  Her career was more important than her private life-for now,
at least.  Finally the meal was finished and Jane ushered them out into
the drawing room again where she served them coffee, then curled up
beside her father on the settee with a cup of hot chocolate.  "That was
wonderful, JJ," he told her, and the warmth in his eyes and voice made
Frankie's throat ache.  She busied herself with her coffee, giving them
room while they exchanged quiet, gentle words.  Did through the door.
Seconds later she reappeared.  Did he know how lucky he was?  she
wondered.  Or Jane?  rather more sheepish look on her gamine face.  Did
she have any idea how precious her father's love "Um-don't worry about
the kitchen, by the way, was, or how fleeting?  Dad.  I'll fix it
tomorrow."  She swallowed the lump in her throat and stirred Robert
closed his eyes as she flitted off again, hum the cream into her
coffee, watching the black and white ming.  "Oh, God," he groaned.  "I
have a bad feeling..."  merge to a dull tan.  Frankie chuckled, her
melancholy drifting away on Like her life.  The contrast was gone,
leaving only his sigh.  "Come on.  She's done enough.  I'll help you
work to bring any colour or meaning to it.  She wasn't sort it out
before I go."  unhappy, but she wasn't happy either.  Content?  She
followed him into the kitchen, cannoning into She probably should be
grateful.  his back in the doorway.  The grunt of disbelief echoed She
listened to the soft music playing in the back- through his chest and,
peering over his shoulder, she ground, and the gentle murmur of
Robert's voice scanned the kitchen.  mingled with Jane's lighter tones.
What was she doing "Yup-looks like a teenager just cooked a meal" she
here?  Robert didn't want her here, stirring up the said cheerfully.
"I'll wash; you dry up and put away."  undertones and making things
difficult.  She ought to Those few words made it sound so simple.  They
go- didn't begin to touch the bottoms of the pans, caked "Goodnight,
Frankie.  Thank you for coming."  and burnt with rice and custard and
curry sauce, or She looked up, blinking, thinking herself dismissed,
the endless pots and jars and packets strewn across and found instead
that Jane was on her feet and hover- q the work tops-and over it all
the fine, crunchy scattering at the door.  "I have to go to bed," she
said with a of demerara sugar... little grimace.  Frankie laughed
wryly.  "Don't knock it.  It wasn't so "My God!  I feel as if I've run
a marathon!  How could long ago I would have given my eye-teeth for
someone q she manage to use so many things?"  to send me to bed."  With
a heartfelt sigh Robert threw himself down into Jane grinned.  "Yeah,
well, we all want what we can't ;q a saggy old chair and waved at its
counterpart on the have don't we?  Oh well, "night all."  other side of
the wood burner "Night, Jane-and thank you for a lovely meal.  I qq
"Make yourself at home," he told her, his eyes drift really enjoyed it.
In fact, talking of bed..."  She set q ing down and a deep; contented
groan rumbling from her cup down with a little rattle.  "I must go-I've
been his big chest.  here for hours- She looked at him, sprawled across
the ancient chair, "Oh, you don't have to go.  Stay and have another j
and, kicking off her shoes, she tucked her feet up coffee with
Dad-there's tons in the pot.  "Night, Dad."  q and eased herself into
its partner's arms.  It swallowed "Goodnight, JJ-and thank you,
darling.  It was a "q..  Frankie whole, snuggling her down into its
intimate wonderful birthday treat."  q depths and cosseting her like an
old yen with a chick.  She grinned, her apprehension gone, and flitted
"Mmm," she murmured contentedly.

Robert cranked open an eye and grinned.  "I hate the drawing room," he
grumbled.  "It was JJ's idea to use it.  "You've got a guest coming,"
she told me-I had no idea it was you."

She smiled awkwardly.  "I'm sorry.  I should have warned you this
afternoon."

He waved his hand dismissively.  "No, not at all.  She likes
surprises-like turning up here on New Year's Day.  Surprising me is
what she does best.  Can I get you a drink-that rather nice port you so
wickedly bought me, perhaps?"

She was tempted, but refused.  "No, I'm driving.  If you're having one
I'll have a sip, but that's all."

"Coffee?"

"It'll be cold."

"I can make more."

She looked at him, slumped wearily in the chair, and shook her head.
"Don't bother.  Just sit there and relax."

"Sure?"

She nodded and he closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the
welcoming upholstery and sighing softly under his breath.  "I'll have a
port in a minute," he mumbled.

Frankie watched him for a moment, noting the dark crescents of his
lashes-ridiculously long and wasted on a man, she thought with a little
smile-and the soft fullness of his mouth, relaxed in rest and suddenly,
enticingly kissable She caught herself up short.  What was she thinking
about?  This was her boss-the man who wielded power over her future-the
only thing between her and a career in orthopaedic surgery.  She had no
business thinking about kissing his mouth, however lush and warm and
inviting it might be... Her eyes dropped, away from the temptation of
that mouth, down over the shadowed jaw, strongly carved and firm,
decisive, typical of the man; and on, past the small swelling of his
Adam's apple, resting in the V of his shirt.  The tie he'd been wearing
had long gone so that it didn't trail in the washing-up.  There was a
little tuft of hair, a curl, like the little girl who had one in the
middle of her forehead.  When he was good, he was very, very good, and
when he was bad.

A shiver ran over her and her eyes trailed on, down over the broad
chest under the scant covering of the fine silk shirt, the dark hair
underneath casting shadows where it lay between his nipples and down
the centre of his chest, not too much so that he looked like a gorilla,
but just enough to emphasise his masculinity -not that it needed
emphasising.

His waist was slim and neat, his stomach board-flat and firm.  His hips
were lean, taut, his legs, crossed at the ankle, long and straight and
well muscled, cradling the discreet but very masculine bulge that she
refused to let her eyes dwell on.  One trouser leg was hitched up a
little and she could see the dark dusting of hair on his shin above his
sock.  She had a crazy urge to touch it, to see if it was tough and
wiry or if it felt as soft as it looked... The curl at his neck drew
her, too, like a magnet.  She wanted to thread her finger into it and
wind it round, tugging it gently, knowing it would inflame him.

She let her eyes trail slowly up over his body again, taking in all the
subtle details-the steady rise and fall of his chest just visible in
the slanting light-and that curl again, tantalising her.  The light
gleamed on it, shifting as his chest rose and fell.

"Frankie, what the hell are you doing?"  he said softly, his voice
roughened and gravelly.

Her eyes widened with shock and flew up to meet his.  She licked her
suddenly dry lips.  "I thought you were asleep."

He shook his head slightly.  "Just resting after that horrendous
kitchen.  '

The silence stretched between them, Frankie's heart beating like a
little bird trapped in her chest as her eyes locked with his and she
saw through the weariness and the responsibility, past the professional
man and dedicated father to the raw, aching need beneath.

"Robert?"  Her mouth moved on his name but no sound emerged.

A log fell in the fire, hissing softly and breaking the silence.  He
looked away, shifting in his seat, one long leg eros sing over the
other knee.

Hiding his response?  Dear God, she couldn't hide hers.  She wanted to
cross the room to him, unfold that leg and sit on his lap, wrap her
arms round his neck and lower her lips to his, claiming that beautiful,
needy mouth "Frankie, for God's sake!"

Her eyes jerked to his again and her breath shuddered in her chest.  "I
think I'd better go home," she muttered and, leaping up, she slid her
feet back into her shoes and then opened the door.

A cupboard.  Oh, God, where was the way out?

"Frankie?"

His voice, soft and raw, was right behind her.  She stood still, her
shoulders stiff and ramrod-straight, waiting for him to make the next
move.

His hands, warm and gentle, settled over her shoulders and drew her
back against his chest.  "Frankie, we can't let this get in the way. We
have to work together."

"I know that," she mumbled.

"It's just like sheet-lightning-crazy but harmless so long as you don't
get too close.  It'll go away if we ignore it.  '

She nodded, but she could feel the thud of his heart against her back,
and lower down the hard jut of his very male response against the base
of her spine.

She moved away slightly.  "Where's my coat?"  she asked, her voice
catching, breaking in the middle like an adolescent boy's.

He opened another door which led back to the hall and retrieved her
coat from the arm of an old oak settle.  "Here."  He helped her into
it, settling it with elaborate care around her shoulders, his hands
sliding down her arms to her wrists, the heat of them burning her.

She slipped her hands away from his and turned to say goodnight.

It was a mistake.

His eyes were like windows on his emotions, and the wild, aching need
in them was her undoing.  It so exactly matched her own.  Without
thought, without reason, she moved into his arms and, threading her
fingers through his hair, drew his mouth down to hers.

His groan filled her mouth, then his arms eased up to cradle her
against his chest as he gave himself up to the kiss.  Their tongues
met, retreated, sought again and found, and with an agonised sound
Robert cupped her head with one hand and deepened the kiss.

Her legs threatened to crumble, and as if he knew he slid one strong,
powerful leg between hers to support her.

It just made it worse, the contact of that lean, hard muscled thigh
against the burning need that drove her.  A sob rose in her throat, and
with a muttered curse Robert lifted his head, moved his thigh away and
wrapped her hard against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, his breathing jagged and uneven, a counterpoint
to her own.

She shook her head, unable to speak, and her hands smoothed over his
back, her palms running lightly over the broad columns of muscle
bracketing his spine.  The silk shirt was damp, his skin hot and
enticing.

Her actions weren't soothing, she realised, either to her or to him.

She dropped her hands and moved away.  She couldn't meet his eyes,
afraid of what she might see, and she would have opened the front door
and run away into the night if he hadn't caught her chin and tipped it,
forcing her to look at him.

His lips were full, swollen slightly and reddened by their kiss, and a
dull flush lay on his cheeks, but it was his eyes that stunned her, hot
and filled with frustration but also determined and somehow withdrawn,
as if the incident was closed and would remain so.

"Are you all right?"  he asked softly.

She nodded.  "I'll live."

His smile was wry and didn't quite reach his eyes.  He opened the door
and walked her to her car.  "Goodnight , Frankie.  Thank you for your
company-and the port."

"You're welcome."  The social platitude came automatically Her mind was
elsewhere, lingering on that kiss and the dull ache it had left
behind.

She opened the door and slid behind the wheel, but before she could
close the door he muttered something and bent towards her, one hand on
the roof of the car, the other cupping her chin as he feathered her
mouth with his lips.

"Sleep tight," he murmured, and then he straightened, slammed the door
and let her go.

Sleep?  she thought.  Fat chance, Ryder, after that kiss... "One for
you, I think."

"What?"  Frankie was horrified.  She had spent the whole weekend
worrying about how she would manage to work with him after that searing
kiss they had shared, and he didn't show any sign of remembering it. On
the contrary, he was all brisk professionalism and hurling her in at
the deep end!  "Look, you have to be joking!"  she protested.  "I can't
do a hip replacement!"

"Of course you can.  Nothing to it.  I'll be there, Frankie.  '

She eyed him doubtfully, trying hard not to notice the little nick on
his chin where he had cut himself shaving, and that lock of hair that
would escape and fall down, just crying out for her fingers "I'm not
sure I can cope," she said more firmly, dragging her wicked, wilful
mind back into order.  "If I could just watch you one more time

"Frankie, you've watched several," he pointed out fairly.  "You have to
start somewhere."

"But it's so important."

"Everything we do is important, from setting a little finger to dealing
with a broken neck."

Frankie had visions of a broken neck-hers, after she failed to measure
up to Robert Ryder's exacting standards.  "I seem to remember at your
interview you said you wouldn't let me down," he murmured, sneaking in
a low blow that was right on target.

"OK, OK!  I'll do it.  Just scrub and be there in case I foul up."

"Are you kidding?  I don't intend to let you out of my sight."

Perversely Frankie wasn't reassured.  They scrubbed, gowned up and went
into the operating room as the patient was wheeled in.  Then, after
checking the notes and the X-rays and the marks on the patient's skin
"Wouldn't do to fix the wrong hip," Robert joked, sending a shiver down
her spine-they were ready to start.

The scrub nurse handed her a scalpel, and she took a steadying breath.
Was he going to help, or just give her enough rope to hang herself?

"Where are you going to make the incision?"  he asked quietly.

"Here?"  She drew a line with the scalpel a fraction above the skin.

"Fine.  Go on, then."

So she did, exposing the layers and systematically working her way down
to the joint.

"Right, the replacement we're using is a Charnley, so the first job is
to detach the greater trochanter.  Where will you do that?"

Again she showed him, pointing out where she would detach the outer
projection of the thigh bone with its attached muscles, and again he
agreed and watched silently while she did so, then as she struggled to
dislocate the head of the femur from the hip joint.  Damn, she thought,
he was right-it is physical!

"There's a knack," he said helpfully after she had struggled
unsuccessfully for some seconds.  "Put the limb so, and just With his
hands over hers, using very little pressure, just leverage and
persuasion, he popped the hip joint apart.

"Hmm," she muttered, and could have sworn he smirked under the mask.

"Right, now can you see the damage to the head of the femur and to the
cup of the acetabulum?  No wonder she's been in pain."

The cartilage covering the joint was worn and in places completely
gone, exposing the delicate and sensitive bone beneath.

"Ouch," Frankie muttered.

"Ouch indeed.  She's going to feel the benefit the moment she comes
round, I would think.  That must be like walking on a permanent
fracture.  Right, you need to take off the head of the femur."

"Here?"

He agreed and watched her again, talking her through the reaming out of
the cup in the pelvis and the cementing in of the new socket, the
filing of the inside of the femur to accept the long shaft of the new
femoral head and its careful and precise insertion with cement to
ensure a permanent and stable bond.

"Mmm," he said as she finished reattaching the point of the thigh bone,
the greater trochanter, with its muscles still intact.  What did "Mmm'
mean?  she wondered Had she fouled up?

He met her eyes over the patient then looked away.  "Right, close her
up, Frankie; we've got two more to do before lunch."

She sutured with her usual meticulous care, but tried to hurry,
conscious of the press of time and the list of patients prepped up and
waiting in the wings, as it were.  What had she done wrong?  Had she
wired the trochanter back too tight?  Too loose?  In the wrong place?
Or was it something she'd done earlier-her cementing, perhaps?

As the patient was wheeled out to Recovery and Frankie and Robert left
the room her legs felt like jelly.

She stripped off her gloves, dropped her mask and gown into the bin,
washed her hands and face and stood facing the mirror, blotting her
skin dry with a paper towel and watching him.

"Well?"  she said finally, unable to bear the suspense.

He straightened up, water dripping off his chin, and grinned.  "You'll
do."

Her legs almost gave way.  "Rat," she muttered under her breath, but he
must have heard her.

He tutted softly.  "Show a little respect, Dr.  Bradley."

She closed her eyes wearily.  "I have great respect for you, sir," she
said with just the slightest trace of sarcasm.

He chuckled.  "Of course I could have watched you struggle with that
dislocation for another ten minutes.  You would never have got it out
the way you were going about it."

"As you said," she told him, turning to face him and dropping the paper
towel in the bin, "it's a knack, and one I can soon learn."

"Well, hopefully you've learnt it because you'll have to do the next
one quicker than that."

She felt her jaw sag slightly.  "The next?"

"Uh-huh.  The next two, actually.  You're here to learn, Frankie.  You
won't do that if I mollycoddle you for ever."

He didn't, either.  Throughout the whole of the next operation he
watched in silence, saying nothing, raising an eyebrow if she glanced
up to check with him that she was doing it right, until in the end she
was driven almost to distraction.

"Help me!"  she said finally.

"Why?  You're doing fine.  I'll tell you when you go wrong."

Slightly reassured, she continued with the operation, gaining
confidence as all seemed to be going to plan.  Then, as she was setting
the cup into the acetabulum, he intervened.

"You've got the angle of the cup too steep.  The joint will dislocate
if you leave it like that.  Tip it more, like so he rearranged it "-and
the joint will be more stable."

"Thank you," she mumbled, chastened, her newfound confidence ground to
dust.  The change in angle seemed so slight... "You'll soon get used to
judging it," he assured her, and turned to the anaesthetist.  "I gather
Oliver had a crisis over the weekend," he said, and she listened with
half an ear as they discussed the sudden and unexpected death of a
patient whom one of the general surgeons had operated on the previous
day.

She struggled with the hip prosthesis, reaming out the shaft and
offering up the prosthesis until she was happy with the fit, and all
the time she thought that Robert was totally absorbed in his
conversation and paying her no attention.  She could stick the damn
thing in upside down and he wouldn't notice "Rotate it back a
little-that's better.  You've reamed it out a little wide.  Be sure and
pack the cement well into the cavity when you reinsert it.  So, do you
think there'll be any legal implications?"

Legal implications?  she thought in panic, and then realised they
weren't talking about her making the space slightly too large, but
about the death of the patient at the weekend.  Heaving a mental sigh
of relief, she cemented in the joint, reattached the trochanter and
closed up.

As she finished, she looked up and met the anaesthetist's eye.

"She's all yours," she said, and he winked and began to reverse the
anaesthetic.

Robert glanced casually at the suture line, nodded so slightly that if
she hadn't been looking for it she wouldn't have seen it, and headed
for the door.

And that was it.  No further comment.  She almost expected him to take
himself off for an early lunch and leave her with the last patient, but
he didn't.

"I'll help with this one because we're running a little behind," was
his only remark, and once again she had the joy of watching him work,
with a combination of speed and accuracy that she could only hope to
imitate.

When they were done-still over time, but not by as much-he tugged off
his gloves, chucked his gown and mask and hat into the bin and met her
expectant eyes.

"I believe we'll make a surgeon of you yet," he said calmly.

Her heart leapt at the praise, but she kept her delight out of her
voice.  "Even though I'm just a feeble woman?"  she challenged.

He snorted rudely.  "Feeble?  Who ever gave you that idea?"  He glanced
at the clock, then back at Frankie.  "Quick shower, lunch and go over
where you went wrong and then we've got the clinic.  I'll let you do it
with my SR-he's back from his holiday today and will probably be
exhausted."

So it hadn't been perfect, then, if there were things to go over.

She was showered and dressed before him, to her great satisfaction and
his amazement.  They walked briskly down to the staff canteen, and she
was glad she was so tall, because without her long legs she would have
had to run to keep up with him.

They discussed her failings-at least, Robert listed them and Frankie
listened in horrified silence as he seemed to condemn her out of hand,
and then he sat back, grinned, and said, "All in all, it was a good
morning's work, really."

Good?  Relief loosened her control on her emotions, and a little bubble
of laughter gurgled up in her throat.

He frowned, those dark, forbidding brows crawling together above his
icy blue-grey eyes.  It was funny, but she didn't find his scowl at all
forbidding any more.  "I thought you were getting ready to sack me,"
she told him honestly.

"Sack you?  If it gets that bad, believe me, I'll banish you from the
theatre and take over rather than let you carry on.  No, you were fine,
just inexperienced.  You won't make the same mistakes again; I'm quite
confident of that."

He lounged back in his chair, coffee-cup propped on his belt, and eyed
her thoughtfully.  "Jane sends her love," he said finally.  "She asked
me to thank you for coming over on Friday and giving up your evening to
eat with us."

Frankie's face warmed at the memory of that meal, and the kiss that
followed it.  "It was my pleasure," she said honestly.  "It was a
lovely meal-please tell her that again.  I really enjoyed it."

"And the clearing-up?"

They chuckled together, and she thought yet again how laughter softened
his features and brought warmth to those lonely, hungry eyes.

"Is she settling down now with you?"  Frankie asked, concerned for
Jane's happiness in the turmoil of her parents' shattered
relationship.

"She's gone back to boarding school-she weekly boards in Cambridge.  I
have to fetch her every Friday evening and take her back every
Sunday-and she's got no friends of her own age around us."

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.  "I worry about her.  It's
OK when I'm not on call, but if I am she's left to her own devices and
I'm concerned about that.  She's at a vulnerable age, and you know the
old saying about the devil making work for idle hands."

"She's a good girl, Robert.  She's very together.  I don't think you
need to worry about her being led astray-and anyway, who by?"

He shrugged.  "I just wish she had a friend, someone to go shopping
with, do all the things girls do.  I can't go round with her trying on
clothes and looking at jewelry."

"I can."

His eyes speared her.  "You?  Why would you do that?"

She lifted her shoulders slightly.  "Because I'm lonely here too?
Because I like to do girly things as well, and I haven't got anyone to
do them with?  She reminds me so much of myself at the same age,
Robert.  Believe me, if I take her round town with me it will be as
much for me as for her."

"And you'd do that without being paid?"  He sounded almost amazed, as
if it was unheard of for anyone to want to do something for him or his
daughter without a catch.  Then his face changed and he eyed her
suspiciously "You're not gay?"  he said harshly.

She set down her cup with exaggerated care and stood up.  "If you can
still think that, after the way I kissed you on Friday night, you need
your radar checked," she said quietly, and walked out of the canteen.

She heard a crash, a muffled curse and then he was beside her, grabbing
her arm and dragging her to a halt.

She stopped, pointedly removed his hand from her arm and glared at him.
"You have a warped and damaged mind," she told him coldly.

He closed his eyes.  "No, I haven't.  I've got a daughter I love very
much, who's been exposed to more than enough trauma in her young life
without me unwittingly exposing her to any more.  It's just that after
the example of her mother I can't believe any woman would do anything
for anyone without a price."

"Then I feel sorry for you-all of you," Frankie said gently, and walked
away.

CHAPTER FOUR

FRANKIE had the rest of the afternoon to regret her outburst.  The SR,
David Hunt, was quietly methodical if a rather boring young man, and
she worked alongside him with only part of her brain in gear.  The rest
was locked very definitely in combat with the thorny problem of the
advisability of hurling insults at her boss when she was still very
much on trial.

Her clinic overran and she was left to finish off because the SR had a
meeting with sir himself at five and there were still two patients left
to go.

One was a simple follow-up of a hip replacement which had clearly been
a roaring success, and she had no trouble at all with it.  The other,
however, was more of a problem.

The patient was a young man with recurrent knee problems following a
twisting injury in rugby the previous winter , over a year ago.

"It keeps locking," he told her, "and when it does I can't straighten
it again for ages.  Sometimes it takes days before it unlocks-usually
at night, while I'm asleep-and when it goes it hurts like hell."

Frankie gently flexed and extended the knee, rocking the joint and
testing for any abnormal movement, but there was none, pointing to a
meniscal tear rather than any ligament injury.

His X-rays seemed normal because the meniscus was cartilage and not
radio-opaque, so it didn't show up on radiographs.

"I think we better put you down for arthroscopy, so we can have a look
inside and see what's wrong.  It can be done as a day case, if you
like, or you might prefer to come in and spend about three days in
hospital You can return to work within a week or two what do you do?"

"I'm a lorry driver-so you can see I need my legs for my work."

She nodded thoughtfully.  "Do you have to load or unload the
lorries?"

He grinned.  "No chance.  Damn great container lorries-it's all done by
cranes.  I have to climb up into the cab, though, and change gear."

"You'll need a fortnight off, then, I expect.  Can you come in at any
time?"

"Yes-whenever.  You call, I'll take the time off.  It's a big firm-they
can juggle rot as if I give them a day or two's notice.  They quite
often have to cover for me without notice as it is, because I lockup
without warning and then I can't work till it settles down again."

She nodded again.  "OK, we'll put you down for the end of March, but if
we get a cancellation before then we might call you in at the last
minute, if you can manage that?"

"Brilliant," he said with a grin, and swung his legs down off the
couch.  As he stood up and twisted round to pick up his trousers there
was a dull creak and he gasped and fell against the couch.

"Damn!  Blasted thing's gone again!"

She helped him into a chair, examined him again and found the knee
joint locked solid, bent at a slight angle and unable to straighten or
bend any more.

"Do you know what?"  she said, eyeing him thoughtfully as he clutched
it and winced.  "I think you should come in now and get that fixed
tomorrow."

He blinked at her.  "Can you do that?"

She shrugged.  "You're here, and it's causing you considerable
distress-I can always admit you as an emergency.  I'd better check with
Mr.  Ryder, though, first.  Just hang on here a minute."

She didn't really want to speak to him.  God knows how he would be with
her after their skirmish at lunchtime , but Paul Redhill had to come
first.  She went through to the office, picked up the phone and got the
switchboard to page him.  He answered after a few seconds, and, putting
their last conversation firmly out of her mind, she quickly outlined
the patient's problems and current situation.

"I'll come down; David and I have just about finished," he told her,
and the line went dead.

He appeared after a few minutes, examined the knee briefly, checked the
notes and nodded.

"I think you ought to come in tonight.  Is there anyone who could bring
your things in?"

He nodded.  "My wife-she's outside in the waiting room."

"Right.  I'll have a word with her and we'll get you admitted ready for
surgery in the morning.  All right?"

He grinned, looking a little stunned.  "Great-if I'm not
queue-jumping?"

Robert shook his head.  "It's a quick, simple procedure that will get
you back to work in good condition very quickly.  As far as I'm
concerned you're just as urgent a case as anybody else, possibly more
so.  I don't want my taxes wasted on you languishing at home!"

They both laughed, then Robert called Paul's wife and children in,
explained the problem and then dropped the bombshell.

"Dr.  Bradley here will operate tomorrow and remove the loose
fragment."

She will?  Frankie thought in horror.  She had done very little keyhole
surgery, and the thought of messing up this young man's knee frightened
her to death.  She almost wished she'd sent him home.  At least by the
end of March she might well have finished alienating Robert and have
moved on.  That way the man would have stood a chance of not losing the
use of his knee "Dr.  Bradley, could I have a word?"  Robert was
saying.

"Sure."  She followed him into the office, shut the door and waited.

"Um-I just wanted to apologise."

She blinked.  "You did?"

His grin was rueful and did funny things to her heart.  "I did.  Look,
can we get this chap sorted out and then go back to your room for a
chat?"

"You just want my cake," she accused, humour lurking in her voice along
with a huge and unreasonable relief.

"Damn, you guessed," he said softly, and the accompanying smile touched
his eyes and drove away the bleakness, just for a heartbeat.

"I'll go up to the ward and clerk him afterwards.  We'll get a porter
to take him up and then go and put the kettle on.  All right?"  Frankie
said.

"Sounds good to me."

They exchanged a smile, and while Frankie made the admission
arrangements Robert went over again with Mr.  Redhill the exact
procedure for the morning and precisely what they hoped to achieve.

The door between the two rooms was slightly ajar, and Frankie heard
their patient say, "This Dr.  Bradley-she has done this sort of thing
before, hasn't she?"

Frankie held her breath, then almost laughed aloud at Robert's devious
cheek.

"Oh, she's an excellent surgeon.  I was really lucky to get her; she's
worth her weight in gold.  Her surgical techniques are outstanding."

Outstanding, indeed.  She'd have to take him up on that.  She picked up
the phone, contacted the ward and prepared them for Mr.  Redhill's
admission, then called the porter's lodge.

A very few moments later Alvin arrived, whistling cheerfully and
slightly off-key, and took Mr.  Redhill up to the ward in a wheelchair,
his wife and children in attendance.

Frankie eyed Robert across the consulting room with a cynical grin.

"Outstanding, eh?"

He grinned.  "What else could I say?  Actually she's never done this
before, but don't worry, you've always got the other leg?"

She chuckled.  "I suppose not, but you didn't have to exaggerate."

His grin faded.  "Actually," he told her seriously, "I didn't.  They
are quite outstanding.  Your last firm thought a great deal of you,
Frankie.  I had a long chat with your old boss after I offered you the
job.  He was very sorry to see you go."

She felt the warm flush of pleasure brush her cheeks and turned away,
tidying the desk and stacking the notes on the secretary's desk ready
for filing in the morning.

"Frankie?"

"Mmm?"  She tidied furiously.

"I wouldn't let you do it if I didn't think you were ready."

"I think you're a bit ahead of me," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Nonsense."  He laid a hand over hers.  "Those pencils are straight,
Frankie," he said gently.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat and straightened up
with a bolstering sigh.

"Tea and cake?"  she suggested, her voice unnaturally bright.

"Good idea-because I still have to apologise and explain my
behaviour."

Oh, Lord, she had forgotten that.

They walked back to her room in a strange, expectant silence which
persisted until they were sitting down, tea in hand and the cake tin
lying on the bed between them.

Then Robert sighed and leant back against the wall, rolling his head on
his shoulders as if his neck ached and he was tired.

He was tired.  She could see that in the shadows under his eyes and the
deep lines that bracketed his mouth.  He looked drawn, worried-and in
need of love.

Frankie's soft heart ached for him.  He was so alone, coping with his
flighty and senseless ex-wife and their sweet daughter, desperate to
please and so unsure of herself.  She wanted to wrap her arms round him
and tell him it was all right, Jane would be fine and everything would
settle down again.

She moved the cake tin out of the way and his eyes opened.

"Don't I get cake?"  he murmured, his voice a little husky.

She smiled.  "Of course you get cake, but you need a hug first."

She knelt beside him, facing him, and held out her arms.  He didn't
move, watching her steadily.  "How can you want to do that when I said
what I did?"

She sat back on her heels and dropped her arms.  "You were worried
about your daughter.  If you thought I was a threat to her, of course
you'd defend her."

"I didn't really think you could be gay."

"I don't care if you did or not.  That isn't an insult.  It's the fact
that you thought I might have used Jane for whatever reasons..  money,
influence, sex-that's what hurt.  That you thought, even for a moment,
that I could hurt a child or use her for my own ends."

"You don't understand..."  he began, and then ground to a halt, his
mouth tight.

She laid a hand on his knee.  "So why don't you tell me?"

He sighed, closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face as if he
could wipe away the past, but it was still there when he opened his
eyes, haunting them.

"Jackie, my ex-wife, has a-how can I put it?  liberal attitude to sex.
It got us into trouble when we were little more than kids, but for a
while it was OK.  We got married as soon as we found out she was
pregnant, when I was twenty-one and she was nineteen.

"She was a nurse, I had just started my clinical training and I was in
no position to support her or look after her.  By the time I was doing
my house year three years later she was stuck at home in a dingy flat
with a difficult toddler and no money for anything, and not
surprisingly she rebelled.

"She started running up bills on her credit card, getting her hair
highlighted and buying expensive clothes, and she started night
clubbing while I was sleeping in at the hospital.  She would get a
babysitter or leave JJ with friends and go out for the night, coming
back in the morning and picking her up and dropping her off at play
school then going home to sleep.

"One night I was ill with flu and I went home, to find the place
deserted.  It was like the Mary Celeste plates on the table, toys on
the floor in the sitting room and no one there.  I was frantic.  I rang
the hospital, our friends and finally her old flat mate Lu.  She told
me she had JJ, and that Jackie had gone out for a drink."

He Had his cup in a death grip, and Frankie eased it out of his hands
and put it down.

"What happened then?"

He gave a harsh laugh.  "She came home, complete with that night's
stud.  He took one look at me and fled, and I hit the roof.  That was
when she told me she'd been meeting men at the nightclubs and going
back with them to our flat for months."

"So what did you do?"

"I told her if it happened again I'd throw her out and divorce her.  I
started staying at home as much as possible, taking her out whenever I
could, but I just couldn't bring myself to touch her again after what
she'd done."

He laughed without humour.  "That was probably my greatest mistake.
Jackie needs sex like the rest of us need food and water, and she just
wasn't getting it from me.  I came home from work one day to find she'd
gone off with one of her lovers, taking JJ with her.  I had no idea
where they were, but one day the bailiffs turned up and took everything
that didn't belong to the landlord.  That was when I found out about
the credit cards."

He studied his fingers thoughtfully, and Frankie suppressed the urge to
reach out and stroke back his hair and comfort him.  How had it felt to
be so badly treated, to have his daughter whisked away with no idea
where she was and be left with a backlog of debts and gossip?

"She turned up about six months later, broke and unhappy, and begged me
to have her back.  I refused, but I found her a flat, got JJ into a
school and started paying her bills.  I got a job up here about two
years ago, and because I couldn't see so much of JJ and didn't trust
Jackie to look after her properly if I wasn't around I sent her to
boarding school, with the strict proviso that when JJ was around there
were no men on the scene."

He snorted.  "Unfortunately she's not very good at complying with
conditions.  Every now and then she gets fed up and comes up to Suffolk
and pleads with me, because I've got a house she wouldn't mind living
in and a lifestyle she fancies-she says it's the only reason she
married me in the first place, but when I point out that if it was that
important perhaps she should have stuck it out she gets the sulks.

"But this business with the drugs-it's the last straw.  Not only has
she had her current lover round during the holidays, but I gather from
JJ he even offered her a smoke.  '

Frankie squeezed his leg reassuringly.  "She's too sensible."

"Thank God."  He looked up at her, his eyes empty and lost.  "So now
she's my responsibility, and I'm scared to death that I'll fail her."

"You won't.  How could you?  You love her, and that's what she
needs-love and reassurance.  Friends will come with time, and I meant
what I said.  I'll happily take her shopping and spend time with her
when I'm free."

"But what about your own family?  Don't you want to see them?"

She thought of Jeff and his bride, tucked up in the Victorian house she
had helped to renovate and had thought of as home, and smiled gently.
"They don't need me any more."

"I do," he told her.  Their eyes locked, and for a moment she wasn't
sure of his meaning.  Then he added, "At least, Jane does," and the
breath eased out of her lungs in a sigh of-disappointment?

"Sheet-lightning', he'd said.  She backed away from the cloud.

"And I'm here for her," she said firmly.  "Now, since we've got that
out of the way, how about some cake while you tell me about Mr.
Redhill's knee and how I'm going to have to do this operation?"

He nodded and stood up, rummaged through her orthopaedic textbooks and
found the most appropriate, then flicked through it while he munched
the cake she handed to him.

"Here-this is what we're looking at-a tear in the medial meniscus.  Now
with the arthroscope we can see inside the knee and find the offending
flap, cut it off and pull it out through tiny holes that will leave the
knee virtually untouched.  The difficult bit is deciding how much to
cut off, because you want to leave the cushion of cartilage as intact
as possible."

"So how much will I have to take out?"  she asked worriedly.

He shrugged.  "We won't know until you go in.  There's probably a loose
bit, too.  Don't worry, I'll be there, watching it on the screen and
guiding you.  It's easy with practice."  He eyed the cake tin
hopefully.  "Any more?"

"If you promise not to terrify me tomorrow by ignoring me like you did
today."

"What?  When did I ignore you?"

She laughed.  "When I was doing the second hip replacement.  I kept
looking to you for guidance, and all you did was chat to the
anaesthetist about Oliver Henderson's weekend crisis."

"I was watching you all the time," he objected.  "Just because I wasn't
hovering over you like a neurotic fairy godmother, it doesn't mean I
wasn't paying attention."

That was true.  He had jumped on her for the angle of the cup, and the
rotation of the shaft, and for making too wide a slot for the shaft, so
he must have been paying attention.  "OK," she conceded.  "But I really
am worried about the arthroscopy."

"You shouldn't be telling me that," he teased.  "You should be telling
me that of course you can cope and boning up on it the second my back's
turned."

"I'm not like that," she said quietly.  "I'll do anything I'm confident
to do, and whatever I do I do as well as I can, but I won't tackle
something I'm not sure about.  It isn't fair to the patient."

His mouth softened.  "I wouldn't ask you to.  Don't get defensive,
Frankie.  You're doing much better than I expected."

She couldn't resist it.  "Better than you would have expected your
other applicant to do?"  she popped in.

He grinned.  "At least as well."  He glanced at his watch.  "You ought
to go and clerk Paul Redhill, and I ought to be getting home and
sorting out some arrangements for Jane.  I'll need a nanny for
half-term in a few weeks."

Frankie chuckled as she put her cup in the basin in the corner.  "Don't
call it a nanny in Jane's hearing and do you really need one?  Perhaps
she's got school friends she can go and stay with, at least for part of
the time."

"I'll ask."  He stood up, brushing crumbs off his lap, and put the
plate down next to the empty cake tin.  "We finished it," he said
mournfully.

"I'll make another one with Jane this weekend," she promised.  "That
is, if you don't mind?  I haven't got a proper kitchen here."

"Of course I don't mind.  I'd be delighted."  He hesitated near the
door.

"Something wrong?"  she murmured.

"Yes-drastically.  I didn't get my hug," he complained , humour
touching his sad, lonely eyes.

"Poor baby," she crooned, and, putting her arms round him, she squeezed
gently, loving the feel of his warm, solid body under her hands.  Oh,
it felt so good to hold him like this, she thought as she ran one hand
tenderly down his spine.  He dropped his head onto her shoulder and
sighed, his arms loose around her, pressing into the small of her back
and easing her gently closer.

"Thank you for offering to help with Jane," he murmured "I'm sorry I
was so suspicious."

"Idiot," she said gently, and tipped her head back as he lifted his so
that she could look him in the eye.  "She's a lovely girl.  I know it
may not always seem like that, but you're really very fortunate to have
her."

His smile was slow and sad.  "I know.  I tell myself that all the time,
whenever things get tough or complicated.  That's what love's all
about, isn't it?  Being fortunate enough to have someone to care for,
someone who needs you."

His eyes dropped to her mouth, and they filled with hunger and a kind
of desperation.  Her breath lodged in her throat, but she swore that
this time she wasn't going to grab him and kiss him the way she had
before.  Let him make the first move... "I must go," he muttered, his
voice strained, and his arms fell away and he stepped back away from
her.  "I'll see you at eight tomorrow for the ward round before
Theatre," he told her, but he avoided her eyes and turned quickly,
almost yanking the door open in his haste.

She watched him go, her heart full, and wondered if he would ever let
her in to warm that cold place inside him that found an echo in her own
lonely heart.

"That's it; if you move the arthroscope round you can see the image
alter as you sweep across the inside of the joint.  There, now, can you
see the tear?  Go a little closer.  '

She eased the instrument deeper into the joint, staring fixedly at the
screen and trying to relate what she was seeing to what her hand was
doing.

"OK, that's fine," he told her.  "Now, you can see the extent of the
tear and if I move the leg slightly you can see how that flap would
interfere with movement There, can you see how it fouls the joint?"

"Yes-oh, yes!  No wonder it locks!"

"That's not locking it," he told her.  "There must be a loose fragment
somewhere."

She felt the warm, firm grip of his hand over hers, moving the
arthroscope across in an arc, probing and searching until he found what
he was looking for.  "There," he said with satisfaction.  "That's the
offending article."

"So what do you remove?"  she asked, trying to concentrate on the
patient and not the feel of Robert's hand on hers.

"You," he emphasised softly, "will remove the loose fragment and trim
off the flapping section of the meniscus , cutting it back so that it
leaves a clean edge for the joint to ride on.  You need to make another
little incision here-' he indicated the position on the other side of
the knee "-and insert the tongs to remove that little chap before we
lose it again, and then we'll go back and trim in a moment."

He talked her through the incision, the insertion of the forceps and
removal of the little fragment of meniscus , and the trimming of the
tear and removal of the piece she had cut off.

"Fine.  Now I just want to tidy up that meniscus a little before we
finish," he murmured, and, taking the instruments with her hands still
on them, he guided her through a finer paring and grading of the
meniscus until he was happy with the end result.  "Excellent," he said
softly, and his warm breath teased against her cheek and did funny
things to her insides.

She could feel his chest against her shoulders, the firm muscles of his
arms bracketing hers, and knew that if she moved back a fraction their
bodies would touch from head to toe.

She moved the other way, conscious of the sheet lightning and the fact
that, despite having been given every opportunity last night, he had
walked away from a kiss.  She wasn't going to push him.  If he didn't
want to know, who was she to force the issue?

As he released her and moved sideways their bodies brushed, and she
heard a muttered oath as he turned away.

"Right, what's next?"  he asked, and as the anaesthetist reversed the
anaesthetic Robert strode out of the operating room, dropping the
swinging door behind him.

"What's eating him?"  the scrub nurse said to Frankie.

She could have told the girl, but she didn't think it was wise.  "I
have no idea," she offered harmlessly.

"Wife trouble again, I expect.  That woman is a right royal pain in the
tail."

Were there no secrets?  Frankie wondered.  First the man in the pub,
now the theatre nurse-did they all know his business?

"I couldn't say," she answered, and, peeling off her gloves and mask,
she followed him slowly out.  He was in the rest room.

"Coffee?"  he asked.

"Please."

She perched on a chair and took the proffered cup, then watched as he
dropped into another chair and sighed.

"Jane rang me last night.  She wants to come home this weekend and
bring a friend."

"That's nice."

He looked at her.  "I'm on call.  I had to say no.  I didn't think the
other girl's parents would approve of them being in the house
unattended for the whole weekend.  She's going to try and go to the
girl's instead.  '

"She'll enjoy that," Frankie told him, trying to cheer him up.

He shook his head.  "She feels rejected," he muttered.  "Small wonder.
Mother isn't fit to have her and I can't find time for her.  What a
mess."

"She surely realises you have to work?"

"Oh, yes.  It just always seems to get in the way between us."  He
stirred his coffee idly, then paused.  "Are you doing anything
tonight?"

She thought of her textbooks, then looked at his face, somehow
vulnerable despite the pride and defensiveness

"No, nothing important."

"Fancy supper?  Nothing elaborate, just a vegetable hot pot or
something, a little reward for being a clever girl-and I promise not to
make you wash up."

She chuckled, as she was meant to.  "Sounds good."

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

She shook her head.  "No, I can find my way."

"Eight?"

"Fine.  '

"You did a good job there, by the way.  Very neat."

She dragged her mind back to the operation she had just performed.
"It's quite tricky getting the hand-eye co-ordination right through the
screen."

"It's because the scale's different.  Your hand moves a fraction and
the picture changes drastically.  Also we aren't used to seeing out of
the ends of our fingers, and that's what you're talking about.  Still,
you did well, for a first attempt."

She grinned ruefully.  "You had to qualify that, didn't you?  You
couldn't just leave me with the "you did well", could you?"

"Wouldn't want you to get swollen-headed, Dr.  Bradley.  Now, about the
next case.  That's a bit more tricky."

More tricky?  she thought in panic.  "Are you doing it?"

He smiled.  "I think so.  It's an amputation for vascular degeneration
in a diabetic.  You can watch and learn.  '

"Thank God for that," she muttered under her breath, and, downing her
coffee, she followed him out of the room.

He was an excellent cook.  The hot pot was lovely, rich and tasty and
served with fresh broccoli and baby carrots The kitchen, moreover, was
immaculate, and there was no question of sitting in the drawing room.

He led her straight into the kitchen, sat her down at the table with a
glass of red wine then dished up on the side, plonking a huge plateful
down in front of her and seating himself opposite behind an equally
laden plate.

"Cheers," he said with a defiant grin, and she chuckled and clinked her
glass with his.

"Cheers yourself.  Jane would be so disappointed in you."

He chuckled.  "JJ needs a bit more formality in her life.  She'd be
happy to abandon it then."

As he had, Frankie thought, eyeing the casual bottle green cords and
comfy green and navy sweatshirt.  A far cry from the suit he wore for
clinics and ward rounds, and different again from the less elegant but
professional theatre pyjamas he wore for operating.  His shoes were
soft suede desert-boots, and she had a feeling that they would come off
given the slightest encouragement.

She had changed her image too, abandoning the severe "I'm a
professional, take me seriously" skirts and blouses in favour of a soft
knit dress that draped and swirled and made her feel feminine and
sensuous.  He hadn't commented on it, but she had felt his eyes on her
with a curious womanly pride, and had swirled just a little more than
was necessary.

She ate everything he put in front of her, sat tight as instructed
while he loaded the last few things into the dishwasher and put it on,
and then obediently followed him through into the snug family sitting
room with the wonderful chairs and the cosy wood burner and lovely
friendly ambience.

"Port?"  he offered, and she noticed that the bottle had been opened.

"A little one; I have to drive."

"Not yet, though.  I'll make some coffee in a bit.  Have a taste.  It's
wonderful; you'll enjoy it.  One of my juniors gave it to me for my
birthday-currying favour, or something.  Works, too; it's wonderful
stuff."

She laughed softly.  "I was doing no such thing; I'm not like that."

"I know.  You're too generous for your own good.  Here."  He handed her
a glass which she was glad to see only contained a small measure, and
raised his own.  "To a budding orthopaedic surgeon."

She raised her glass.  "To an excellent teacher."

Their eyes locked, and she sipped and choked.  He took the glass from
her, rubbed her back gently and then looked down into her swimming
eyes.  "OK?"

"Mmm," she croaked.  "Wrong way."

He smiled absently and dabbed her eyes with a tissue "Jane says you've
got lovely eyes," he murmured.

"Jane?"  Frankie said, her voice still squeaky.

"Mmm.  She's right-they are quite, quite beautiful..."

There was a long, tremulous pause and then he moved away with a tiny
sigh and handed her back her glass.

"Here.  Try again-carefully this time."

"I will."  She slipped off her shoes, curled up in the chair and
cautiously tasted the port.  "Oh, it is nice."

"I said it was.  You ought to believe me."  He sprawled out in the
other chair, long legs stretched out towards the warmth of the fire,
and sighed again.

"You sound tired," she said softly.

"Tired?  I suppose I am.  Weary, more.  I could do with a
break-something exciting.  A trip to Outer Mongolia or something."

"Outer Mongolia?"  she spluttered.  "In January?"

He grinned.  "Well, Bermuda, then.  I don't know.  Somewhere exotic."

"How about Center Parcs?"

"You too?"  he exclaimed.  "Are you all mad?  Jane keeps on about that
place-but anyway, the idea's fatally flawed.  I said exotic."

"Well, there's the subtropical swimming paradise that's pretty exotic
in January.  There's even a hot salt pool that goes outside and you can
swim in freezing rain in this wonderful hot, salty water.  It's
amazing.  Jane's right-you'd love it."

"Hardly.  She might but I need the break," he groaned.

"So does Jane," Frankie argued, warming to her theme.  "She's had
practically no time with you.  It would be real quality time."

"In January?"  His voice was loaded with scepticism.

"It's wonderful.  I went last year in November with a group of friends
and it was absolutely fantastic.  We had so much fun."

"I'm unconvinced."

She grinned.  "You would be.  It's a sign of old age.  How old were you
last Friday?"

He glared at her.  "Thirty-five.  That is not old."

"Too old to ride a bike, though."

He bristled visibly.  "I am not too old to ride a bike!"

"Or go down a water-chute?"

He closed his eyes.  "I can't bear it."

"You'd love it.  Go on, ring up and ask about it.  Get a brochure."

"I don't want to go," he persisted.

She played her trump card.  "You owe it to Jane."

His eyes opened and locked with hers.  "Damn you, Frances Bradley, that
is a low, sneaky trick."

She grinned.  "Go on, then.  Ring up tomorrow."

"If you think it's such a damn good idea, why don't you come with
us?"

She searched his face.  "Is that an invitation?"  she ventured
finally.

He let his breath out on a rueful sigh.  "I do believe it might be," he
agreed.

She couldn't keep the smile in to save her life.  "You won't regret
it," she promised him fervently.  "You'll have the time of your
life."

His disbelieving snort was her only reply.

For eight years Robert had lived a solitary, tidy existence ,
unencumbered by romantic entanglements and the tender threads of
love.

Now he found himself inviting a beautiful woman who played havoc with
his blood pressure along on a weekend break with him and his
daughter!

"I must be mad," he muttered, watching the tail-lights of Frankie's car
disappearing down the drive.  He had refused to kiss her
goodnight-well, nothing more than a brush on the lips that had hardly
lingered for more than a heartbeat-but even so the sparks were flying
and his pulse was racing.

Sheet-lightning?  Nothing so innocuous.  It was like having a couple of
pounds of Semtex in his trousers, and just now it felt as if it was
about to go off.

A whole weekend of fun and frolics?  He was going to have to watch her
sashaying about in a tiny swimsuit the way she had in that delectable
and very, very sexy dress, and keep his reaction firmly under control
or die of embarrassment.

He supposed he could always spend the whole weekend in the cold-plunge
pool...

CHAPTER FIVE

"So, How does it feel?"  Robert asked.

"Oh, sore."  Paul Redhill gave them a wry smile.  "I wonder if it was
actually that bad."

"It was," Robert assured him.  "The tear was quite significant, and we
removed a piece which had detached and was causing the locking.  You
should find it a great deal better in a day or two.  What pain
medication is he on?"  he asked, turning to Frankie.

"He's had pethidine overnight and he's on to slow release
dihydrocodeine and paracetamol now."

Robert nodded.  "You should find that the pain wears off during the
next day or two, but you must rest and take it very easy for a few
days, then come back for a check-up this time next week and we'll go
from there.  Hopefully you'll be back at work in a fortnight, and it'll
be as good as new in about six weeks.  Sister O'Brien will make you an
appointment, and then you can go home."

They left his bedside and moved on, going to see Joseph Lee, the man
with the old non-union of the tibia who had been knocked down in the
early hours of New Year's Day on his way home from a party.  His leg
was making very slow progress, but the swelling had gone down, the
wounds were closed and his foot was well-Robert's primary concern.

"How long will it be before we know if the bone will knit?"  Mr.  Lee
asked them.

"I don't know," Robert told him honestly.  "Sometimes the process is
very slow.  We'll X-ray it again today and see how it looks at the
moment, make sure the bones are well aligned and the fixators are doing
their job properly, then well just keep a steady eye on it.  Tell me,"
he said, "why wasn't the previous fracture followed up to make sure it
had healed?"

"Well, it was and it wasn't," he confessed.  "I should have gone back-I
knew there was something not quite right, but I thought with time it
would sort itself out."

He laughed.  "Of course it didn't, but we moved and it meant seeing a
new doctor, and so long as I used the crutches all the time it didn't
really trouble me if I was careful, and I couldn't afford to take time
off work.  I'm self-employed, a clock-mender, setting up in business in
a new place, and the wife's not well we need the money.

"Still, it's out of my hands now, so maybe this time I'll get it sorted
out.  Of course we'll get quite a hefty whack from the driver's
insurance, so I won't lose out."  He sighed.  "Trouble is, of course,
these things take time and in the meantime we've got nothing coming
in."

"Is that a problem?"  Robert asked.

"Well, it will be soon-and there's no one to look after my wife."

"I'll get Sister O'Brien to contact the social services people.  They
have contingency plans for this sort of thing, so I'm sure they'll be
able to help you in the short term.  Have a word, anyway.  And I think
you could probably go home at the end of the week, provided you promise
faithfully to use your crutches without fail, rest the leg if it hurts
and don't do too much.  Do you work sitting down?"

"At a bench, yes."

"Could you prop the leg up?"

He smiled.  "That's what I've been doing."

"Then I don't see any reason why you can't continue.  I'll sort out the
paperwork and you can go home on Friday provided today's X-rays are all
right," he told him.

Mr.  Lee smiled, hugely relieved.  "Thanks, Doc.  That's such a weight
off my mind."

"You come back, though, for your check-ups," he said warningly.

"I will-thanks."

They moved on, Robert prompting Frankie to sort out the X-rays of Mr.
Lee's leg and discussing their next patient-young Darren Hawkes who had
been knocked off his bike on New Year's Day and damaged his ankle.

"His foot seems to be recovering reasonably well, but he'll need skin
grafts.  I'll get him back to Theatre later today, I think, and we'll
put a partial-thickness graft on.  It's too extensive for a
full-thickness."

"It seems to have stabilised well," Frankie said as they approached the
bed.  "The wound looks much cleaner than I thought it would."

"That's because we cleaned it out properly," Robert reminded her.

"Even though I took too long?"

He grinned.  "You can't take too long doing a job like that.  It takes
as long as it takes.  You did the right thing."

More praise!  Heavens, if he went on like this she'd end up with a
permanent job, Frankie thought with a little mental chuckle.  Wonders
would never cease.

She spent her short lunch-break reading up about skin grafts, so by the
time they went into Theatre that afternoon with Darren Hawkes she was
well up on it.  Theory and practice, though, she was to discover, were
light years apart, and the dermatome-the tool used for harvesting the
sliver of skin-simply refused to cooperate.

After her second attempt Robert took over, running the dermatome firmly
and evenly over the donor site on the patient's abdomen and then using
a special device to cut the skin all over into a sort of mesh, so that
when he placed the first graft over the damaged tissues of the ankle it
covered a far greater area than it otherwise would.  "Right, now try
again," he told her.

Again she struggled, but this time with rather more success, and she
laid the second strip of skin beside the first with great
satisfaction.

"Better.  One more should do it.  Use the other side of his abdomen,"
he instructed.

She struggled again but this piece was less cooperative and by the time
the ankle was covered in a mesh of new skin and the graft firmly
bandaged on to encourage the skin to take she was hot, frustrated and
not very satisfied with her performance.

She left the room, threw her gown and gloves into the bin and gave a
sharp sigh of disgust.

"Well done," Robert said from behind her.

"Well done'?  What was he talking about?  She shot him a disbelieving
look and he smiled.

"It isn't easy.  You did fine for a first attempt.  You'll get better.
Anyway, skin's remarkably forgiving.  It has this wonderful ability to
heal."

"Good job," she muttered, and, pouring herself a cup of coffee, she
dropped into a chair and sighed again.

"Hey, chin up" he murmured.  "You're too hard on yourself.  '

"I'm a perfectionist," she said tightly.  "He'll have scars."

"Inevitably.  That's hardly your fault, though."

"They'll be worse than they need have been."

"No, they won't.  It will heal up and look fine-you'll see.  OK, it'll
be scarred, but not because of anything you've done.  Possibly a
plastic surgeon could have done a better job, but we're talking about
functional use of the limb and reasonable cosmetic result, not entry to
Mr.  Universe."

She gave a rueful laugh.  "OK, but I still think I could have done it
better."

"Maybe with practice.  You need to learn that it's all right to be only
almost perfect some of the time.  A little healthy criticism every now
and then is fine, but you need to allow yourself your successes as
well."

She gave him a withering look.  "That was not a success."

"Of course it was.  Most of those grafts were fine."

"But not all."

"No.  Surgery's like that.  It was the skin and not you that was the
problem with the last graft.

"By the way, Jane rang.  Her friend's got chicken pox and has gone
home, and so she's coming back here for the weekend on her own."

Frankie watched him for a moment, struggling with his conscience, and
then baled him out.  "I'd offer to cover for you here, but I don't
think I can yet.  If you like I'll take her shopping on Saturday.  I
could do with a bit of retail therapy after this week."

He chuckled.  "Just bear in mind I have a limited budget."

"Oh, so do I," she said drily.  "I'll teach her to hunt up bargains and
make them look expensive.  Anyway, with that gorgeous willowy figure
she could wear rags and look extravagant."

"Hmm," he murmured.  "Just like someone else I know."

"Oh, no," she demurred instantly and without thought.  "My bust's too
big."

"Not for me," he said softly, and she felt the warmth of his approval
flood her body in a sensuous tide.

Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away, unable to meet
those hot, hungry eyes.  He swore softly under his breath and then
apologised.

"I didn't mean to get personal," he muttered.  "I'm sorry."

She allowed a soft, womanly smile to brush her lips.  "Don't be.  I'll
take it as a compliment.  Now, the next case-you or me?"

"Me, I think.  Maybe.concentrating on a patient will take my mind off
you.  How the hell you manage to look sexy in those ridiculous pyjamas
I can't imagine, but you do, and it plays havoc with my blood
pressure."

And she had thought he was unaware of her!  Her feminine pride
blossomed.  "I'll keep very quiet," she promised.

He snorted.  "I doubt it.  It's not in your nature.  I expect you were
born asking questions."

She giggled.  "Me?  I expect I was.  I know they were all fed up with
me by the time I went to school, and then it got worse because I kept
asking questions about what I'd done that day.  They'd had enough by
the time I was eleven, and when I got a scholarship they sent me to
boarding school to drive the teachers mad!"

"I'm sure you did," he said drily, but his eyes were laughing and for
once the bleak loneliness was missing.  Frankie felt her heart surge
with-what?  Love?  Dear God, it felt very like it.  It was certainly
more than the simple urge to rescue lame ducks that she'd had since she
was tiny.

That was the other thing that had driven her family mad, she recalled.
Were her feelings for Robert just an extension of that, or something
more, something deeper and more significant?

"Penny for them."

"No fear."  She stood up.  "Come on, then, let's go and look at the
case-notes and X-rays, and you can talk me through it while I try not
to ask too many questions.  '

The rest of that week provided her with plenty of opportunities to
ponder on her feelings for Robert.  For whatever reason, he had taken
her under his wing, working with her almost all the time.  She knew it
must mean that he dealt with paperwork in the evenings instead of the
day, and often when she passed his office in the evening she would find
the light on.

Sometimes he would come up to the ward and discuss a case with her, or
oversee her admission of new patients and go over the plates with
her.

All of it, she knew, was above and beyond the call of duty and she
couldn't work out the reason for it.  Either he didn't trust her an
inch, and from his praise that seemed unlikely, or else he was just
finding excuses to be near her.

She found that possibility nearly as unlikely as the first, but bearing
in mind his admission that he found her sexy in theatre pyjamas, and
bearing in mind also the look in his eyes every time he nearly but not
quite kissed her, she thought it the most likely option.

In which case, she realised, it was quite likely that they would end up
having an affair, and since she didn't believe in leaving matters like
that to chance she enrolled with a GP and went on the Pill.  The last
thing he needed, she reasoned, was another child conceived out of
wedlock.

On Friday morning they had a routine fracture clinic, and for once he
left her alone, taking the other half of the patients for himself and
working in a separate room.  Nevertheless he was there in the event of
a problem, and when one patient came in shortly before the end of the
clinic she was glad he was about.

She watched the patient limp towards her and had a sudden, gut feeling
that she would need Robert, even before she went any further.  The man
was young, about her age or a little younger, and from his appearance
she realised that he was one of life's unfortunates.  His clothes were
ragged, his eyes empty, and apart from the relatively clean plaster
cast on his right wrist he was filthy.

She glanced at his notes, and saw under the section for his address
"NFA'-no fixed abode.  It figured.  He had the helpless, wary look of
the homeless, defensive and yet so vulnerable.

She gave him a welcoming smile.  "Come in, Mr.  Pate.  I gather you
slipped on the ice and broke your wrist yesterday-how is it feeling?"

"All right, really.  Bit sore off and on."

"I'm sure.  Can you move your fingers for me?"

"Sort of-it hurts a bit."

"That's fine."  She turned the wrist over and examined the outside of
the fracture site for swelling, while her mind toyed with the disparity
between Mr.  Pate's relatively cultured voice and his appearance and
lack of address.  What twist of fate had brought him to this point in
his life?  she wondered.

She laid his hand gently down on the couch and smiled at him.  "Good,
that's lovely.  Right, well, as it doesn't seem to be too swollen I
think you can have the proper plaster on it now and then we'll see you
again in a couple of weeks.  You were lucky; it's only a hairline
crack."  She glanced at the notes.  "I see your leg isn't mentioned in
the notes.  Did you hurt it at the same time?"

He looked surprised.  "My leg?  No, that was years ago.  I got in a
brawl and someone kicked me, and well , it's never really been right
since."

She frowned.  "Have you seen a doctor about it?"

He snorted.  "They won't make house calls where I have to live,
Doctor."

"Where are you living at the moment?"  she probed gently.

"In an old warehouse by the river.  Not for long, though.  The
developers are coming in in a few weeks and turning it into bijou
little apartments for would-be yuppies.  '

She was startled yet again by his voice and turn of phrase.  He was
clearly educated, and yet living rough.  What had gone wrong?

"How about enrolling with a GP?"  she asked, trying to stick to the
point.

He snorted.  "They don't like it when we go in.  I tried to see one
once, and the receptionist turned me away.  Said I smelt.  She'd bloody
well smell if she lived where I do."

Frankie, who had been trying not to notice the smell, changed the
subject back to his leg.  "So, what's the problem with your leg?"  she
asked.

"Well, it sort of oozes-stinking stuff-and sometimes little splinters
come out-I think it's bone but I'm not sure.  Odd, really."

Very odd.  Frankie asked him to slip his trousers off and climb on the
couch, and when she looked at his shin she was horrified.  It was a
textbook case of chronic osteomyelitis, with a discharging sinus and
probably a large chunk of dead bone inside, trapped within a new layer
of living bone that was desperately trying to evict the dead matter.

"I think we need some X-rays of that, and then we'll have a word with
the consultant, I think, Mr.  Pate.  I'll get a porter to take you
through to X-Ray in a chair.  Hang on.  '

She sorted out the X-ray requests, sent him off for the pictures and,
with a quick spray of air freshener, called in the next patient, dealt
with what turned out to be a very straightforward eight-week check on a
broken arm and sent the patient away cast less and content.

If only they were all so easy, she thought, and, collecting the X-rays
from the clip on the wall, she took them through into her room and
examined them.  There, sure enough, was a clearly visible lump of dead
bone inside a rather ragged-looking tibia.

"Bingo," she said in satisfaction, and, tugging the plates off the
light box, she went through to Robert just as he was finishing with a
patient.

"Can I show you this?"  she asked, and snapped them up onto his light
box.

"Good Lord.  Chronic osteomyelitis.  Have you been raiding the
archives?"

She smiled.  "No-twenty-six-year-old patient, no fixed abode, with
history of a kick to the leg some years ago, no medical attention, says
it oozes and sometimes bits of bone come out."

"Lovely."

"It is.  You'd better see it; it's way beyond my experience."

He laughed.  "Mine too, I expect."

He followed her back, examined the leg carefully and then stood back,
arms folded, and stared at the young man.  "It must be sore," he
said.

"It hurts more sometimes than others.  The cold is pretty grim."

"Well, I think we ought to deal with it fairly promptly.  Is there any
reason why you can't come into hospital now?"

He looked stunned.  "For the leg?"

"Yes.  You have a condition where the bone has been injured-by a kick
in your case-and because it bleeds round under the membrane that covers
the bone that section of bone dies.  The membrane then makes a new bone
over the top, but the dead bone is trapped inside.  Your new bone is
trying to get rid of it, hence the discharge from the hole on your shin
and the bits of bone that come out.

"Unfortunately it'll take more than your lifetime to get the rest of
that bone out, so what we need to do is open it up, remove the dead and
diseased bone, clear up the infection and once it's all free of bugs we
can put a bone graft back in from another part of your body-your hip,
for example-and then hopefully it will heal up properly and you'll be
able to walk again without pain, and certainly without a leaky, smelly
hole in your leg."

"However long does that take?"  he asked with a little frown.

"Possibly three months?  You'll have to be on the antibiotics for
longer-maybe even up to a year, to be on the safe side.  '

He shook his head.  "And I thought it was just a bit of a nuisance.  I
never realised all that was going on inside."  He gave a little
chuckle.  "Oh, well, I suppose it gets me a warm bed for the rest of
the winter.  Can't be all bad, eh?"

Frankie laughed softly.  "The lengths some people will go to.  I'll
need some blood from you for culture so we can find the germ that's
causing it, and then we need to start the drug treatment, I imagine."

She looked to Robert for advice and he nodded.  "I think ampicillin and
flucoxacillin, both 500 mg four times a day, but not until we've got
the blood safely out and in the lab, because I'd hate to be treating
the wrong thing.  You could also take a swab of the sinus and see what
the pus contains.  OK?  If you admit Mr.  Pate now I'll see him on the
ward this afternoon."

"Uh-could I go back to my place and pick up my things?  There's not
much, but it's all I've got.  I'd like to hang onto it if I could."

"How long will it take you?"  Robert asked.

He shrugged.  "Two hours?"

Robert nodded.  "Fine.  Go and sort yourself out while we get your
admission all organised and then come back into the orthopaedic ward as
soon as you're ready.

"Oh, Dr.  Bradley, take the blood first, and the swabs, so the lab can
get them under way-then I think a case conference over lunch, OK?"

She nodded, unsure whether he wanted the lunch or the case conference,
and unsure whether even he knew.  "I'll see you in the canteen in a few
minutes," she told him, and then turned back to her patient.  "Now, if
you could roll up your left sleeve for me I'll do my leech bit and
we'll get a swab off that leg, and then you can go.  We'll put the
fresh cast on your arm when you're back in-we can do that on the ward.
That's lovely."

She drew up the blood, labelled the bottles and sent them off with a
porter then made her way down to the canteen.  Robert was there
waiting, and greeted her with a wave.  She made her way over to his
table and found a selection of filled rolls and two cups of coffee.

"Is this OK?"

"Sure-what's the case conference about?"

He gave a wry grin.  "Did I say anything about a case conference?  I
just wanted to see you before tomorrow, to sort out what's happening.
We're on take, and I wanted to make sure you're happy about covering
tonight while I go and fetch Jane from school in Cambridge.  I'll be
gone about two hours."

"I should think so-is David about?"

"Unfortunately not.  He should have been, but his father's ill and he
wanted to go home for the weekend.  I knew you and Jane would want to
do girly things all weekend, so I thought I might as well work.  Oh,
and by the way, I've booked Center Parcs for next weekend.  We're both
off duty-or we are now.  The other firm's on take, and Nick Davidson
can cover any problems with our patients.  Is that OK?"

She thought of the whole weekend spent with him and Jane, laughing and
having fun and doing things together like a family, and a huge well of
happiness surged up inside her.  "Sounds wonderful," she told him, and
she didn't care if her eyes were shining and her heart was on her
sleeve.

For a long moment he stared at her, his mouth opening as if he was
going to say something, and then he closed it and with a visible effort
looked away.  "Eat up," he said with forced cheer.  "You've got a ward
full of patients waiting to go home and a whole lot more all ready to
break something and come in.  You need your strength.  '

He pushed the plate towards her and she took a roll, sinking her teeth
into it and wondering when they were going to get onto this wonderful,
exciting roller coaster that beckoned.  Because one thing was for sure,
it couldn't be long... The night was longer than she would have thought
possible.

She was up for half of it, covering emergencies and little
run-of-the-mill problems like patients who couldn't sleep and post-op
pain relief that wasn't working adequately, and by Saturday morning she
was feeling tired, frayed and more than ready to hand over the bleeper
to Robert and run.

Romance was the last thing on her mind, and when she drove up outside
his house she was feeling less than her best.  However, Jane came out
and wandered over, looking awkward, and so with a dredged-up smile she
climbed out of the car, slammed the door and walked briskly towards the
girl.

"Ready for the major shopping trip of the century?"  she said with a
grin.

"Do you really want to take me?"  Jane ventured tentatively.

Frankie shot her a look.  "Actually I was thinking more in terms of
going with you rather than taking you.  I want to try some new things
on, and it's so difficult without someone to tell you if things work
for you.  I don't suppose I'm exactly your idea of fun, but I could
certainly use some advice if you wouldn't mind, and I'm happy to return
the favour."

Jane gave her a shy smile.  "I don't mind at all, and I've got hardly
any clothes that fit because I've grown miles this year."  She pulled a
face.  "Dad says I'm not to bankrupt him."

Frankie chuckled.  "Don't worry, we'll be sensible.  Is he inside?"

"Yes-eating breakfast.  He didn't sleep very well.  He said to offer
you a coffee before I dragged you off to town.  '

"Sounds good."  She followed Jane inside, and found Robert slumped over
the kitchen table reading the paper, a steaming mug of coffee in his
hand.

He looked up as they went in and searched her face.  "Hi.  How was it?
You didn't call me."

She laughed.  "Is that why you had a bad night wondering if the phone
was out of order?  I didn't call because I didn't need to."

"A likely story.  Jane, go and do your homework for a little while,
darling, please.  Coffee?"

"Lovely."  She sat down at the table, turned the paper round and
scanned it idly.

"I was reading that," he complained, turning it back again, and then
folded it up and grimaced at her.  "If you must know I spent the night
worrying about whether you would cope."

She shook her head reproachfully.  "I would have rung you, you know
that.  I don't do things I can't cope with."

"Nor do I-which is why it's you and not me taking Jane shopping!"  He
eyed her thoughtfully.  "Frankie, are you sure you want to do this?"

She laughed.  "Why is it that men hate shopping so much they can't
imagine anyone doing it for fun?"

"Fun?"  He shuddered.  "You must be mad.  However, don't let me put you
off, because she desperately needs new things.  Here-' he handed her a
wad of notes -that should start you off.  If you run out, here's my
cash point card.  If I tell you the number will you remember it?"

She stared at him in amazement.  "You're very trusting."

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Don't be silly.  Write it on my arm.  I'd hate my defective memory to
curtail Jane's fun!"

He rolled his eyes and wrote the number on her forearm in ballpoint
pen.  "While you're in the shops, can you get her some new underwear?
She's growing up so fast I'm sure it won't still fit, but it's not
really something I can ask her."

"Don't worry," she said with a reassuring smile.  "I'll sort her out.
Leave it with me-and I promise not to bankrupt you.  '

In the event she didn't-not quite!  Jane tried on garment after
garment, with Frankie ruthlessly rejecting things that didn't suit her
or looked cheap or were inferior quality, weeding out the things that
would be difficult to look after, until in the end they had a basic
wardrobe of good, easy-care casual clothes that suited her tall,
slender frame and still allowed for expansion in necessary areas.

On that subject they found some pretty bras with more support than her
first ones, now hopelessly outgrown, and some matching lace-trimmed
briefs that made more allowance for the gentle swell of her hips.

They finished off with a pair of boots and some trainers, and then Jane
looked expectantly at Frankie.  "Your turn," she said with a grin.

Frankie groaned.  "Let's have a cup of tea first.  It's hours since
lunch."

It wasn't, but the previous night was taking its toll and her legs were
aching, her head was throbbing and she really didn't feel like worrying
about herself.  The tea refreshed her, though, and as they wandered
back through the shopping mall a dress caught her eye.

"That would suit you," Jane said immediately, pointing out the same
dress.

It was very simple, a long-sleeved, figure-skimming jersey knit made of
pure silk nubbly but unbelievably soft and comfortable, in a lovely
smoky green that warmed her complexion and did wonderful things to her
hair.

She pulled it on then stood back.

"Oh, wow," Jane said breathlessly.

Frankie turned sideways and eyed herself critically.  Too busty, she
thought, and then remembered Robert's remark.  "Not for me," he'd said,
and she felt the glow of his approval all over again.

"I'll have it," she decided, and didn't even wince at the price.  It
would be worth it just to see that look in his eyes again.

"Right, young lady, I've had enough," she announced once she'd paid,
and, gathering up all their parcels, they made their way back to the
car.

Robert arrived back just as they did and helped them with the bags,
groaning dramatically.  "Do I need to go and rob a bank?"  he asked
Frankie, with a wince, and she laughed.

"Absolutely not.  I didn't need your cash point card, and you've even
got some change."

He looked astonished.  "I have?  Good God.  Let's see everything
then."

Jane ushered them into the kitchen, took the parcels one at a time into
the sitting room next door and treated them to a fashion show.

Robert's face was a sea of emotions-pride, love and a certain confusion
that his little girl could have grown up so much so fast.

"She looks beautiful," he said softly to Frankie.

"She is beautiful, when she hasn't got that stroppy, defensive look on.
We've had a really lovely day, haven't we, Jane?"  she said as the girl
came back in, dressed in her new leggings and long, stripey cotton
cardigan.

"Brilliant.  What's for supper?  I'm starving."

Robert gave a rueful grin.  "I guess she is hungry, doing all that
growing.  What's in these bags?"

"Oh, undies," Jane said, snatching up her last two bags.  "That's
Frankie's.  Frankie, go and put it on and give us a twirl."

"Oh, no; you don't want to see it."

"Yes, we do," they chorused.

She went, because it would have created more fuss not to, and tugged
the dress on, dragging her trembling fingers through her hair to
restore it to some semblance of order, then, swamped with a sudden
attack of nerves, she went back into the kitchen.

"There," Jane said with pride, "Doesn't she look wonderful?"

Robert was silent for a moment, then he told her to turn round.  His
voice was husky, and after she had done a slow twirl she met his
eyes.

It was a wonder she didn't catch fire.

"Well?"  Jane persisted.  "Doesn't she look gorgeous?  Dad, say
something."

He cleared his throat "Beautiful," he rasped, and cleared his throat
again.  "I think it deserves an occasion," he said, his voice almost
back to normal.  "David's back-his father's all right-so he's covering
the rest of the weekend.  Stay for dinner.  Let me cook for you, to
thank you for taking Jane to town and just so you've got an excuse to
keep the dress on."

Frankie's shyness evaporated, driven out by the warmth in his eyes and
the slow beat of desire in her veins.

"Thank you," she murmured, and her own voice was slightly husky,
echoing with countless generations of a need as old as time.

"So are you staying?"  Jane asked.

"Yes, she is," Robert answered, his eyes still fixed on Frankie's.

"Great."  His daughter,.  oblivious to the tension running between
them, picked up the bags and stuffed them in the bin, gathered up her
clothes and ran lightly upstairs, humming softly.  Seconds later they
heard music flooding from her room, and a door banged shut in the
distance.

Their eyes still locked, Robert murmured, "I want to kiss you, but I
daren't because I won't be able to stop."

Frankie smiled tauntingly.  "You'd better not, then, had you?"

"No, I'd better not-not yet."

He didn't, not for hours, not until Jane was long in bed and Frankie
stood up to go.  Then he did, moving until she was just touching him,
his hands finding hers and clasping them lightly, his mouth lowering to
settle against hers like the wing of a moth.

"I want you," he sighed against her lips, and her breath locked in her
throat.  Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and brushed his,
and with a ragged groan he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her
as if he were dying and she were the only cure.

She felt his hands settle on her hips, easing her closer, and then one
hand slid up to cup the fullness of her breast.  A groan rose in his
throat and his fingers tightened slightly on the tender, swollen flesh
that ached for his touch.

She leant into him, feeling the hard thrust of his desire and the
shaking need that racked him, and her body ached to know him, to tear
away the clothes that separated them and lie naked against him.  She
wanted the contrast between her smooth softness and the hard, taut
lines of his body, wanted to feel her tender, dewy skin and the
hair-roughened texture of his scraping gently against each other,
dragging her relentlessly towards fulfilment.

Then they heard a door bang upstairs, and with a ragged sigh Robert
released her and stepped back.

"I didn't mean to do that," he said rawly.  "I wasn't going to touch
you."

She reached out and laid her fingers against his jaw, loving the feel
of the harsh stubble against her skin.  "I'm glad you did," she
whispered.

"So am I."  He turned his mouth into her hand and kissed it, then
folded her fingers over the kiss to trap it inside.  "Go home,
Cinderella, before I ravish you and you turn into a pumpkin."

She laughed softly.  "I think you've got your pantomime in a muddle."

"I don't wonder," he murmured, rueful laughter brushing his eyes.  "Go
on, Frankie.  Go home while I'm still prepared to let you."

She went, and all the way back to the hospital she could feel the warm
imprint of his hand against her breast, and she held the kiss in her
palm until she fell asleep...

CHAPTER SIX

FRANKIE spent the whole of Sunday trying to forget about that kiss and
reading everything she could find about chronic osteomyelitis-partly so
that she would know as much as possible about it before Jim Pate's
surgery on Monday, and partly to take her mind off Robert.

She'd hung the new dress at the back of the wardrobe -out of sight, out
of mind, she reasoned-and, dressed in old leggings and a scruffy
sweatshirt, she curled up on the bed with a heap of books and drifted
in and out of fantasy for most of the afternoon.

Finally, despairing of herself, she went for a walk in the park near
the hospital.  It was a lovely afternoon, if rather cold, and she came
back refreshed and ready to tackle the books with more enthusiasm.

There was a note under her door.  "Taking J. J. back to
Cambridge-wondered if you wanted to come along for the ride.  Phone
before six.  R."

It was ten past five, and she chewed her lip and agonised for all of
five seconds before ringing him.  "Sounds wonderful-I was reading about
osteomyelitis, but you can tell me all about it instead on the way
back," she said with a laugh.

"Sounds riveting," he replied drily.  "We'll pick you up in about an
hour, OK?"

"Fine.  I'll see you then."

"Oh, and Frankie?  Wear something sexless."

She chuckled and put down the phone.  Well, you couldn't get more
sexless than her tatty leggings and thousand-year-old sweatshirt top,
she thought, so just before six she brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth
and found some shoes, then wandered out into the corridor.

Gavin Jones, the surgical registrar who had invited her out on the
night of Robert's birthday, came out of the kitchen opposite and fell
into step beside her.  "Hi," he said with a grin.  "How's it going?"

"I'm still alive," she said with a laugh.  "Still on trial the worst is
yet to come.  We've got a chap in with chronic osteomyelitis-and
apparently I get the pleasure," she added drily.

He chuckled.  "Lucky you.  Oh, well, you could be sitting in a grotty
bed sit on social security."

"Yes, and if I foul it up I may well be yet!"

They laughed together, and as they rounded the corner they nearly
bumped into Robert coming towards them.

"Oh, hi," she said with a smile, the laughter still in her voice, and
then she saw his eyes, stormy and distant , and her smile slipped.

Gavin took one look at Robert's face and with a wave and a quick, "I'll
see you around, Frankie," he carried on, leaving her with a glowering
Robert.

She turned to him.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he retorted crisply.  "Are you ready?"

"Yes-if I'm OK like this?"

"Fine," he replied.  He didn't even look at her.

Well, she thought, what on earth is eating him?  Another row with
Jackie, perhaps?  Or was Jane being awkward?  Whatever, he wasn't going
to be very good company all the way to Cambridge and back!

As they reached the door she put her hand on his arm and stopped him.
"Robert, are you sure you want me to come?"

"Don't you want to?"  he asked shortly.

"Of course I want to-more to the point, I thought you wanted me to.  I
just wondered if you'd thought better of it.  You don't seem very
pleased to see me."

He looked at her then, his eyes still angry, and with a rough sigh he
thrust his hands through his hair.  "I'm sorry.  Actually I was
wondering if you still wanted to come, or if you'd rather spend the
evening with your friend.  '

"Gavin?"  she said with a little frown.  "No, of course not- Robert,
are you jealous?"

He looked uncomfortable.  "Don't be silly.  Why should I be jealous?"

She smiled gently.  "Because you don't want anybody else kissing me.
the way you did last night?"  she murmured.  He swore softly.  "Damn
it, Frankie, did you have to bring that up?"  he growled.

She laughed, a little bubble of delight, and laid her hand on his arm.
"Come on, let's go," she coaxed, and with a sigh he turned back towards
the door and led her over to his car.

She sat in the back, letting Jane have her father to herself for the
journey there.  There would be plenty of time for them to sit together
on the return journey, and anyway, from her position in the corner of
the back seat she could watch him as he talked to Jane.

So he was jealous, she mused, and a centuries-old woman's smile curved
her lips.  How satisfying-not that there was anything to be jealous
about, but at least it indicated a certain level of interest.  She
settled back and enjoyed the journey, and after he had taken

Jane into school and settled Frankie in the front seat he slid behind
the wheel, started the car and set off for home.

He said very little, and Frankie was quite happy listening to the music
he put on.  Then the tape finished ; and started again, and he flicked
it out and handed it to her.  "Find something else," he suggested, and
she looked through the pile in the glove compartment and came up with a
compilation album of love songs.  Jane's, she thought, because they
contrasted oddly with the rest of the collection.

She slipped the tape in, and they were instantly surrounded by soft,
evocative music, husky voices and pleading words.

He shot her a questioning glance and she smiled, her face illuminated
for a moment by the light spilling from the glove compartment until she
closed it with a gentle snap.

"Damn it, Frankie, it's hard enough having to sit next to you looking
like that without being surrounded by people crooning about loving and
touching and God knows what," he growled softly.

"Looking like what?"  she said in surprise.  "I'm wearing ancient
leggings and a sweatshirt that probably belonged to Mrs.  Noah!"

He sighed.  "You have no idea, have you, what you do to me?  How I feel
watching your body sway softly, the tempting thrust of your breasts,
the little nubs of your nipples just crying out for the feel of my
hand?"  His voice was husky, rippling over her nerve-endings and
leaving them exposed and trembling.

He held out his hand and she took it, pressing her lips to his palm
before laying it flat against her thigh.  He groaned and swerved,
snatching his hand back and pulling off the road at the first
junction.

They shot down a lane, off up another and finally he pulled over under
a little group of trees and cut the engine.  With a muffled curse he
unfastened his seat belt and reached for her, his arms going round her
and drawing her up against his chest as his mouth came down and locked
with hers in a kiss that shook her to the centre of her being.  Then it
eased and became gentle, oh, so gentle, little sips and brushes and
nibbles that made her whimper for more.

His hand, warm and firm, slid under her sweatshirt and found the catch
of her bra, then the unbound fullness of her breasts spilled into his
palm and he groaned aloud.

His mouth left hers, laying soft, moist kisses against the skin of her
throat, down in the soft hollow where her pulse fluttered like a little
bird, and then down again until she felt the tormenting flick of his
tongue against her aching nipple.

With a little cry she arched against him and his mouth closed over her,
drawing the tender nub into his mouth and sucking deeply.

She could have wept.  Instead she bit her lip and cradled his head
tenderly in her hands.  Desire and love flooded through her, leaving
her weak and vulnerable, aching for more.  He shifted his attention to
the other breast, caressing it with his tongue, his breath hot and yet
cooling against the moist skin.

A little sob escaped her and he raised his head, his mouth returning to
hers with a desperate hunger that matched her own.  Then finally, when
she was almost sobbing with need, he drew away and cradled her face in
his hands, his thumbs soothing her fevered cheeks.  "Shh," he murmured,
and, folding her against his heart, he held her until the fever cooled
and she could breathe again.

Then he moved away, started the engine and drove off, going back to the
main road.  He said nothing, and for a while she thought he was taking
her back to his house, but then he headed for the town centre and the
hospital, and she felt a wash of relief amidst the frustration.

He pulled up in the car park, turned off the engine and then sat in
silence for a moment before turning to her.  "Frankie, you know where
this is leading, don't you?"  he murmured.

She reached out and took his hand.  "Yes, I know."

His eyes searched hers by the dim glow of the lighting along the
pavements.  "I don't want to rush into anything," he told her.  "I
don't think it's a good idea to mix work and home, but we seem to have
done that since the first day."

He looked away, his hand turning over in hers and caressing her
fingers.  "I need you, Frankie.  I haven't felt like this for years, if
ever.  I don't want to rush it, hurry things and spoil it.  I also want
you and Jane to get to know each other, because whatever happens we're
a package deal."

She slipped her hand out of his and touched his face.  "I know that,
Robert.  Don't worry.  We'll take it as it comes.  Just be honest with
me-whatever you feel, tell me.  Even if we end up going nowhere, let's
have the truth between us."

Their eyes locked for an age, then she leant over and dropped a gentle
kiss on his lips.  "I'll see you in the morning," she murmured, and,
getting out of the car, she headed for the hospital entrance without a
backward glance.  At the door she turned and lifted a hand, and his
lights flashed on and off and he started the engine and drove away.

She went back to her room, passing Gavin again on the way in.

"Is everything all right?"  he asked her.

She smiled, unable to stop herself.  "Yes, of course."

"I just wondered-he looked pretty mad with you."

"No-actually he was mad with someone else," she told him, but didn't
add that it was him.

"Just thought I'd check-wouldn't want you to end up dead in a ditch
somewhere without anybody caring," he said with a laugh.  "I'll see
you, Frankie.  Take care."

"I Will."

She let herself into her room and closed the door, then caught sight of
herself in the mirror.  Her hair was mussed and her lips looked-well,
kissed.  She laughed, and wondered fleetingly what Gavin must have
thought.  Then the smile faded as she remembered Robert's words.

"I need you, Frankie.  I haven't felt like this for years, if ever.  I
don't want to rush it..."  She smiled again.  If the gear lever hadn't
been in the way they would almost certainly have rushed all sorts of
things.  It was years since anyone had kissed her in a car.  She'd
almost forgotten how appallingly uncomfortable and how incredibly
exciting it was.

Then she remembered the rest of his words.  "I also want you and Jane
to get to know each other, because whatever happens we're a package
deal."

Well, she and Jane seemed to be getting on all right, but Jane wouldn't
be part of a deal that just involved an affair, so maybe he had more in
mind?  Or maybe he was just up front with his daughter about his
relationships.

Time would tell.  Humming softly, she got ready for bed, climbed in
with an orthopaedics textbook and Wished it were Robert instead.

"We'll excise this length of bone from here to here, clean out all the
rubbish and fill him full of antibiotics, put a drain in and then sit
back and wait," Robert told her as they stood in front of the light box
and studied Jim Pate's X-rays.

"What about this bit here?"  she asked, and as she reached up to point
at the plate she brushed against him.  The air all but crackled, but
she tried her best to ignore it and concentrate.  "The bone looks a
little dodgy on X-ray."

Beside her she heard a quiet sigh, then Robert's head shifted slightly
and he gave the plate his attention.  "Yes, you could be right.  We'll
see.  The best thing to do is open him up, but we need to get the
external fixators on before we start hacking him around.  Right, are
you ready?"

She gave a hollow laugh.  "As I'll ever be."

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.  "You'll do fine.
If when we open him up I think it's too much for you I'll take over, so
don't worry."

"Your confidence in me doesn't tally with my own," she said drily.

"You can always bottle out if you can't cope," he said reasonably, but
she chuckled.

"No way, Robert.  I wouldn't give you the satisfaction"

They went through into the operating room and he talked Frankie through
the setting up of the external fixators, the frame outside his leg
which would hold the limb rigid even though a chunk of bone was missing
from the middle and it was technically unsupported.  Once the fixators
were on to his satisfaction, he told her to open the leg, and they were
then able to see the hole in the bone and the damage done by years of
chronic suppuration.

She freed and cut away the section of bone they were to remove, took
out the lump of dead bone inside and cleaned the area as well as
possible, then sewed a corrugated drainage strip in position to speed
recovery and packed the wound.  They couldn't close it, not with that
level of infection, and once the wound was clean they would need to
graft a new section of bone into the gap.  In the meantime they would
watch him closely.

As Frankie finished she was aware of a great sense of satisfaction and
even pride in a job well done.  As the patient was wheeled out to
Recovery and she and Robert went through for coffee, stripping off
their gloves and gowns as they went, she threw back her head and
laughed.

"Why are you so damned happy?"  Robert grumbled beside her.

"Because I did that well.  It was difficult and challenging and you
were right, I could do it, and I enjoyed it, and I feel really
self-satisfied."

His smile was wry.  "I'm so glad.  All I feel is frustrated"

Her eyes clashed with his and they exchanged a rueful grin.  "Me too,"
she confessed softly.  "Last night was so long."

"Don't," he groaned.  "Here, have a coffee and go and sit over there
and try and look ugly for a minute so I can get my breath back."

She chuckled again, and he closed his eyes and sighed.  "Oh, Frankie,
what am I going to do with you?"  he asked quietly.  "You drive me
crazy."

"You could always do the obvious," she suggested.

His eyes slowly opened and he stared at her, then sighed and shut them
again.  "God, woman, you pick your moments," he muttered.

Peter Graham stuck his head round the door.  "Your next patient's ready
for you," he said.  "You want me to knock her out?"

Robert glanced at him without interest, then sighed and stood up. "Yes,
please.  We'll be through in a second.  Come on, Dr.  Bradley; time's
a-wasting and I want this day over with.  I'm on a promise and I don't
intend to let you forget it."

With that look in his eyes?  she thought.  No chance.  Fate, however,
was not on their side.  As the morning drew on, so Robert began to look
flushed and bright eyed, and at one point he swayed alarmingly, then
righted himself with a muttered apology and carried on.

He was operating on a child's forearm at the time, fixing the radius
and ulna, which had both snapped following a fall from a swing onto his
outstretched hand.  He had pinned the ulna and was attempting to pin
the radius when Frankie realised that he was far from well and about to
collapse.

"Robert, do you want me to take over?"  she asked.

He lifted his head and stared vacantly at her.  "Flu," he mumbled, and
swayed again.

Frankie sighed.  She had never pinned a radius, but she had watched him
do it and was pretty sure she knew how.  She was also pretty sure that
in his right mind he would have plated that particular break.  "Get him
out, someone, and let him lie down somewhere," she asked.  "I'll take
him home in a while."

He didn't protest, almost falling through the door and leaving Frankie
encased in an expectant silence.  She looked round.  "Pin or plate?"
she asked the assembled company.

"Er-I think he would plate that, to be honest," the scrub nurse told
her.  "That's what I thought," Frankie agreed.  "Suppose we finish this
one together, eh, chaps?"

Half an hour later the little boy's operation was finished, the
anaesthetic reversed and he was in Recovery.

Frankie stripped off her gloves and gown, dropped them in the bin and
went to find Robert.  He was stretched out in the rest room along three
chairs, a dark flush on his cheekbones and black shadows under his
eyes.  His skin was scorching and dry to the touch and he was almost
unaware of her.

With a shake of her head she went into the changing room, showered and
dressed and came back out.  A male member of staff was just coming out
of the changing room and giving him Robert's locker key, she asked for
all his things.  Bundling them into a plastic bag but retaining the
keys so that they could get into his house, she went back to find
him.

He was sprawled just as she had left him, but he was shivering now and
clearly getting worse.  "Come on, Robert, time to go home," she told
him, and he cranked open one eye and groaned.

"Headache," he complained.

"I'm sure.  You've got this nasty flu bug.  Come on, I'll take you home
now."  She put his coat on over his operating clothes, hoisted him up,
tucked her head under his arm and straightened up.  He sagged against
her, and she had to enlist the help of a porter to get him into a
wheelchair and down to the car park.

Once in the car she drove him quickly back to his house, opened the
door and then had to coax, cajole and half carry him in.

The stairs almost defeated her, but she knew he needed to be safely
tucked up in bed so she persevered, round the tight, curving staircase
and up to the landing.

"Robert, where's your bedroom?"  she asked him.

He mumbled something totally unintelligible, said, "Sick," and dived
through a doorway.  She followed him into the bathroom, held his head
and then washed his face and gave him a glass of water to rinse with.

When he was a little steadier she managed to get him out onto the
landing again and along to what she assumed was his bedroom.

"In here?"  she asked, and he nodded slightly.

She yanked back the quilt, lowered him on to the mattress and then
peeled off his wax jacket and theatre pyjamas.  "Such sartorial
elegance, dear boy," she teased him, and, leaving him the scant decency
of his briefs, she tugged the quilt up over him, found a bowl and a
couple of towels from downstairs and sat herself down at the foot of
the bed with the phone.

Nick Davidson, the other orthopaedic firm's SR, was very obliging and
agreed to cover the post-ops and any overnight problems.  David Hunt,
their SR, was doing the clinic that afternoon anyway.

Their cover arranged, Frankie settled down to sick-room duty.

"What time is it?"

Frankie opened her eyes and blinked.  "Six."

"Morning or evening?"

"Evening.  How are you?"

He struggled to a sitting position.  "Better.  Hell, that was a vile
little number."

"It is.  Short but sharp.  You'll probably be fine tomorrow."

He grunted and laid his head back with a sigh.  "Did you manage to
finish the op?"

"Mmm-I plated the radius instead of pinning it."  "Of course-you
wouldn't be able to pin that radius because of the nature of the
fracture."

"Then it's a good job I took over from you, isn't it?  Because you were
struggling to pin it."

His eyes widened.  "I was?"

Her smile was gentle.  "You were-but only till you nearly fell over."

He shut his eyes and groaned.  "God, I felt ill.  I thought I was just
overheating because you were near me."

She laughed, a little laugh that bubbled up and grew until he joined in
weakly.  "Oh, Robert, do you really find me such a turn-on that your
temperature goes up three degrees?"

He chuckled.  "Easily.  I have to say I don't feel that racked with
passion now.  I don't think God wants me to make love to you,
Frankie."

She gave a little spurt of laughter and reached for his hand, stroking
it tenderly.  "I'm sure God is far too busy to worry about anything so
trivial."

"Trivial?  I can assure you my feelings are far from trivial, Frankie.
'

"In global terms..."

"Even so.  I should think on the Richter scale "Now I know you're
exaggerating."

They laughed softly, and then he coughed and pressed his hand to his
chest.

"Sore?"  she asked.

"Mmm.  I could do with some painkillers."

"I'll get you some.  Where are they?"

"Bathroom cabinet."  He reached out and caught her hand, holding her
near him for a moment.  "Thank you, Frankie.  You're a life-saver."

She smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  "My pleasure.  I
had plans to spend this evening in your bedroom anyway."

"Wicked hussy," he murmured.

She would have liked to be, but she didn't think he could oblige if his
life depended on it.

She settled instead for sharing a cup of tea with him after he had
taken his painkillers, and then, satisfied that he would be all right,
she went into Jane's bedroom , raided an oversize T-shirt from one of
the drawers and tucked herself up in Jane's bed.

She left the door open so that she could hear if Robert needed her, but
the only sound was the occasional soft snore as he slept.

With a rueful but contented smile she snuggled down under the quilt,
turned out the bedside light and went to sleep... "Rise and shine."

She blinked open her eyes and stared around her, totally disorientated
for a moment.  Then her bleary eyes took in Robert, propped in the
doorway in a short to welling dressing gown that did fascinating things
to her blood pressure, looking pale but otherwise recovered and much
too sexy for her peace of mind.

She struggled to a sitting position, tucked the quilt firmly under her
armpits and shoved a hand through her tumbled hair.  "What time is it?"
she asked huskily.

"Seven.  I thought you'd gone home, but then I saw your car outside."

"I didn't know how you'd be.  You might have needed me in the night."

Their eyes met and he gave a wry chuckle.  "Oh, I needed you all right,
Frankie.  I just wasn't up to doing anything about it."

She blushed and looked away.  With a heavy shadow on his jaw and that
indecent dressing gown he was playing havoc with her sanity.  Those
legs!  she thought, and dragged her eyes away from them.  It didn't
help.  She could still see them out of the corner of her eye, the
scatter of curls dark against the skin that lay taut over the long,
well-muscled limbs.

"How would you like to get dressed?"  she suggested a little
unevenly.

"I was just going to say the same to you."

She glanced up at him, the laughter in his eyes strangely at odds with
the need that raged beside it.

"We ought to just get on with it," she said abruptly.

"I quite agree, but I want to be at the hospital by eight and when I do
make love to you, Frankie, I want longer than ten minutes to do it."

And with that he was gone.

She fell back against the pillows with a ragged sigh.  How on earth was
she going to get through a weekend at Center Parcs with him?  Jane was
going to have her work cut out chaperoning them, she thought with a
grim laugh, especially if they were already lovers by then, because one
thing was for sure-it would take more than a few days to quench the
fire that raged in them.

Fate, yet again, was not on their side.  That day was busy, starting
with a ward round to make sure that the child whose operation she had
completed was doing well and hadn't come to any lasting harm as far as
could be seen, and that Jim Pate was comfortable and the wound was
draining as it ought.

Robert was feeling washed out and still less than a hundred per cent,
so she shared the work with David Hunt and he went home to rest, having
satisfied himself that the world hadn't come to an end because he'd
taken an afternoon off.

Frankie covered the night, and, predictably, she thought, because she
was on it was hectic.

A spate of road accidents on the ice brought in several people with
fractures.  Some were plastered and sent home, others admitted for
observation in the A and E department.

Two came up to the ward for surgery the following day to reduce
fractures, including one man with a badly shattered femur.  Frankie put
him on traction to pull the bones out into approximate alignment and
relax the muscles holding the limb in contraction, and once she was
happy that he was stable and substantially pain-free she went back down
to A and E to see what was going on with the others.

The three in the observation ward on A and E were settling well so she
returned to the ward to check on the two up there.  Barry Long, the man
with the shattered femur, showed signs of deterioration, possibly from
internal injuries and possibly from heavy bleeding from the fracture
site; although Frankie thought that the latter was the most likely she
called the surgical reg on take just to be on the safe side.

The patient was already receiving a blood transfusion and she
instructed the nurses to squeeze the blood in by hand, then had another
look at him.  A little while later Gavin Jones appeared, bleary-eyed
but smiling.

"Hello, trouble," he said with a grin.  "What's the problem?"

She chewed her lip.  "I'm not sure.  RTA victim.  He's got a badly
shattered thigh-lots of soft tissue damage, but the pulse in his foot
is good and the lower leg is reasonably well.  His blood pressure's
dropping, though, and he's going into shock.  He's not looking too
good, I'm afraid.  I think it's the femur, but I didn't want to
overlook the possibility of abdominal haemorrhage."

"Was he driving?"

"I think so."

"So it could be steering-wheel damage.  I think we may need to stick a
needle in his abdomen and see if there's any blood there, but you know
you can lose up to half the blood volume with a fractured femur if it's
bad enough.  Let's have a look at him."

They went to his bedside, and Gavin quickly and gently palpated his
abdomen then shook his head.  "It's quite soft.  Let's have a look at
this femur."  He turned back the bedclothes further and caught his lip
between his teeth.  "That looks a very bad injury, Frankie.  I think
you ought to go in and find that leak.  It's not the femoral artery but
it might well be the femoral vein.  I think you need to call Ryder
out."

She looked at the limb and realised how much it had swollen since she
had called Gavin.  "I'll do it now, and alert Theatre and get him
prepped up.  We'll need to shave the leg."  She turned to the staff
nurse beside her.  "Could you prepare him for Theatre and send him
straight up?  I'll get Mr.  Ryder."

Gavin came with help to the nursing station, waited while she made the
call and then offered his help.  "Do you want me to come in with you
until he arrives?  Just for moral support?"

She shook her head.  "I'll be OK, Gavin, thanks.  I'm sorry I got you
up for nothing."

"Don't worry about it.  Rather you than me with that leg; it looks a
mess."

It was, but fortunately Robert arrived with the patient and was
scrubbed and beside her just as she was preparing to go in.

"I'll do it," he said tersely, and with a swift stroke of the scalpel
he opened the skin.  Blood immediately started to pour from the wound.
"Hell's teeth," he muttered' How is he?"

"Stable-just," the anaesthetist replied.

"Keep bagging that blood in, please.  Can somebody hoover this mess
up?"  he snapped, and, as the scrub nurse sucked out the wound, without
wasting time on finesse he cut down to the vein, grabbed it in his
fingers and squashed it flat.  "Can we have forceps on here, please?"
he said.

The scrub nurse was there already, clamping off the vein before the
sentence was finished.  Frankie, largely redundant, watched him work to
suture the torn section of vein and remove some of the shattered bits
of bone that would never be of any use, then he set to work to pin and
plate the fragmented bone.

"Normally I'd pull a bone like this out by traction and let it heal
naturally to minimise any further trauma," he told her, "but as we're
in we may as well fix it.  It's going to be a pretty patchy job anyway,
it's not a nice fracture."

Frankie thought that the understatement of the century.

The muscles were lacerated by the bone ends, the nerves were stretched
and although pro baby not permanently damaged were certainly challenged
and the bone was going to heal at least a centimetre shorter because of
the shattered ends.

Robert finally closed the wounds, stretched and turned to the
anaesthetist.

"He's all yours.  Thanks.  How is he now?"

"Better.  Stabilising well."

SCRAMBLED

Robert nodded, tugged off his mask and left followed closely by
Frankie.  "I'm sorry I called you out" she began, but he shook his
head.

"That was very nasty.  I'm glad you called me when you did, we could
have lost him.  The trauma had caused such in the muscles that there
was a huge hole a big rip there to fill with blood.  He was lucky to
get away with it."  He gave a wry chuckle.

"I expect in two weeks he'll be complaining that it's shorter than the
other one and threatening to sue us."

She grinned.  "I'm glad you did"

"Humph.  Cheeky minx.  Fancy a coffee

She declined.  "I ought to go and check the others."

"Others?"

"Others," she told him.  "We've had three RTAs, the place has been like
Piccadilly Circus

"And you kept all the fun to yourself.

"Not quite all," she said with best bit, and I got Gavin up to look at
our friend here because I wondered if it was an abdominal bleed.  Oh,
and I signed the consent form for Barry Long, by the way, with the
night sister, so I hope he makes it."

"He'll live-just long enough to sue."

She chewed her lip.  "Do you think so."

He laughed.  "No.  Don't worry, he'll be grateful.  I'll make sure he
knows how close he came, and that he had my personal attention."

"He'll be very impressed," Frankie said with wide eyes.

"Are you being sarcastic, madam?"

"Me?"  She grinned.  "Of course not.  Since you're here, do you want to
cast your expert eye over the others?"

He returned the grin.  "I might as well, as you've got me up-see how
much of a hash you've made of the rest of them."

"Damn cheek."

"Come on.  I'll give you the name and address of my solicitor if you're
very nice to me and give me some of that cake."

"It's finished, remember?  And Jane and I didn't get round to baking
another one at the weekend."

"Good."  He shot her a crooked grin.  "I don't think you'd be safe
alone with me in that cosy little room of yours, somehow.  '

And, judging by the look in his eyes, she had to agree with him...

CHAPTER SEVEN

FRiDAy arrived before Frankie had time to blink.  The ward was very
busy with the emergency admissions, and although their femur patient
Barry Long had settled well there was a constant flow of new patients
who needed her attention.

By Friday afternoon she was tired, crabby and ready to get right away
from it all.  The warm salt pool and crisp night air of Elvedon Forest
called to her, and she could hardly wait to get to their destination
and dive in head first.

Robert, on the other hand, was also tired and crabby but obviously not
looking forward to the weekend at all.

"I can't imagine why I let you talk me into it," he grumbled at
lunchtime.  "It's the last thing I need.  I should be decorating or
doing the garden or something.  '

Frankie laughed.  "Rubbish.  The house is fine, the garden's too wet to
do anything with and you need to have some fun.  '

He glowered morosely at her.  "It'll be like an up market holiday
camp," he grumbled.  "Rise and shine and jolly hockey
sticks-revolting."

"Rubbish," she said again.  "Robert, you'll love it.  It's beautiful.
You can cycle through the woods "I haven't ridden a bike for nearly
twenty years."

"It'll do you good.  And if you're very well behaved and pretend to be
having fun I'll give you a massage."

He gave a derisive snort.  "Jane'll be there."

"So you'll have to behave.  That'll do you good too."

"I've done nothing but behave for years.  I think I'm ready to break
out."

She regarded him thoughtfully.  "How many years, just as a matter of
interest?"

He gave a short huff of laughter.  "Since I last had an affair?  About
five."

Her eyes widened.  "Five years?"  she all but squeaked.

He shrugged.  "There didn't seem to be anyone worth having a
relationship with, and, to be honest, Jackie's behaviour has put me
right off the thought of casual sex, if I ever found it appealing."

And yet he was definitely ready to start an affair with her.  Did that
mean, in his words, that she was someone "worth having a relationship
with'?  Suddenly that relationship seemed to take on much more
significance , and Frankie looked at him with new eyes.  Was he really
that serious about her?  He hadn't mentioned love, but then nor had
she.  Perhaps it was time to talk about it, and perhaps this weekend
would be a good starting point.

She felt suddenly nervous, as if it was almost a test and as if her
trial period was now expanded to include her suitability as a wife and
mother, not just a colleague

Would she pass?

Dear God, she hoped so... "Can we swim now?  Please, Dad, I want to
find the pool..

Despite the apparent sophistication of her thirteen years, Jane's eyes
were wide with excitement, but Robert was concerned with practicalities
and cut her off with a raised hand.  "In a minute.  Let's just get
sorted out in here first.  We need food, we need bikes-' he shot
Frankie a scathing look which she countered with a grin "-and we need
to sort out who's having which room.  '

"I'm having this one," Jane said promptly, disappearing through a
doorway with her suitcase.  "I'm getting out of this uniform and then
can we please have a swim?"

Robert looked at Frankie, and then at the other two bedroom doors, side
by side in the other corner of the room, and raised one eyebrow.

"No," she said quietly but clearly.  "Not with Jane here."

His mouth quirked.  "It was just a thought.  If I sleepwalk "You'll get
bashed on the head.  Right, which one are you having?  You're bigger
than me.  Let's look."

She poked her head round the doors and chose the smallest room.  "This
one'll do me.  OK?"

He shook his head.  "Frankie, I don't care.  I won't sleep anyway, not
with you so close."

She laughed softly.  "Of course you will.  You'll be shattered from all
the exercise.  Come."  She seized him by the hand and dragged him over
to the patio doors.  There was a lake stretched out in front of them,
and some intrepid enthusiast was windsurfing in a wet suit, skimming
over the water towards them.

"How do you fancy having a go at that?"

He looked at her as if she'd grown two heads.  "In January?"

She shrugged.  "OK.  How about a pedalo?  We could stay dry then."

"If it doesn't rain."

She tutted and was about to take him to task when a slight movement
caught her eye.  She smiled involuntarily' Oh look-by the edge of the
patio."

"Squirrels.  I've got them in my garden."

"Well, I haven't," she retorted, and turned to face him.  "Robert, you
are going to enjoy yourself," she said firmly.  "Now go and change out
of that suit, put on something casual, find your swimming gear and
let's go and get the bikes and get to it."

"But we need to sort the food out first."

"No, we don't.  We can eat out, and the supermarket stays open late.
Come on," she coaxed.  "For Jane's sake if nothing else, please at
least try to enjoy it."

With a sigh he picked up his case, disappeared into his room and shut
the door firmly.  With a shrug Frankie took her things through to her
own room, unpacked a few essentials and changed into leggings and a
loose sweatshirt top with her swimming things underneath, then went to
find Jane.

She was sitting on the bed in a welter of new clothes, trying to choose
what to wear.  She looked at Frankie, selected something similar and
shed her uniform into a pile on the floor.

"You could do with putting that away carefully, because you'll need it
on Sunday and we cant wash it here," Frankie pointed out.

She scraped it up with a good-natured grumble, folded it more or less
neatly and tugged on her new clothes.  "Right, can we swim-?  Hey, Dad,
jeans?"

Frankie spun round and stared.  My God, he looked delectable.  He was
gorgeous enough in formal clothes.  In soft old bottom-hugging jeans he
was just the absolute business.  She gave a low, sexy whistle and he
flushed and tried to look repressive; but her chuckle came out
anyway.

"What's the matter?  Can't you take a compliment?"

"Frankie, behave," he growled, "or I'll go and change."

"Don't do that; they look really good."

He arched a brow in disbelief but she could see that he was pleased.
"They're ancient," he told her.  "I found them amongst my gardening
clothes.  I've never worn them for gardening; they're too darned
tight."

Frankie had noticed.  "They suit you," she said thoughtfully.  "Sort of
halve your age, somehow."

She ducked the rolled-up towel and came up laughing.

"He hates being teased," Jane told her sagely.  "He gets a real grump
on sometimes."

Frankie grinned.  "I had noticed.  OK, come on, let's get at it."

Two hours later they were still in the pool.  Jane had almost worn out
the seat of her costume coming down the wild-water rapids, and they had
been swept round an island in an amazingly powerful current, tried the
cold plunge outside by the top of the rapids and voted it a masochist's
dream come true, and ended up in the salt pool, swimming outside in a
fine misting rain that finally turned to sleet.

Frankie, revelling in the contrast between icy rain and steaming water,
turned her face up to the sky and laughed in sheer delight.  Robert was
beside her, just visible in the thick fog that hung over the surface of
the water, and as their legs tangled she slipped one hand round the
back of his neck and brushed her lips over his.

"Are you OK?"  she asked.

"Yes-you were right, it's wonderful," he said softly.

"There's no phone," she told him.  "And no decorating or gardening."

"Just having fun."

"It seems so decadent."

His leg slid up hers and down again, sending tingles down her spine.

"I think you need the cold plunge," she told him with a knowing
smile.

"I think you're right, but I'm damned if I'm going in it," he replied,
and under cover of the water his hand slid up and cupped her breast.
"God, Frankie, you are beautiful," he murmured, suddenly serious, and
she was on the point of kissing him again when Jane appeared out of the
fog.

"Are you two all right?"  she asked, a little frown wrinkling her brow.
"Only you look ever so serious."

Frankie smiled at her reassuringly.  "We're fine.  Your father just
confessed he's having fun.  It's a serious business for him; he's not
used to it."

She should have seen it coming but she didn't.  Robert's arm arced over
her, his hand cupped her icy head and she was dunked under the hot
water.  She swam away, hair streaming out behind her, and came up out
of sight, laughing.  He followed her, treading water a few feet away.

"JJ and I are going down the rapids again."

"Fine.  I'll be here," she told them.  "Have fun."

She floated quietly for a while, dipping under the hot water every now
and again when the icy drizzle became too much, thinking about her
relationship with Jane, and then after a while when the cold got to her
she went back inside under the plastic strips across the entrance and
sat on the steps.

Robert appeared at her side.  "She's just having one more go on the
rapids and then I said we ought to change and get some shopping."

"Where are we eating tonight?"  she asked.

"In, if we can find anything easy.  I'm shattered, Frankie; I could do
with sitting down and putting my feet up."

It sounded perfect.  "Me too," she told him.  "I'll cook, shall I?  I
believe it's my turn."

"Will we survive?"  he teased.

"You survived the cake."

His eyes lit up.  "So I did.  Maybe this meal won't be so dire after
all."

"Dire?  I'll give you dire-' She shoved, and he sprawled full length in
the water, turning round to grab her ankle just as Jane arrived.

"Children, children," she scolded.  "Come on, then, I'm starving."

They had a huge deep-pan pizza with masses of mushrooms and tomatoes
and peppers on it, and a crunchy green salad and lots of really buttery
garlic bread, then for pudding a frozen chocolate gateau which they cut
into chunks and then had to wait for while they washed up.  Even so it
was still frozen, but they didn't care.  They collapsed in front of the
television with it, feet up on the table, and within moments of
finishing his gateau Robert's eyes had drooped shut.

"It's his age," Jane informed Frankie confidentially, nibbling the
gooey topping.  "They start dropping off all the time, you know."

"It couldn't be anything to do with working hard or having had flu this
week, I don't suppose?"  he mumbled sleepily from the corner.

Frankie and Jane both giggled, and he cranked one eye open.  "Are you
girls picking on me?"  he complained

"Of course not-go back to sleep," Jane told him fondly.

They watched a video, and then finally even Jane's eyelids started to
droop.  "I'm going to bed," she said with a little smile.  "I'll see
you tomorrow."

She flitted in and out to the bathroom, then as her door closed for the
last time Robert's eyes opened.

"Has she gone now?"

"I think so.  Why?"

"Because," he said softly, "I could do with a cuddle."

"Is that all?"  she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

"No, but it's the nearest I'll get."

She slid her hand along the sofa and linked her fingers with his.
"Closer," he murmured, and so she wriggled along until her head was on
his shoulder and his arm was round her, and hoped Jane wouldn't come
out again.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back, "but you can't."

"I know, but I want to."

"I want you to too.  We need distracting-tell me about your house," she
said.

"My house?"  There was a catch of surprised laughter in his voice.

"Mmm-how long you've lived there, what it was like when you moved
in-you know, all that sort of thing.  '

He chuckled softly.  "You really want to know?"

"Mmm."

"Well, it was a wreck when I first saw it," he told her.  "The roof was
dodgy, the front wall needed stripping right back to the timber frame
and're plastering the interior was ghastly-it was a mess.

"The oak screen in the drawing room and hall originally called the
screen passage-was painted with bright blue gloss, the beams were all
gloss of various colours, the floors were uneven and some of the bricks
were up-it was awful.  I had to have it gutted, sandblasted back to the
oak and all the floors're laid

"So why did you buy it?"  she asked him in amazement "I mean, you must
have been busy at work when was this?  Two years ago?"

He nodded.  "When I got the consultancy.  It was a fresh start, away
from London and Jackie, somewhere I could give Jane real holidays in
the country when she came up to stay with me.  That was why I looked at
it.  I bought it, in spite of the terrible condition it was in, because
I fell in love with the name."

"Freedom Farm?"

His mouth tipped in a wry smile.  "I thought it would mean a whole new
era.  Instead Jackie followed me up here and imposed herself on me,
saying she thought we ought to have another chance.  It turned out
she'd had a tiff with a boyfriend and he wouldn't move out.

"I told her she could have the guest room for a week, no more, and went
down to London and turfed the sponger out.  In that time she spent
every evening in the pub flirting with the locals and complaining about
the state of my place, and by the end of the week she was more than
ready to go.  I don't think any of the locals would play her games,
although I gather she tried."

He laughed without humour.  "She still comes up every now and again for
the weekend goes down to the pub and has a couple of gins and then
expects me to fetch her."

"Why do you tolerate it?"  Frankie asked in amazement.

"For Jane," he said simply and that said it all.  It was why he did
everything, she realised-to give Jane a future, to give her a home with
him now, to be her continuity in the crazy world her mother lived in.
"She should have been with me years ago" he murmured, almost to
himself.  "I've let her down.  It's my fault she's alive.  The least I
could do was make sure that her life was safe and decent."

Frankie laid her hand over his heart and listened with her body to the
steady beat.  "I don't think you've let her down at all," she told him
gently.  I think she's a lovely girl and I think you should be very
proud of her.  She's your daughter, not Jackie's.  There isn't a
flighty bone in her body; she's just like you.  She's serious,
conscientious-she loves you, Robert.  I know she teases you, but it's
because she feels safe.  Cherished.  I used to feel like that."

Frankie felt a lump in her throat and swallowed it, and his arm
tightened round her fractionally.  "What happened?"  he asked quietly.
"You never talk about your family."

She lifted a shoulder.  "They died.  My mother had cancer and my father
couldn't face life without her.

He died at the wheel of his car.  The verdict was accidental death, but
I think he killed himself.  He was sober, the road conditions were good
and they found nothing wrong with the car.  Mind you the evidence could
have been destroyed; he hit a bridge support at about eighty miles an
hour.

"I was eighteen; my brother Jeff was twenty-two.  He'd left university,
got a job in London and was struggling to pay the mortgage on a new
house.  I got into medical school in London, moved in with him and gave
him all I could spare of my grant, and in my free time I helped him do
up the house.  I lived there throughout my training, and then when I
got a job too far away to commute I used to go back at the weekends and
for holidays.

"Then he met Sue, and I began to feel rather de trop.  They got married
in September, and so I thought it might be time to move on, find
another job out of London and get right away, give them some space. I'd
like to buy a little place of my own, but I couldn't afford to in
London so I thought I'd have a fresh start out here."  She looked up
into his eyes.  "If I'm going to have a job, that is."

His eyes softened.  "Of course you've got a job.  You've got a long way
to go before you're a consultant, but you're only twenty-eight, and
you've got the potential to be an extremely gifted surgeon.  Actually
I'm beginning to realise how lucky I was to get you-in every way.  '

His mouth drifted down towards her, its touch feather-light, and with a
tiny sigh she snuggled closer and deepened the kiss.

"Oh, Frankie, I need you," he murmured.

Her body melted at the soft, husky words, but there was something,
someone She sighed and levered herself away, dragging her hands through
her hair and sighing shakily.  "I need you too, but not now-not here,
with Jane in her room."

He gave a little huff of humourless laughter.  "I hadn't forgotten her,
sweetheart.  I just haven't got the selfcontrol to keep right away from
you."

"Perhaps we should remove ourselves from temptation and go to our
separate beds?"  she suggested.

"Why don't we just lie here and watch a video and try and keep our
hands to ourselves?"

"Do you think we can?"

He laughed.  "Probably not.  Here, let's rearrange ourselves."

The seating was in a continuous L-shape, and he lay one way with his
back propped in the corner and patted the other side.  Frankie lay down
at right angles, so that her head was pillowed on his lap and her cheek
lay against the soft, worn denim of his jeans.

"You look really good in these," she told him, stroking the fabric
absently.

"Hell Frankie," he muttered, and shifted under her, uncomfortably
aroused.

"You wanted to lie here and push your luck," she reminded him
mischievously.

"Hmm.  Watch the film."

"I've seen it."

"So've I."

"Robert, I'm going to bed before I rip your clothes off."

She stood up and looked down at him, sexy and rumpled, his eyes smoky
with desire, and wondered how they were going to make it to Sunday
night.

As sure as eggs were eggs, they wouldn't last a minute longer... The
phone was ringing as they stepped over the threshold.  Rolling his
eyes, Robert reached for it.

"Hello, Ryder here."

There was a pause, then he said, "When?  Oh, hell."

He closed his eyes and sighed.  "I'll be right with you, Nick.
Thanks."

Frankie met his eyes.  "Trouble?"

"That was Nick Davidson.  Barry Long-the guy with the shattered
femur-has got a massive pulmonary embolus and they've moved him to ITU.
He's looking pretty grim, apparently.  I ought to go in."

"Will you be long?"

His eyes met hers, hungry and frustrated.  "I don't know.  I hope not,
but I probably will be.  Do you want me to give you a lift back?"

He was standing on the other side of the hall, too far away to touch,
and suddenly she felt desperately unsure.  "Do you want me to go?"  she
asked at last.

"God, no.  Frankie, you know I don't."

"Then I'll stay" she said simply.

He hugged her briefly ran upstairs to change out of his jeans and ran
back down.  "I'll ring if I'm held up," he promised, and seconds later
he gunned the engine and shot down the drive.

The house seemed curiously empty without him, but it was a gentle
emptiness, not a cold and inhospitable feeling but more one of
expectation.  Perhaps that was just her, she thought with a nervous
laugh.

She decided to light the fire in the sitting room, then looking through
the CDs, she found the original of the love album that had nearly
caused Robert to crash the car the previous week.  She put it on, made
a cup of tea and curled up with it in his chair, letting the music move
her.

She loved his chair.  If she turned her head she could sometimes catch
the faintest hint of his aftershave.  He only wore it occasionally, but
he had worn it this weekend, and it and the music were very evocative.
She felt closer to him somehow, as if he was less of a stranger.

In truth he was a bit of a stranger.  What did she really know about
him, the real Robert Ryder?  He had revealed a little of his history,
but almost nothing of his heart.  Had she been any more open?  She
didn't think so.  Perhaps tonight The phone rang, shattering the
silence.  She answered it cautiously, but it was Robert.

"We've lost him," he said shortly, and she could hear the frustration
in his voice.  "I'm just going to spend some time with his relatives
and then I'll be back.  Are you all right?"

"Yes.  I'm sorry about Barry."

"So am I. I'll see you soon."

There was a click, and then the dialling tone.  She put down the
receiver and thought about the man with the shattered femur who had
nearly bled to death five days before and wondered why they thought
they could play God.  Had they left him he would have died then and
been spared the suffering of the past few days.

And if they had they would have spent the rest of their lives wondering
if they couldn't have done something to save him.

Medicine, she decided, was a very strange way of life.  She settled
down to wait for Robert.

His relatives were devastated.  How had it happened?

How could something so unrelated to his leg have killed him?  Did he
have chest injuries?  They were clots.  Where from?  The leg-so not
unrelated?  Whose fault was it, then?  Theirs?  They had bought him the
car he had been driving "It's nobody's fault," Robert said gently.
"Sometimes these things just happen.  The road conditions were
appalling, apparently.  His injury was very severe.  The operation was
necessary to save his life, and nothing " could have been done to
anticipate this next crisis."  "What about anticoagulants?"  his sister
wanted to know.  "You put him on them today-why not before?"

"Because he had a great deal of bleeding into the muscles.  With
anticoagulant therapy the bleeding might not have stopped, and he could
have died of that.  '

"Heads you win, tails I lose," his father muttered.

"Somebody's law, isn't it?  Oh, God, what have we done?"  His face
crumpled and he buried it in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

His daughter ran to comfort him, crying on his shoulder and making
soothing noises through her tears.

Only the mother stood there in silence, saying nothing.  Then Robert
noticed her lips moving, as if in prayer.  "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Long,"
he said quietly.  "I just wish there'd been more we could have done."

"The Lord moves in mysterious ways," she said in a dead voice.  "No
doubt one day there'll be some sense to be made of it.  Come on,
Matthew, Helen.  Let's go home."

He watched them go, then filled in the report that would close the file
and left the hospital.

Frankie was waiting for him at the house.  She would expect him to be
simmering with lust as he had been for the past week or more, but
instead he just felt empty inside.

Empty and curiously scared.  Would he let her down?  God, it had been
so long he wasn't sure he still knew what to do.  He wasn't very hot on
courtship, and with that young man's death looming so large in his mind
it wasn't the best time.

He would try, though.  Dear God, he would try, because she deserved the
best he could give her and more.  She was wonderful-lively, funny, full
of that amazing energy that made him feel about a hundred in the shade,
and yet so gentle and giving, so kind, so loving.

Suddenly he could hardly wait to get home to her not to make love to
her, but just to hold her and be held, to share the sorrow of their
failure and talk about what had gone wrong.

And then, when the dust had settled and he was at peace again, he would
love her as she deserved to be loved... Frankie heard the car on the
drive and opened the door to him as he approached, the door key in his
hand.  "Hi," she said softly.  "Need a hug?"  "How did you know?"  he
sighed, and, dropping his keys on the settle, he walked into her open
arms.  She hugged him gently, feeling the tension inside him giving way
to the curious exhaustion of mind that failure left in its wake.

"Come and have a drink and tell me all about it," she offered, and with
a quick squeeze he let her go and followed her through into the sitting
room.

"You lit the fire," he said in surprise.  "I thought you'd need
cheering up.  Port?"

"Mmm.  Frankie, you're a life-saver."  He dropped into his chair,
kicked off his shoes and sighed heavily.

She poured him a hefty measure of his birthday port and took it over to
him, then sat in the other chair across from him and waited for him to
talk.  He would, she knew, just as soon as he was ready.

"His mother and father and sister were all there," he said finally.
"They watched a young man die and couldn't understand it, and I didn't
have the words to explain it to them."  He shook his head.  "I just
wish I could find an easy way to say "I'm sorry, your loved one's
dead".  There just isn't one, is there?  And when they're young, as he
was-ah, hell, it's just so unfair.  '

He- rambled on for a while, cursing fate, running over the treatment
and debating the problems, then finally he ran out of steam and fell
silent.

Frankie watched him.  What he needed was loving, someone holding him
and taking him away from reality to a magic place where pain didn't
exist.  She had been playing Jane's love album on the CD player, and
she rose now and put it on again, just softly in the background , then
went over to him, holding out her hand.

"Dance with me," she murmured.

He hesitated for a second, then slowly stood, put the glass down and
took her in his arms.

Her head fitted on his shoulder as if they were made for each other,
she thought, and, locking her hands behind his back, she swayed with
him to the pulsing, tender beat.

At first he was stiff, a little reluctant, but then he relaxed against
her, holding her closer, his lips nuzzling her neck as they moved
softly to the music.

Then he turned his head a little more and his lips found hers with a
ragged sigh.  The music forgotten, they stood almost motionless in the
room as the kiss stretched on and on, gentle and undemanding, a tender
question and a sweet reply.

His hand found hers and without words he led her up to his room and
drew her into his arms again, resting his head against hers and letting
out a shaky breath.

"Frankie, I don't know what this is going to be like," he muttered.
"All I know is I want you more than I've ever wanted anything or
anyone, but I don't think I'm going to be able to hold on "Shh."  She
covered his mouth with her hand, then, stepping back, she eased her
leggings and bikini briefs down in one, then straightened up and
stripped the sweatshirt over her head so that she stood naked before
him.

"Oh, God, Frankie," he breathed, and she could see the need etched in
his face.

She moved closer, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it down over his
shoulders, leaving it trapping his wrists as she drew her hands slowly
down over his chest, testing the texture of the curls, especially that
little one at his throat that tormented her so... "Frankie, please," he
groaned, and she took pity on him and released his hands; then,
unbuckling his belt and slipping the hook on his trousers, she slid the
zip down and let them fall.

He kicked them aside, and she knelt at his feet and took his socks off
one by one.  His legs drew her, and she ran her hands up them,
savouring the tightly corded muscles that jumped beneath her hands, the
wiry hair, and under it the satin-smooth skin, so warm against her
palms.

Then she hooked her fingers in the top of his briefs and eased them
down.  She heard his sharp intake of breath and sat back on her heels,
looking up at him.

He was perfect-lean, hard, a powerful man in his prime-and she loved
him.

He reached for her, lifting her to her feet, then drew her into his
arms again, swaying softly to the rhythm of the love song still playing
quietly downstairs.

His body felt so good, so right against hers that Frankie could have
wept.  She felt the soft chafing of his hair against her aching
breasts, the nudge of his arousal against her thighs, and beneath her
hands his body trembled slightly.  Desire tugged at her, and her hands
rested on his hips as she swayed gently against him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered unevenly.  "I'm almost afraid to
touch you."

"Don't be," she murmured.  "I'm all yours.  Please touch me; I want you
to."

"God, Frankie, I need you," he said rawly, and, easing away from him,
she turned back the quilt and slipped between the icy sheets.

"Come..."

"I will-and probably far too soon, I'm afraid," he said with a trace of
humour as he slid in beside her.

She touched his beloved face.  "Don't be afraid.  I love you,
Robert."

For a moment he was motionless, then, with a shattered groan, he
gathered her in his arms and held her close.  "Oh, Frankie," he
breathed, and then he was moving over her, into her, his body hers at
last and hers his, until she forgot where she ended and he began.

Then he moved, and the burning, blazing need exploded in her and she
cried out, clinging to him in the chaos of her emotions.  Seconds later
his body arched against her and a deep cry was torn from his throat as
the fire caught him too.

As the flaming, aching need burned itself out his head fell against her
shoulder and his lips found the damp skin of her throat, just over the
hammering pulse that measured her love for him.

"Are you all right?"  he murmured at last.

"Mmm.  Wonderful.  You?"

"Oh, Frankie."  He gave a shaky laugh.  "That was I don't know where to
start.  I'm not very good with words.  '

"Just tell me what you feel."

He was silent for a moment, then he said, very softly, "Cherished.  No
one's ever told me before that they love me-certainly not my wife. Only
Jane, and that's different."  He let his breath out on a gusty sigh. 
"I'm sorry.  I just feel so" He broke off, resting his head against her
shoulder, and with infinite care she wrapped her arms around him and
held him close against her heart.  He was thirty-five and no one had
told him they loved him?  Dear God... She felt the hot, salty tears
track down her temples and run into her hair, and then she felt another
tear, this one his, run down over her shoulder.

After a moment he lifted his head and kissed her very softly on the
mouth.  "I'm sorry.  It's been a grim evening; I feel raw inside.  You
just touched a nerve."

"I know.  Don't worry; I understand.  Sometimes it's all too much."

"I can't stop thinking about Barry.  He was so young to die, and it was
so needless."

She rubbed her hands gently down his back.  "It was nobody's fault,"
she reminded him.

"They bought him the car."

"Then they'll have to deal with that, but he wasn't a child.  We can't
play God to that extent.  Right from childhood we have to make
judgements and decisions about our own lives.  Nobody can make them for
us, or live our lives their way.  Barry Long lived his way, and his
luck ran out.  It can be regretted, but no one should feel guilty."

He sighed.  "I know you're right.  I still feel sad, though."

"You should.  That's part of what I love about you."

"Oh, Frankie."  He kissed her tenderly.  "I want to tell you that I
love you, but I can't be sure if it's true or just what I want to
feel."

"You'll find out in time," she murmured gently.  "Just give the
feelings room; let them grow."

His lips found hers again.  "Frankie?"  he mumbled, nibbling gently.
"Can we try that again, but slowly this time?"

She smiled, and wound her arms round his neck.  "That sounds
delightful.  Where would you like to start?"

"Here?"  His lips nibbled her ear.

"Hmm-maybe... "Or here?"  He moved down over her throat.

"Warmer," she murmured.

"Or here, perhaps?"  His mouth closed over one aching, tender nipple
and she gasped.

"Here, definitely," he said with a little chuckle, and sucked deeply.

Frankie said nothing.  For almost the first time in her life she was
speechless...

CHAPTER EIGHT

If frankie thought her new intimacy with Robert would make any
difference at work she was mistaken.  If anything he pushed her harder,
giving her more responsibility and spending less time working by her
side.

She found herself having to make decisions about treatment, and
although he was always ready to listen he made her tell him what should
be done and why.

Sometimes she was way off beam, but more usually she was right, and her
confidence in herself increased in leaps and bounds.

Darren Hawkes, the cyclist with the skin grafts, was recovering well
despite her reservations, and although the skin looked very raw and
tender at first Robert assured her it was a good result and would heal
beautifully in time.  Darren was discharged to Outpatients, and would
continue to be seen for some time to assess the progress and function
of his still extremely tender ankle.

Jim Pate, her osteomyelitis patient, became her sole responsibility and
she found his slow but steady progress very rewarding.  Two weeks after
his operation the infection was clear in his wound and they were able
to start the process of rebuilding his leg.

It was decided to take bone from both sides of his pelvis and graft it
into the space left by the excision of the dead bone.  If all went well
his leg would end up scarred but functional, and relatively pain-free
given time.

"So who's doing it?"  she asked Robert.

"You."

"Me?"  she squeaked.  "I've never done a bone graft."

He grinned.  "Well, it's time to expand your education, then."

"Robert, you will be there, won't you?"

"Of course I will.  Don't worry, Frankie, you'll be fine."

She was, too, but it was still a comfort having him there.

"See?  You didn't need me at all," he said afterwards.

"I wouldn't say that," she murmured.

He gave a strangled laugh.  "Hell, Frankie, don't.  What are you doing
tonight?"

She gave a slow smile.  "I can't imagine."

He tapped her on the bottom.  "Go and check your patient.  I'll see you
later."

Jim Pate was back on the ward by the time she got there after their
list.  He was awake but drowsy, and gave her a sleepy smile.

"Have I died or is it Dr.  Bradley?"  he mumbled.

"You've died.  How do you feel?"

"Sore but OK."

She grinned.  "Good.  That means I haven't destroyed the nerves.  I
suppose you're going to be demanding and want some painkillers next."

He gave a tiny huff of laughter.  "What ever gave you that idea?"

She checked the chart, wrote him up for pethidine then went and found
the ward sister.

"Mary, have we got a pethidine pump available?  Jim Pate's suffering a
bit."

"No, I'm sorry, Frankie, they're all in use.  He'll have to have it the
traditional way.  Do you want him to have some now?"

She nodded.  "I think so.  He's in quite a bit of pain, even though
he's being brave.  Do you want me to do it?"

"Could you?  We're a bit pushed."

She gave him the injection, assured him that he would soon feel the
benefit and then went down to A and E in answer to her bleeper.

By the evening she was tired, her feet ached and she was ready for
bed.

So was Robert.  "How about a nice hot bath and a rub down with a
consultant?"  he suggested once they were back at his house.

She smiled.  "Sounds wonderful.  Which consultant did you have in mind?
Oliver Henderson?  Jack Lawrence?  Ross Hamilton's rather
good-looking."

"He's too old for you," Robert growled.

"Oh, I don't know.  A bit of finesse, you know."

Robert went suddenly still.  "I know I'm not the best lover..."

Frankie was appalled.  "Robert, what are you talking about?  I was
joking!"

"Yes, well, many a true word and all that."

"Robert, look at me."  She took his face in her hands and turned him
towards her.  "I love you," she said clearly.  "Do you understand what
I'm saying?  What it means to me?  What you mean to me?"

"So, you can forgive my clumsiness"

"Robert, you are not clumsy!"

"Frankie, forget it."

"No.  Come with me."

She grabbed him by the hand and towed him up the stairs into the
bathroom.  Then she turned on the taps, ran the bath and took off all
their clothes.

"Get in," she ordered.

He stared at her for a moment, then with a sigh he climbed into the big
old claw-footed tub and sat down at the tap end.

"Other way."

He moved, and she climbed in and sat between his knees, leaning back
against his chest with a sigh of contentment.  She handed him the soap.
"Wash me," she said.

Frankie "Please?"

He started clinically enough, as if he were washing a child, but soon
his movements changed, his hands lingering, smoothing, drawing circles
of lather on her skin and playing hell with her blood pressure.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she took the soap off him,
turned round and faced him.

"Kneel up," she ordered gently.

They knelt face to face while she washed him with meticulous attention
to detail, leaving no part of him untouched.

By the time she'd finished he was trembling all over and his eyes were
on fire.

She took a sponge and rinsed him down, inch by inch, and then at last
she stood up and stepped out, holding out her hand.  "Shall we go to
bed?"

"No, we shan't," he muttered.  "I can't walk that far.  Come here."

There was a chair in the bathroom which he used as a clothes-horse and,
throwing their things off it, he sat down and drew her onto his lap.

It was incredible.  His mouth was on a level with her breasts and he
nuzzled them while he gently towelled her dry; then, lifting her, he
settled her over his hips and entered her with one long, slow thrust.

Her breath caught in her throat and, resting her hands on his shoulders
to steady herself, she moved slowly against him.

He shuddered.  "Frankie, I'm not going to last if you do that," he
groaned.

"Good.  Nor am I."  She rocked against him, crying out at the
sensation, and, cupping her bottom, he shifted to the edge of the
chair, braced himself and thrust deeply into her.

The world splintered all around her, sensation on sensation ripping
through her until she thought she would die of it, then, with a last
defiant thrust, he threw back his head and cried out her name.

Sated, she fell limply against his chest and smoothed the sweat from
his brow.  "That was pretty finessey," she mumbled.

He chuckled, exhausted, and his hands cupped her bottom lovingly and
squeezed.  "You're joking.  That had all the finesse of a randy
adolescent in a hay barn."

"It felt pretty damn good from here," she mumbled, almost asleep.

He locked his hands under her bottom and stood, carried her over to the
bath, and stepped in, still holding her.

"What are you doing?"  she gasped, opening her eyes and staring down at
the water.

"Washing you again.  You're all soapy still."

"I'm not surprised- Robert, put me down; we'll fall over."

She unlocked her legs from his waist and slid them down until her feet
touched the bottom of the bath, then they knelt again and washed away
the traces of soap and the heady scent of their loving.  "I want you
again," he told her unnecessarily.

She smiled, delighted at his reaction.  "Good.  Shall we go to bed this
time?"

"For finesse?"

She laughed softly.  "No, for comfort.,"

"I had the hard chair," he pointed out, but he went willingly, she was
glad to notice.  And it was just as well.  By the time they had
finished neither of them could move anywhere, and the bed was much more
comfortable than the bathroom floor... Jim Pate's leg continued to
improve without any further intervention except for the very heavy
doses of antibiotics to prevent the possibility of reinfection and to
be certain that all traces of the old infection were knocked on the
head.  His wrist was mending without incident, but because it was
fractured he was unable to use crutches and so he had to remain in
hospital as he couldn't take any weight on his leg until it had
healed.

Joseph Lee, on the other hand, was still showing no sign of forming a
callus over the old non-union in his tibia, although the new fracture
was healing well.  They had opened up the bone ends, filled the gap
with chips of cancellous bone and put on an external fixator, then
after a fortnight they had sent him home on a strictly
non-weight-bearing regime with crutches.

He came back for an outpatient check at six weeks and had a scan, and
was very anxious that it should be showing some progress.

However, the bone chips didn't seem to be progressing as fast as Robert
wanted them to, and he was frustrated.

"I'm sure I can see a change," Frankie said thoughtfully as they
studied the scan.  "Can you?  I'm damned if I can.  I think it's
wishful thinking."

"No.  Look here.  What's that?"

He studied the tiny area she indicated and raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe.
It's pretty damn slight if it is an improvement.  '

"But surely anything's better than nothing?"  she suggested.

He gave a grim laugh.  "If you showed that to Mr.  Lee and told him it
was getting better you'd be hard pushed to convince him."

"Even so," she said, sticking to her guns, "I think it's getting
better."

"And that, of course, will make all the difference."

She was exasperated.  "Well, don't you?"

He blew out his breath through pursed lips, then shrugged.  "Perhaps.
It's not exactly startling, though and he's getting very worried about
being able to work and look after his wife properly.  I think we ought
to consider sending him to a specialist centre to have an electrical
stimulator implanted if it continues to make so little progress.  Maybe
that will hustle it up a bit."

"Can you justify it?"

He shrugged again.  "Not yet, perhaps, but if there isn't any change
in, say, another four weeks then I think we can.  Hopefully by then
time will have proved you right and me wrong.  By the way, what are you
doing on Friday night?"

"Peeling grapes.  Why, are you going to make me a better offer?"

He chuckled.  "There's a Valentine's day ball in aid of the hospital,
run by the League of Friends.  I wondered if you wanted to go."

"Do you want to?"

"I thought you might," he said evasively.

"Do you want to?"  she repeated more emphatically.

His mouth tipped a little.  "No, not really, I'd rather be at home
peeling you grapes."

She could feel her eyes sparkling.  "I think you just convinced me.
Where's Jane for the weekend?"

"She's home for half-term.  I pick her up on Friday evening- Oh,
damn."

"No grapes," Frankie said mournfully.

"To hell with the grapes," he growled.  "We'll have a week of being on
our best behaviour."  He looked longingly at her mouth, then with a
frustrated sigh he picked up Mr.  Lee's notes and tapped them on his
other hand.  "Come on, let's tell him how it looks, send him home for
four weeks and get on with the clinic," he said reluctantly.

Jane's half-term was the last complete week in February, and as often
happened it snowed, suddenly and without warning.

Robert phoned the hospital to say he was cut off and would be unable to
get in until it thawed, and dressed up in his thickest clothes to go
out with Jane and build a snowman.

She was too old, really, but then so was he.  They had great fun,
rolling balls about the garden until they were enormous and then
struggling to lift one on top of the other.  They found an old tweed
cap in the barn, and with the help of a carrot, a slice of orange and
some coal they made a face and buttons, then Robert photographed Jane
posing by the snowman, her face flushed with the cold and bright with
laughter.

Then they went in and made a cup of hot chocolate and sat by the fire,
thawing slowly.

Robert was just about to bring up the subject of Frankie and what Jane
thought of her when she brought the subject up herself, in a roundabout
way.

"It's lovely having you to myself," she confided.

He was a bit taken aback by that.  "It's lovely to have you," he said
finally.  "You can have no idea how much I've missed having you around
all your life.  I love you, JJ.  Are you happier now you're living here
with me?"

She nodded, a little smile on her mouth.  "I love Mum but
she's-well-she's not easy to forgive, you know?"

"Yes, I know exactly."  He wound up his nerve a little.  "So, how did
you enjoy Center Parcs?"

"Oh, it was brilliant!  Can we go again?"

"Maybe."  He looked at his hands, unsure how to go on, but she rattled
on ahead of him anyway.

"Frankie's good fun, isn't she?  You let her bully you, though."

He smiled.  "Maybe I like being bullied."

"Maybe you like having fun, you mean!"  She unravelled her legs and
crossed over to him, taking his cup out of his hands and putting it
down before settling herself on his lap.

"Are you quite comfortable?"  he said drily.

"Mmm.  I just wanted a hug.  It's so nice being here with you on my
own.  There's always someone around at school, and sometimes it's just
nice to be quiet with just the two of us.  That's why I love coming
here so much."

He felt a little ripple of apprehension.  "Do you mind Frankie being
here sometimes?"  he asked cautiously.

"Oh, no, I like her.  Still, it's not the same as having you to myself.
I can't climb all over you like this when Frankie's here."

He laughed.  "Why ever not?"

Jane shrugged.  "She'd think I was being silly.  Anyway , I'd feel
silly."  She shifted until she was looking out of the window.  "Is the
snow likely to last long?"  she asked wistfully.

"I don't know.  Why?"

"Because when it melts the road will be open, and I'll have to share
you again."

With Frankie, he thought, and his heart sank.  She didn't like them
having a relationship, he realised, and that posed a serious threat to
his future happiness with Frankie, because, as he had told her, he and
Jane were a package.  He'd done enough to hurt her by bringing her into
the world so carelessly as a young man.  Now, as a responsible and
caring adult, the least he could do was ensure her happiness, even if
it was at the expense of his own.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, and Jane would start to open her
heart to Frankie.  He couldn't see how she could fail after all, with
Frankie's warm and generous nature.  No one could dislike her.  He was
beginning to think that no one could fail to love her, either-including
him.

Jane would come round.  She just needed time... The snow didn't last
long.  By Saturday Jane was fed up with being at home, and Robert, keen
to get them together again and give them time to build a relationship ,
suggested that Frankie should take his daughter shopping again.  "It'll
be summer soon, and she'll need other things," he reasoned.  "And it'll
give you time with her again."

"Sure.  You know I'm happy to spend time with her.  She's great fun.  I
love her."

"So do I-but then she's my daughter," he said heavily.  "I can't just
expect you to like her-or vice versa.  '

Frankie looked at him searchingly.  "Robert, has something happened?
Has she said something about me?"

He shook his head.  "No-not really.  I just get the feeling she might
be a little jealous if she realised how deep our relationship was
now."

"Don't you think she ought to know?"  Frankie said, worried that they
were deceiving Jane, if only by amiss ion

"No-not yet.  Give her time to get to know you.  It'll be all right."

Frankie hoped so.  She had the distinct feeling that he wasn't telling
her everything, but he might be right.

Time with Jane could help to strengthen their friendship.  Perhaps then
she would be happy to welcome Frankie to the fold.

Jane certainly seemed keen enough to see her on Saturday morning.

"Can we go to Norwich?"  she asked her father.  "There are some super
shops there."

"Sure-if Frankie doesn't mind?"

Frankie smiled.  "Frankie doesn't mind.  Frankie quite fancies the
idea.  Do we have a budget?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Just be sensible."

"When am I ever anything else?"  she asked in mock outrage.

He snorted rudely, handed over his cash point card and pretended to
slit his throat with his finger.

Frankie patted his cheek, kissed him lightly on the mouth and told him
not to panic.  "You know you can trust me."

"Yes, I know," he murmured.  "I just have visions of all the shopping
bags, and it brings me out in a cold sweat.  Don't let that stop you
having fun, though."

Frankie laughed and glanced across at Jane.  She was staring at them, a
curious look on her face, and Frankie had the uneasy feeling that she
was withdrawing into herself.

"All ready?"  she said brightly.

"Yes."  Just the one word, nothing more.

It was a quiet drive to Norwich, if one discounted the music which Jane
put on loudly on Frankie's car radio.  Because she liked it, or to
drown out any possibility of conversation?  Frankie wasn't sure.

However, she soon seemed to perk up once they hit the shops, and
Frankie had to all but drag her away at the end of the day.

They hadn't bought as much this time, but Jane had unbent and allowed
herself to have fun, and Frankie wondered if Robert was right and she
was jealous of their relationship.  That night they all went to a film
together, and Jane sat in the middle like a chaperon.

She didn't stay after they got back to the house, but said goodnight to
both of them at the door and left, declining Robert's invitation for
lunch the following day.

She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to come between Jane and her
father, and she felt that just now, with all the upheaval of moving up
here permanently and the hurtful effect of her mother's behaviour, Jane
would need him more than ever.

So she kept out of their way, and she wasn't surprised when Robert
knocked on her door on Sunday evening.

"Taken her back?"  she asked.

"Mmm.  Fancy a quick drink?"

She shook her head.  "Not really.  I've missed you.

What I want to do is hold you."

He pushed the door shut behind him and took her in his arms.  "Hold
away," he murmured.

Frankie did, and it was wonderful.  "How's Jane?"  she asked through
his jumper.

"OK.  A bit clingy.  I think she's reacting to her mother's stupidity.
Now she's safe she can admit that she was hurt by it, poor kid."  He
heaved a sigh, and Frankie tipped back her head and kissed him
gently.

"You're still angry with her, aren't you?"

"Jackie?"  He snorted.  "I feel like killing her sometimes She rang up
the other day-she's short of cash.  I'd already sent her a big cheque.
She isn't supposed to have maintenance, but I know she used to spend
some of JJ's money on herself, and I took it away without warning.  She
hasn't had a chance to prepare herself or budget for it-not that she
would given all the time in the world.  She's far too self centred '

"No, you're far too soft.  I imagine you always have been."

He sighed.  "Probably.  I just wish she'd find some rich count who'd
whisk her off to Bavaria or somewhere."

They shared a rueful smile, and Robert's arms tightened fractionally
before releasing her.  He stretched out on the bed and bounced his
bottom up and down a little.

"God, it is hard and lumpy, isn't it?"

"I said it was."

"I was just thinking of trying it out, but maybe I'll pass."  He rolled
on to his side, propped his head on his hand and grinned.  "Want to
come back with me?"

She shook her head, horribly tempted.  "I'd love to, but I'd better
not.  It's already late.  How about a coffee instead?"

His smile was rueful.  "It isn't quite what I had in mind, but if
that's all you're offering I'll have to make do with it."

She chuckled.  "With these walls?  Are you kidding?  We make far too
much noise.  '

Just then, to illustrate the point, the man next door came in and
turned on his radio.

"You can hear every word!"  Robert whispered.

She chuckled.  "I know.  Coffee?"

His laugh was wry.  "I think so."

The next week was hectic.  They snatched a couple of hours together on
Wednesday evening, but then the phone rang and Robert had to go in, so
he took Frankie with him and she went back to her room and lay on her
lumpy mattress and missed him.

That week Jim Pate's cast came off his arm, and he was delighted to get
rid of it, if a little wary of the unsupported limb.

"It feels so damn thin," he told Frankie.  "I don't know, what with the
ironmongery on my leg and the cast on my arm I've been a right mess,
haven't I?"

Frankie chuckled, hitched a hip up on the edge of his bed and looked
down at him in the chair.  His leg was supported on a pull-out board;
and the rods and screws of the external fixator gleamed at her like
some kind of futuristic robot.

"The Bionic Man," he said with a wry grin.  "Do you think it'll ever be
the same again, Frankie?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Probably not, but it should be pretty
good."

He stared at it thoughtfully, then started to speak, his voice soft and
rather sad.  "I used to be a model, you know.  For catalogues and
things.  It was quite a good living, but then someone smashed my nose
and suddenly they didn't want me any more."

He gave a humourless laugh.  "Nor did anyone else.  I'd dropped out of
college, my parents wouldn't speak to me-I ended up with nothing.  I
bummed around London for a while, but then I heard East Anglia was a
boom county and I might get a job up here."

"And?"

He looked up at her with a quick grin.  "They lied.  I started living
rough, got into prostitution so I could eat, but I got on someone
else's patch.  That was when my leg got kicked.  He tried to kill me.
Pity he didn't, really.

"I've done odd jobs since-fruit-picking, digging potatoes, that sort of
thing.  Casual work for cash, no questions asked.  I won't steal, but
sometimes it isn't easy.  I busk in the subways till I get moved on,
and sometimes it's quite good money.  Usually, though, it's a case of
foraging in the bins outside McDonald's and Burger King-if I can get
the left-overs before the rats get them or the bin men come."

Frankie's brow creased in a quick frown.  "Jim, that's awful.  Don't
your parents care?"

He looked blankly at her.  "My parents?  I haven't got a clue.  They'd
think I was just a useless bum, and they'd be right."  He laughed
shortly.  "At least I've kept away from drugs.  Not even I was that
stupid."

"Why don't you contact them, Jim?  They're probably worried sick about
you."

He snorted.  "And pigs fly.  No, Frankie.  They don't want to know.
Dad's a vicar, for God's sake.  They've got no room in their home for a
useless parasite."

"I thought Christians taught forgiveness?"  she said softly.

His smile was kind and his eyes were centuries old.  "What ever gave
you that idea, Frankie Bradley?"

He looked away, his eyes suddenly bright, and Frankie gave in to
impulse and hugged him hard.

"Contact them, Jim, please?  At least let them know you're alive?"

He shrugged her off, his shoulders stiff, and she let go and
straightened up.  "At least tell me you'll think about it.  '

"I have thought about it," he told her gruffly.  "I've thought about
precious little else for the last six years, but it's too late now.
Circles close, Frankie.  There's no place for me there now."

"You're wrong, Jim," she said quietly.  "There's no family circle in
the world that would close so tight that a prodigal son couldn't
return."

He looked at her again, and she saw tears wet on his cheeks.  "There's
no such thing as a fatted calf; I learned that years ago.  I knew the
rules-I chose not to play by them.  I've got no one to blame but
myself."  He reached out and took her hand.  "I'm OK, Frankie.  I'll
survive, don't you worry about me."

But she did-endlessly.  She wanted to talk to Robert, but he had Jackie
for the weekend so she could see Jane, and she gathered from the
atmosphere when he popped in on Saturday that it was not going well.

She was walking out of the kitchen opposite her room with a cup of
coffee in her hand when Gavin Jones came in, bumping into her and
slopping the coffee over her hand.

"Ouch!"  she exclaimed, and, putting the cup down, she ran her hand
under the tap.

"Are you all right?"

She grinned at Gavin.  "I'll live.  Cold water will sort it out; it
wasn't that hot."

He blotted up the floor with a paper towel and propped himself against
the work top watching her as she held her hand in the cold running
water.

"So, how are things?  Think you'll make the grade?"

She smiled.  "He says so."

"Of course, he has a vested interest.  I don't imagine he wants you to
leave under the circumstances."

"Circumstances?"  she said, paying undue attention to her hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm gossiping.  Forget it."

She gave a strained laugh.  "Does everyone know?"

"Probably.  Hospitals are like that.  Does it matter?"

She thought about it.  "No, not really.  His daughter doesn't know
yet."

Gavin raised one eyebrow.  "Really?  Well, she won't find out from me."
He turned off the tap, pulled her hand round into the light and studied
it carefully.

"Well, Doctor?"

He grinned and released her.  "It looks OK.  I was just about to make
myself one-want to join me?"

Suddenly she had an overwhelming urge for his company He was kind,
generous, thoughtful and funny, his friendship just exactly that.  He
obviously knew the situation with her and Robert, so there would be no
tacky fending-off and hurt feelings.

"Thanks," she told him.  "I will."

His room was no more comfortable than her own, the bed just as lumpy,
the furniture just as spartan.  "Any sign of your flat yet?"  she
asked.

He smiled ruefully.  "I haven't had time to look, to be honest.  Well,
that's not true, but the estate agents tend to work normal hours, and
that's when I'm on duty-for starters.  It's hard to catch them between
midnight and five a.m. on a Sunday morning, and I usually have better
things to do, like sleeping."

He lay across the top of the bed, his feet propped on the bedside
table, and looked around the room.  "Pretty dire, isn't it?  Still, I
keep thinking, It's only temporary, so what does it matter?"  He
laughed.  "So, Dr.  Bradley, tell me what you've learned this week."

"Well," she said slowly, "I've done a patellectomy, that's removing a
kneecap."

He arched a brow.  "I did know that."

She laughed.  "Sorry.  I didn't till I did, if you know what I mean.
I've done a knee replacement, prescribed quite the wrong treatment for
a burst fracture of a thoracic vertebra and been stopped in my tracks,
fortunately , and plated a nasty ankle.  Oh, and three hip replacements
and a couple of arthroscopies."

"Quite old hat," he said with a grin.

"Absolutely.  Actually, there's one person I am worried about.  He's a
drop-out-well, I think in fact society dropped him out when he fell on
hard times.  He's had chronic osteomyelitis and he hasn't got anywhere
to live.  I'm so worried he'll go back to the old warehouse he was
living in down by the river-it'll be cold and damp, filthy.  We can't
keep him in indefinitely , but he's got nowhere else."

"The council will find him a hostel," Gavin told her.

"Don't worry, they have contingency plans for these old boys.  '

"But he's not old; that's just it.  He's only twenty-six, , and his
life's all ahead of him.  I tried to get him to contact his parents,
but he won't because he says they'll want nothing to do with him.  His
father's a vicar, for goodness' sake !  '

"In which case he's probably right.  It would set the parish council by
the ears if the vicar's son crawled back covered in the slime of
society's gutters."

She stared down into her coffee.  "He's so sad, Gavin.  He desperately
wants to go home."

"Oh, Frankie," Gavin said softly.  "You want to put the world to rights
and it won't have any of it.  Believe me.  I've tried.  Now I just keep
my nose down and stay out of it.  Other people's problems are their
own."

She stared at him.  "Gavin, you don't mean that.  You sound just like
Jim Pate."

"Your drop-out?"  His smile was wry.  "I expect we went to the same
school of hard knocks-we were just in a different class.  Trust me,
Frankie, he's right.

His folks don't want him.  He's following a different drummer and they
don't understand the rhythm."

She went back to her room and thought of Jim Pate and his parents, and
Robert's wife Jackie.  She was certainly following a different
drummer-and understanding her took some doing.

Maybe Gavin was right.  People's problems were their own, and she
should stay out of Jim's and let him get on with it...

CHAPTER NINE

It was early March, and spring was beginning to touch the landscape
with green.  Buds were bursting on the trees, and everywhere daffodils
nodded their heads in cheerful profusion.

Frankie hardly had time to notice.  Robert was delegating more and more
responsibility, because David Hunt's father was ill again and he had
taken some leave to be with him.  Robert was therefore busier, and the
knock-on effect meant that Frankie hardly had time to turn round.

When she wasn't on duty, though, she was with Robert, and although she
had never spent the night there there had been times when the milkmen
were out as she was on her way back to the hospital.

He still hadn't told her that he loved her, but his lovemaking was so
tender, so caring and sensitive that she knew he must.

He was withdrawn, though, and she sensed he was keeping something from
her-something she wouldn't want to hear.

She began to wonder why he hadn't told Jane about the change in their
relationship, but then it occurred to her that perhaps she had failed
the test.  Perhaps Jane had said she didn't like her, and so Frankie
wasn't considered good enough.  He didn't love her, so although he
would keep her on as a mistress for as long as it suited him he
wouldn't bother to distress his daughter with her father's human needs
and frailties.

She decided to have one last go at persuading him to talk to Jane.  If
he refused, then she would have to believe in her instincts, in which
case there was no point in staying here.  She wouldn't make herself a
doormat for anyone, no matter how worthy they might seem.

On the second Monday in March, Jim Pate was discharged into the care of
the local authority, who were to house him in a hostel and care for him
until he was fit.

Frankie had grave doubts about his discharge, but, as Robert said, they
couldn't keep him for ever.

"I hope he's all right," she said, biting her lip as she watched him
go.

"So do I," Robert said heavily.  "He'll be back for check-ups.  We'll
keep an eye on the situation.  If it looks too dodgy I'm sure we can
readmit him."

"On what grounds?"

He grinned at her.  "I'll think of something.  Mr.  Lee's in this
afternoon for a scan and check-up.  I wonder which of us was right?"

Frankie shook her head.  "You, I expect, although I hope it was me. I'd
be so pleased if that leg had started to heal.  '

"You and me both, Dr.  Bradley-you and me both.  I'll tell you what."

"What?"

"If you're right, I'll take you out for dinner on Friday night-a really
super slap-up meal.  It's time we did that."

"And if I'm wrong?"

He grinned.  "I'll take me out instead-only I'll need company, of
course.  '

She laughed softly.  "Sounds like you've got it all worked out, Mr.
Ryder."

"Sure have," he chuckled.

They went down to the orthopaedic clinic that afternoon, and together
they looked at the results of the scan.

Frankie punched the air.  "Yes!  I get dinner!"

"You were getting dinner anyway," Robert reminded her drily.  "Well
done, though.  You were right.  It's healing well, and within a few
weeks he should be fine.  Let's go and tell him the good news."

Mr.  Lee was, naturally, delighted.  "Well, to be honest I thought I
was stuck with that awful pain for ever," he confessed with a chuckle.
"Oh, May will be so thrilled."

"How is she?"  Frankie asked.

"Oh, doing a bit better now.  She's got a bad chest, and every winter
it seems to get worse, but the spring's here now.  Things will soon be
better."

Frankie grinned at him.  "Do you know, Mr.  Lee," she said, "I think
you might be right?"

For the rest of the week, although busy, Frankie was happy.  Darren
Hawkes came back to have his ankle checked, and she was over the moon
with the result of his skin graft.  It looked a million times better,
she thought, and not nearly as awful as she had imagined it would.

The patient with the burst fracture of the vertebra was doing well on
Robert's regime of strict bed rest for six weeks followed by gentle
mobilisation.  So far a fortnight had passed, and the patient was in
considerably less pain.

The neurological damage was slight, restricted to a slight loss of
sensation along one nerve root pathway , and the patient would probably
make a total recovery-much better than her plan to mobilise
immediately, because she had missed the slight sensation loss.

It was a serious error, and one she had berated herself for over and
over again.

Robert had repeated his claim that no one could be perfect all of the
time, and that a few mistakes like that which were picked up did no one
any harm and helped the learning process.

That was certainly true!  Her learning curve had acquired a real kink
in it after that!

Friday night finally arrived.  The other team were on call, their
patients were covered for the weekend and Jane was going to a friend's
house for the weekend.

"Why don't you stay?"  Robert suggested.  "Bring some things with you
and we'll make a weekend of it.  It seems to have been ages since we
were together for more than a few minutes."

So she agreed, and later, having put on the dress she had bought with
Jane, she picked up her little overnight bag, loaded it in her car and
left for Robert's.

He came out to meet her, drawing her into his arms as soon as she was
out of the car and kissing her lingeringly.

"Hell, Frankie, I've missed you," he murmured against her hair.

Her arms tightened around him almost convulsively.  "I've missed you
too," she replied, choked.  "It's been so long since I've held you like
this."

"Too long.  Come on in; it's cold.  I've got the fire going, the
kettle's on and we can have a coffee before we leave."  He took her bag
from her, slung his arm round her shoulders and shepherded her into the
house.

They nearly didn't get out of the door, of course, because she took her
coat off and Robert groaned.  "Not that wicked, delectable dress?"  he
muttered.  "Frankie, how could you do that to me?  Come here..."

She went, but only briefly.  He was too tempting himself in dark
suit-trousers and a fine silk shirt.  He hadn't put his tie on yet, and
that wretched curl was lurking there, in the V... She tweaked it, and
he winced and met her eyes.  "You're a wicked hussy," he said gruffly.
"I think we ought to skip the coffee and go.  We can have a drink
there.  '

He put his tie on, and she stood behind him at the mirror and slid her
hands into his pockets.  He grinned and jackknifed.  "Get out, woman;
that tickles."

She smiled her siren's smile.  "No.  I'm having fun."  She delved a
little deeper, and he groaned and leaned against her, their eyes
meeting in the mirror.

"Is that something in your pocket, or are you pleased to see me?"  she
murmured, and he gave a choking laugh and turned, pulling her into his
arms.

"You are a wicked, wicked woman," he murmured against her lips.

"Mmm.  Robert?"

"Mmm?"

"Are we going out?"

"I suppose so.  I don't want to, but I did promise you a slap-up meal,
so I suppose we ought to."

"We could stay in and have cheese on toast."

"I've booked the table."

"Oh."  She moved away from him reluctantly, smiling that smile.  "We'd
better go, then.  My coat, please?"

He helped her into it, settled it round her shoulders and then shrugged
into his jacket.  He didn't bother with a coat.  "It'll do me good to
cool down," he said with a wry grin when she questioned it.

They drove to the restaurant, a little place tucked away in the country
with a very intimate feel, very much as if they were being entertained
in someone's home.  They were seated in front of a roaring log fire on
a comfortable old settee, drinks were brought to them by the owner on
an antique silver tray and they sat sipping their drinks and nibbling
nuts and trying to keep their hands off each other.

In the end Robert gave up, took Frankie's hand in his and snuggled it
against his thigh.  "I don't care if anyone sees us," he said.  "Who
said romance was dead?"

Not Frankie.  He might not come out with gratuitous compliments all the
time, but, whenever they were alone, by look or touch or word he was
more romantic than anyone she had ever met.  He made her feel truly
feminine, very much desired, and all woman.

And tonight was no exception.  He was warm and funny, their
conversation sparkled, and beneath it all was the undercurrent of
passion simmering almost out of control.

Anticipation.  That was the thing, she decided.  The meal was almost a
courtship ritual, the dessert a foregone conclusion, but the stylised
delay was what tantalised.

As if he knew that, Robert played his part to the full.  They didn't
eat a great deal-Frankie found it impossible to force much past the
tightness in her throat and Robert's appetite was clearly not for the
food, however delicious.

They lingered, though, savouring each course, driving the tension
higher and higher.

Finally, when Frankie thought she was going to scream, he
surrendered.

Setting his coffee down with exaggerated care, he turned to the
proprietor.  "Could I have the bill, please?"  he asked.

He paid by credit card, and moments later he was helping her on with
her coat, settling her into the car and sliding behind the wheel.

"That was a wonderful meal," she said in the tense, electric silence.

"Wasn't it?"  He glanced across at her, their faces lit by the soft
glow from the welcoming lights of the restaurant.  "You look beautiful
tonight."

Her hand reached out and she laid her fingers against his jaw, feeling
the tension.  "So do you."

Their eyes locked, their breathing became light and shallow, and with a
little shake of his head Robert turned and started the engine.

The drive home was silent but mercifully short.  He let them in, kicked
the door shut and she went into his waiting arms.

"I need you," he muttered darkly.  "Frankie?"

His hands pushed off her coat and she put her arms behind her and let
it fall.  His jacket was next, then the tie, then their shoes.

"This is crazy," he said, and, picking her up in his arms, he carried
her up the stairs to his bedroom and set her on her feet, lowering her
slowly down his body for maximum effect.

They were both trembling, the buttons of his shirt too much for them.
He managed the top two and his cuff-links, then wrenched it over his
head.  Something ripped but he didn't pause, throwing it aside and
turning back to Frankie.

"Take off your dress," he said hoarsely.  "Nice and slow.  '

Her pulse hammering, she picked up the hem and drew the dress up over
her head.

His breath caught.  "Dammit, Frankie, if I'd known you were wearing
that you would never have got out of the door this evening."

She held the dress at arm's length and dropped it.  "You approve?"  she
asked, her voice husky with desire.

His eyes scorched over her, over the pale cream of the lace teddy, the
suspenders, the sheer Lycra stockings , and then came back to her
face.

"Approve?"  he muttered.  "Lord, woman, if you had the slightest
idea..

"Your turn."

He didn't take his eyes off her as he stripped off the rest of his
clothes and flung them anywhere.  His watch was last, dropped on the
floor without a thought.

"Take off the stockings," he said tightly.

She did, rolling them down slowly and deliberately, first one, then the
other.

The teddy was next.  She made him undo the snaps, so intimately placed,
and his hands trembled against her thighs.  She bent forward and laid a
feather-soft kiss against his skin, and he jumped as if she'd shot
him.

"Take it off," he gritted.

She dropped the straps, slid it down over her hips and wriggled out of
it.

"Now what?"  she said teasingly.

"Now I'm going to make you pay for that," he growled softly.  He
stripped back the quilt, ordered her to lie down and then slowly,
systematically, he started at her head and worked his way down to her
feet, kissing every inch.

By the time he reached her toes she was almost beside herself.  His
tongue was hot, wickedly clever and more than she could bear, and
suddenly she couldn't stand it any more.  She sat up, her hands
reaching for him, and pleaded with him incoherently.

He moved up beside her again, his hand trailing fire over her thighs,
and then, grasping her wrists in one hand, he moved over her and
hovered, tantalising her yet again.

"Say please," he taunted, but his voice was uneven, his body was
trembling and even as she said the word he was crumbling, his resolve
swept away by the.  fierce passion that rode them.

She thought he would be rough, the suspense too much for them both, but
he wasn't; his body racked with the effort of control, he moved slowly,
gently, as if he couldn't bear the thought of it being over and so was
prolonging it for as long as he could.

Finally, though, his control snapped and he released her wrists,
dropped his face into her shoulder and groaned.  "Frankie, come with
me," he whispered, and then he took off the brakes.

It was a wild tempestuous ride, short but devastating in its impact,
like a runaway roller coaster.

As they climbed the last peak and fell headlong down the final run,
Frankie sobbed and clung to him, her face buried in his neck, her arms
locked round him as if she would never let him go.

He collapsed against her, his chest heaving, and as the pounding of his
heart slowed he levered himself up and looked down into her swimming
eyes.

"What ever are you going to do for an encore?"  she murmured, and with
a choked laugh he fell beside her, pulled her into his arms and cradled
her against his heart.

Within moments they were asleep.

Frankie opened her eyes slowly.  Dragging herself out of sleep, she
became aware of three things.

One, the sun was pouring in.

Two, the quilt had slipped to their waists.

Three, the noise that had woken her was Jane's voice, calling out for
Robert, who was sprawled naked beside her, fast asleep.

She shook him.  "Robert, it's Jane!  She's here!"  she whispered,
frantically dragging up the quilt.

His eyes opened at the same time as the bedroom door, and widened as
Jane took one step into the room, stopped in her tracks and gasped.

"Dad?"  she said uncertainly, gazing around at the clothes strewn
across the floor where they had dropped them in the heat of their
passion.

"Oh, God!"  she sobbed, clapping her hand over her mouth, and then she
spun on her heel and ran.  They heard her fall on the stairs and give a
startled cry, then the door opened and slammed, and Robert was out of
bed, dragging on his trousers and running after her in bare feet, out
onto the frosty gravel.

Frankie didn't hurry.  She thought they needed time together, time to
deal with the sudden revelation and its implications.

She went along to the bathroom, washed briefly and took off last
night's make-up, then went back to the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a
jumper and packed away the rest of her things.  In a sort of icy calm
she put Robert's clothes in the laundry basket, picked up his watch and
laid it on the bedside table, then went downstairs.

They were in the kitchen, Jane slumped across the table in floods of
tears, Robert standing helplessly nearby dressed only in his trousers,
ramming his hands through his hair.

He looked up at Frankie, his eyes pleading.  "I can't reason with her,"
he told her unsteadily.  "She just keeps calling me a bastard."

Frankie put the kettle on.  "I think we should all sit down and have a
cup of tea and talk about this like reasonable human beings, don't
you?"

Jane lifted her tear-stained face and looked at Frankie with such hurt
in her eyes that she could have wept.

"I thought you were my friend," she said tearfully, her voice rising.
"I thought I could trust you, but you're just like my mother".  She
broke off, a sob convulsing her chest, her slim hand pressed over her
mouth to hold in the pain.

Frankie bit her lip, unable to bear it.  "Oh, Jane, that isn't true
"Don't lie to me!  I saw you!  Look at the place clothes everywhere,
ripped off each other like animals "Jane, that's enough," Robert
ordered.  "Apologise to Frankie immediately."

"Why should I?"  The girl's eyes swivelled to her father, and another
tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto the table.  "I thought you
were different.  I thought I could trust you, that I was safe with you,
but you're all the same, all of you, at it like rabbits She leapt up
and ran out, through the back door and down the garden to the swing at
the end.

Frankie caught Robert's arm as he made to follow her.

"Let her go.  She needs to cry, to get it out of her system.  When
she's calmed down you can talk to her."

He stared down the garden, his eyes filled with tears of remorse. "I've
failed her, Frankie.  I knew she was worried about our relationship.  I
think she felt threatened by you, as if there was only room for one of
you.  I was going to talk to her tomorrow-pick her up from her friend's
and sit down with her and see if I could make her understand He broke
off, his face contorted with regret.  Frankie put her arms round him to
comfort him but he moved away.  "I'm sorry," he muttered.  "I just". 
He shook his head, unable to find the words.

"I'll go," Frankie said quietly, her heart heavy.  There was nothing
she could say or do.  It was between Robert and his daughter, and she
was just in the way.

She laid a hand on his shoulder.  "Call me later," she said, but he
didn't move or reply, his eyes fixed on Jane, weeping at the end of the
garden.

She let herself out, put her bag in the car and drove back to the
hospital.  She almost made it to her room before the tears came.

A moment later there was a knock on the door.

She scrubbed her cheeks.  "Who is it?"  she said, her voice clogged
with tears.  The door opened.

"Want a shoulder?"  Gavin offered gently.

"Oh, Gavin He gathered her gently into his arms, rocked her against his
chest and let her cry.

"Now," he murmured as she hiccuped to a halt, "tell Uncle Gavin all
about it."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, blew her nose on the tissue he
pushed into her hand and then shredded it into her lap.

"His daughter came back."

"Oh."

"We were still in bed.  She didn't know that we were-you know-having an
affair."  She looked up at the ceiling and drew a shaky breath, then
closed her eyes.  "It was awful, Gavin," she whispered.  "I felt as if
I'd let her down.  He should have told her.  She should have known
about us.  He was going to tell her tomorrow, and now it's too late to
do it gently."  She took a steadying breath.  "Can you imagine how she
must feel?"

"Coming face to face with your parents' sexuality is all part of
growing up," he told her gently.  "She'll get over it.  '

Frankie shook her head.  "I don't know.  Really, Gavin, I don't know.
She's had more to contend with than most children of her age.  I think
this will take a lot of getting over."

"Then she'll need time."  He patted her shoulder and stood up.  "Have
you had breakfast?"  She shook her head.  "Come on, then.  Wash your
face and we'll go and pig out in the canteen."

"I couldn't."

"No such word.  Come on.  You've got five minutes before I break in
here and carry you up the corridor."

She gave a tearful chuckle.

"That's better.  Five minutes, now."

He was wonderful.  He kept her going throughout that long and awful
day, but despite his best efforts she couldn't shake off the awful
dread.

Robert rang her late that night, his voice guarded.

"How is she?"  Frankie forced herself to ask.

"Angry, hurt, betrayed.  She's angry with you as much as with me.  She
says you pretended to be her friend, and all the time you were using
her to suck up to me."

Frankie closed her eyes.  "Oh, Robert, that isn't true."

"I know.  I can't convince her, though.  She'll hardly speak to me. She
says she came over this morning because she fell out with her friend
and wanted to be with me, so she borrowed some money off the mother and
caught the train."

"But it's miles from the station!"

"She walked-it took her half an hour; she got a lift some of the
way."

"She hitched?"  Frankie was appalled.

"Don't worry," Robert said grimly.  "She won't do that again.  I'll try
and have another talk with her tomorrow before I take her back to
school, but she's not very happy with me.  She says she's going back to
live with her mother-says at least Jackie never lied to her."

Frankie's eyes closed in despair.  "Oh, Robert, you can't let her "I
know.  Don't worry, Frankie, I'll make sure she's all right.  I'll
speak to you tomorrow."

He rang her at ten, just as she was about to ring him.

"How are things?"  she asked directly.

"Grim.  She still won't talk to me.  I'll give her the week to settle
down, then try again.  I've told the school-that was an experience I
don't wish to repeat.  I was made to feel like an irresponsible
teenager, but I thought they should know there was something wrong."

"I'm sure they should," Frankie agreed.

He didn't linger on the phone.  There was little to say that hadn't
been said before, and only time would change things.

That week they were busy.  Robert spoke to Jane on the phone, but again
she wouldn't talk to him and got upset.

He looked awful, his face grey and drawn, his eyes troubled, and as the
weekend approached his temper grew worse and worse.

As if by mutual consent he and Frankie didn't spend any time together
except at the hospital.  They were both too distressed by Jane's
unhappiness to pursue their own pleasure, and when Friday came Frankie
was on duty anyway, and worked all weekend.

She thought it would take her mind off what was going on at Robert's
house, but it simply blunted the edges.  Underneath she was conscious,
through all she did, of a knot of tension and pain that wouldn't go
away.

Robert had promised to come and see her on Sunday after he took Jane
back, and it was the longest forty eight hours of her life.  When she
heard the quick footfall outside her door at nine on Sunday evening,
she could hardly open the door for the dread filling her.

He came in, stared at her for a moment and then, with a ragged groan,
pulled her into his arms.

"How is she?"  she mumbled into his jacket.

He released her and paced to the window, staring out into the
blackness.  "Miserable.  She still won't talk about it properly.  I
don't know how to reach her."

"I don't think you can," she said, curling up on the bed.  "She needs
to come to you, and you'll just have to wait.  Sit down and tell me all
about it."

He perched on the edge of the bed, his hand over her feet, his head
bowed.  "I didn't tell her it was getting serious between us because I
knew there'd be an almighty scene and I didn't know how to deal with
it.  In the end, of course, I did the worst possible thing."

His fingers traced her toes, his mind miles away, his voice filled with
self-disgust.  "I'm not really used to being a parent-I haven't had
much chance-and now I've been flung in at the deep end and I've made a
total foul-up of it."

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it comfortingly' She come
round, Robert, if you give her time."

He looked at her, his eyes bleak, and then she knew.  "I don't think
so," he said heavily.  "The last thing she said to me was that she
never wanted to see you again."

Frankie took a steadying breath.  "She's upset, Robert.  She feels let
down."

"And it's my fault."  He took her hand in his and held it as if his
life depended on it.  "Frankie, I asked her to try and understand how
we felt.  Her reply was what about us understanding how she felt."  He
stared blankly out of the window.  "She asked me to promise that I
wouldn't carry on seeing you outside work."

Frankie's mouth felt dry, like cotton wool.  She had to force the words
out.  "And did you?"  she asked.

He looked at her, and his eyes were a welter of emotions.  "Frankie, I
had to.  She has to come first, even if that means" He broke off,
gripping her hand, and took a shuddering breath.  "It has to work for
us both, Frankie.  I can't sacrifice Jane's happiness for my own-you
know that.  She's part of me, the most important part.  I'm sorry."

He stood up and looked down at her, his voice raw with pain.  "I'd
better go.  Thank you for everything you've given me.  Thank you for
your warmth, for your love.  You'll never know what it meant..."

She couldn't move, couldn't speak.  If she opened her mouth it would be
to beg him to stay, to make love to her one last time.

She couldn't do that, not to Jane, or Robert, or to herself.

So she let him go, her heart breaking, and only when the door was
closed did she let the bitter tears fall...

CHAPTER TEN

WITHOUT Gavin's support the next week would have been unbearable.  He
said nothing, just let her talk if she wanted to, gave her a shoulder
to cry on and fed her in between.

Fortunately they were busy.  David Hunt's father had died the same
awful weekend, and so in David's absence Robert and Frankie were too
busy for anything other than very brief, technical exchanges about
treatment.

However, she found time for one other conversation with him.  He was in
his office dealing with some of the paperwork when she went in.

He glanced up, put down what he was doing and sat back.

"Have a seat."

She declined, instead walking over to the window to see if she could
draw inspiration from the trees in the distance, beyond the sprawl of
the hospital she had grown to know so well.

"I'm leaving at the end of the week," she told him quietly.

He was silent for a long while, then she heard an untidy sigh.  "I
guessed you might," he said, his voice heavy.  "The hospital will miss
you.  You've been an excellent member of the team."  He cleared his
throat.  "You know you can rely on me for references, don't you?"

She gave a tiny spurt of laughter that was halfway to a sob.  "Just so
long as they don't find out about us.  You're hardly impartial, after
all."  Even though he didn't love her, she thought.  He had never said
so.  He was fond of her, she knew that.  Maybe Jane's objection had
been convenient, in a way, releasing him from an affair that had been
threatening to become too serious?

She dragged in a breath and turned to face him.  "I'll miss you," she
told him honestly.  "You've taught me a lot.  I won't forget it, or the
fact that you didn't want me at first.  '

He laughed without humour.  "Oh, I wanted you, Frankie.  That was the
trouble.  The other applicant was only very average.  He was just less
of a threat to my peace of mind.  '

"It's a pity you didn't have him, really," Frankie said sadly.  "Then
none of this would have happened."

He opened his mouth to say something but her bleeper squawked, and,
excusing herself, she left his office and went back to the ward.  She
didn't trust herself to use the phone in his office.  It was altogether
too close to him and she was too near to tears to cope.

Medically, she supposed at the end of that week, she was leaving on a
high note.  Mr.  Lee's leg had finally shown signs of healing well,
Darren Hawkes' foot was making good progress with her skin grafts on,
and she knew that her surgical skills had improved enormously.

Only one patient worried her, and that was Jim Pate.  He hadn't turned
up for his outpatient appointment, and she felt she couldn't leave
without finding out what had happened to him.  However, when she rang
the hostel on Sunday afternoon she was told that he'd left a week
before.

"His father came and they had a row.  He left after that," the girl she
spoke to told her.  "His father was ever so upset.  He came back later
and tried to talk to him, but he'd gone.  He left a number-do you want
it?"

Frankie did.  She rang it and asked for Mr.  Pate, and a few moments
later a quietly spoken man came on the line.  "Gordon Pate here-can I
help you?"  he said kindly.

"Hello.  My name's Frances Bradley.  Mr.  Pate, it's about your son.
I'm the doctor who's been treating him, and I'm concerned about him.  I
gather you saw him a few days ago."  "James?  How is he?  Is he all
right?  What's happened?"

She could hear the note of panic in his voice and hastened to reassure
him.  "I don't know," she said calmingly, Nothing that I'm aware of,
but he didn't attend his outpatient appointment.  I just wondered if
you had any idea where he might have gone."  "No, none.  Dr.  Bradley,
if you find him, could you give him a message from me?  Could you tell
him we love him and want him home?  Tell him we're praying for him."

"I will," Frankie assured him.

"Ask him to phone-and if he won't I'd be.  so grateful if you could,
just to put our minds at rest.  We've been so worried for so long.."

"Don't worry, Mr.  Pate, I'm sure he'll be all right," Frankie said
soothingly.  "I'll pass your message on, and I'll ring you anyway.
Bye."

"Goodbye, Dr.  Bradley-and be careful," the man said as she put the
phone down.

She glanced at her watch.  It was four o'clock-still over two hours of
daylight left.  She'd just got time to check out her hunch.

She went back to her room, scribbled a note for Gavin and pushed it
under his door, then ran to her car.

If she was right, she'd find him down by the river, in a disused
warehouse-but where?  She made her way down to the docks and started
cruising along, looking about for any sign of him or any other human
being.

The light was failing and she was about to give up when she saw a sign
up ahead.  "Dockside Development Company', it read.  "One- and two-bed
roomed apartments'.

"Bijou little apartments for would-be yuppies', was how Jim had
described them.  There was no sign of work having started, though, so
maybe he was still here.

She parked her car and walked slowly towards the building.  There was a
huge sliding roller-shutter, rusted and peeling, and beside it a
personnel door hung open, its hinges broken and creaking in the wind.
She stepped cautiously inside.

"Jim?"  she called.  "Jim, are you here?"

"Frankie, get out!  Run-aagh!"

She heard a thud, a scream, and then she was running , not out but into
the darkened warehouse, following the sound of the noise through the
abandoned crates that littered the floor.

She saw Jim, lying on the ground while someone kicked him in the ribs,
and she ran over and grabbed the man by the shoulders, dragging him
back.

"Stop it!  For God's sake stop it!  You'll kill him!"

"Smart, ain't she?"  someone sneered.

She grabbed at the man who was kicking Jim again, and begged him to
stop.  "I'm a doctor, for heaven's sake!  I can't let you do this!"

"She can't let us, boys," the same sneering voice said.  "You'll have
to stop-the lady said so."

They laughed, an evil, jeering gang of about three, she thought, or
maybe four.  She turned to see the ringleader's face and felt a fist
jar against her cheek, sending her staggering back.

Another fist landed in her back, winding her, and then she felt a boot
connect with her hip and she screamed.

"Mr.  Ryder?  It's Gavin Jones.  I don't want to worry you but I'm a
bit concerned about Frankie.  I think she could be in trouble."

Robert jerked up straight in the chair, his attention caught instantly.
"Frankie?  What sort of trouble?"

"I don't know.  You know the drop-out, Jim Pate?  He didn't come to her
clinic the other day and she's worried about him.  I've just come back
and found a note under my door saying that if she's not back by six I
should ring the police.  She's down at the docks, it says, looking for
a warehouse on the river.  It's about to be redeveloped into flats or
something, I remember her saying.  '

Robert looked at his watch.  It was only five-thirty, but still...
"Phone the police.  I'm on my way down there.  Tell them everything you
know, and get them to hurry.  '

He grabbed a jacket and his keys and ran for the door.

"I want to come," Jane said, her eyes wide and frightened.

"No, stay here-and for once in your life do as you're told.  I can't
worry about both of you."

He ran to the car, gunned the engine and shot off down the drive in a
flurry of gravel.  Where the hell on the docks?  He had seen a
warehouse waiting for conversion.  He could picture it-the pitch of the
roof and the old dormer windows of the offices in the top.  He tried to
remember, to picture the location, but all he could remember was
thinking that the smell of gas would put people off That was it!  The
gasometer!  He headed through town, using his car phone to contact the
police and tell them his hunch, then he turned onto the old dock front
put his foot down and raced along the rough, uneven ground.

He reached the end, turned sharp right and there in the distance he saw
her car.  "Thank God," he muttered , and, skidding to a halt beside it,
he leapt out and ran for the open door into the building.

Then he heard her scream.

"Frankie?"  he yelled.  "Frankie, where are you?"

He darted between the scattered crates, searching the darkness for any
sign of her.

There was a muffled scream and a dull thud, and he spun towards the
noise.  "Frankie?"

Someone cursed, and then she screamed his name, the sound cut off
abruptly, but it was enough.  He could make them out now in the dark,
and, running towards them, he picked up a broken piece of packing case
and brought it down hard on the head of the man holding Frankie.

He dropped in his tracks, releasing her, and Robert spun round and
swung the lump of wood into the midsection of another man coming at him
from behind.  He folded over with a grunt, and then Robert heard a
slight noise and looked up just as Gavin brought one of Jim's aluminium
crutches down on the last man's arm.

He screamed in pain and the knife dropped with a clatter at Robert's
feet just as the police sirens screamed to a halt outside and the
pounding of feet brought reinforcements in.

"Here come the cavalry," Gavin said, puffing slightly.  "I think I
might have broken his arm."

"Good," Robert replied, and picked up the knife.  Powerful torches
sliced through the air, homed in on them and then they were surrounded
by police.  "All right, everyone, let's get this sorted out.  What's
going on here?"

"Officer, could you please arrest these men for assault?"  Robert
said.

The policeman in front looked from Robert to the three groaning men and
raised an eyebrow.  "Who are you?  Superman?"  he asked drily, and then
turned back to the muggers.

"All right, you lot.  I might have known it was you.  Look who we've
got here, boys-our old friend Smiley.  What's it all about, eh, Smiley?
We've been watching you, son, and we don't like what you've been doing.
Call the drugs squad, please, Sergeant.  Let's get these boxes
opened."

Robert handed the knife to the policeman and dropped to his knees
beside Frankie, reaching out a trembling hand to touch her face.
"Frankie?  Are you all right?  For God's sake talk to me!"

"Jim," she mumbled.  "How's Jim?"

Robert glanced up.  "Gavin's looking after him.  Where do you hurt?"

Her little laugh tore through him.  "Everywhere.  My lip, my
eye-cheekbone, really.  My hip and ribs She gave a shuddering little
sob, and with enormous care he gathered her into his arms and rocked
her gently.

"It's all right, Frankie.  You're OK now.  It's all over."

"Jim's OK," Gavin said from beside them.  "He's had a bit of a kicking
but he'll live.  I think he needs admitting , though, because that
fixator looks a bit bent.  I suspect he's going to be rather sore for a
few days."

"I've called an ambulance," the policeman told them.  "We'll take this
lot down to the station, charge them and then get a statement off these
two at the hospital.  Damn drop-outs-they're more trouble than they're
worth."  He looked down at Frankie.  "She's new."

"She's a doctor-she came to look for Jim," Gavin told him.  "He
probably owes her his life."

"Bloody fool she is, then," he said.  "He's not worth it.  '

"His father thinks he is," she mumbled thickly through her injured
mouth.  "He wants him to go home.  '

"Good.  That's one less for us to worry about."

"I think these men could do with being looked at the suit probably has
a broken arm," Gavin advised.

"Serves him right.  Pity it wasn't his neck," the policeman growled.
"All right, let's get you out of here."

The three men were taken out to the waiting police cars and driven off
just as the ambulance arrived.  Jim was loaded into it, but Robert
wouldn't let Frankie out of his sight.

"I'll take her," he said, and followed the ambulance to the hospital.
All the way there Frankie lay back against the seat, her eyes closed,
hands tightly clasped in her lap.  He couldn't really see her face, but
what he had seen of it made him want to murder the person or persons
responsible.

He reached out a hand and laid it over hers, and she seized it and
wouldn't let go.  Thank God for automatics , he thought as he drove
one-handed back to the hospital.

When they arrived he prised his fingers free and helped her out of the
car, leading her into A and E. Anna Haddon, the staff nurse, was on
duty, and, tut ting under her breath, she put her arm round Frankie and
led her straight round the back.  "Let's have a look at you,
sweetheart," she said gently.  "What happened?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Robert, realised he wasn't going
anywhere, and ignored him, stripping Frankie quickly and checking her
for wounds.  "Just bruising, I think, but you'll need X-rays.  I'll get
Patrick to look at you."

She covered Frankie with a blanket and slipped out, coming back a
moment later with her husband, who felt very gently over Frankie's
face, frowned at her bruised ribs and hip and agreed with Anna. "Photos
of the ribs and the cheekbone, I think, but just as a precaution.  Then
you need ice on that nasty bump and on your lip, a good stiff drink and
an early night.  Have you got anyone to look after you?"

"I'll look after her," Robert said firmly.

Patrick nodded, satisfied, and then filled in the forms.  "Queue-jump,
please.  She doesn't need to hang about.  She's had a nasty
experience."

Anna took Frankie through to X-Ray in a gown, brought her back and then
Patrick looked at the plates with Robert peering over his shoulder just
to make sure he didn't miss anything.

"All right?"  he said, and Robert gave a slight smile.

"Yes, she's all right.  I'll take her home.  The police can talk to her
tomorrow-doctor's orders."

He dressed her again, his hands infinitely gentle, and then walked her
carefully back to the car, helped her in and drove her slowly back to
his house.

Frankie hurt everywhere.  Her hip hurt when she put weight on that leg,
her ribs hurt every time she breathed, her lip felt enormous and her
cheekbone was throbbing with agony.

Robert led her gently into the kitchen, pushed her into a chair and
eased off her coat, then pushed a glass of water and some pills into
her hands.

"Painkillers-take them," he ordered, and she couldn't be bothered to
argue.  She needed them, anyway.

Jane came in and gasped, and Frankie heard Robert reassuring her.
"She's OK.  She just needs to be quiet for a while.  Why don't you go
and watch telly in the drawing room, darling?"

The door closed, and Frankie felt her cheek tentatively Lord, it was
sore.  She started to shake again.  ; "How's Jim?"  she asked weakly,
trying to take her mind off herself.

"He'll live.  He's a bit battered.  I'll ring later.  Right, hold
still; I'm going to put some ice on that bump."

She flinched, and his face twisted with pain.  "I'm sorry," he
murmured.  "Just let me hold it there for a few minutes.  It'll take
the swelling down."

He was as gentle as possible, but the ice hurt her almost more than the
bruise, and whether from that or from reaction she wasn't sure, but
tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and his thumb brushed away the tears with
such tenderness that they welled again.

"Just hold me," she said brokenly, and, dropping the ice, he lifted her
in his arms and carried her through into the sitting room, cradling her
against his chest as he sat in his big old chair.

She slumped against him, too weary to fight the tears as he held her
against his warmth and soothed her.

"What were you thinking about, going somewhere like that when it was
getting dark?"  he said crossly.

She sniffed.  "Don't be angry with me.  I was worried."

"You were worried?"  His hand stroked her hair rhythmically as he
scolded her, his voice raw with pain.

"My God, I thought you were going to die, Frankie.

Have you any idea what it did to me, hearing you scream?"  His arms
tightened convulsively and he rested his head against hers, his chest
heaving.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered into her hair.  "I thought you'd
die, and the whole of the rest of my life would be without you, knowing
that I'd been too late- Oh, God, Frankie... His hand cradled the back
of her head, and she felt a tear fall on her hand and realised with
surprise that it was his.

"Robert?  Darling, I'm all right," she murmured.  "Don't cry for
me-please; I'm fine now."

He lifted his head and his eyes shone with tears.  "I never did tell
you how much I love you, did I?"  he whispered.  "I should have done.
Even if we don't have a future, you ought to know that."

The tears welled and he shut his eyes, sending them cascading down his
cheeks.  She brushed them away with trembling fingers.

"I love you too.  Oh, Robert, what a mess..."

"How the hell am I going to live without you?"  he asked quietly.
"Every night I lie and wonder where you are, what you're doing.  I was
going to come and see you, but I didn't think I could trust myself. I'm
not very good with goodbyes."  He reached up and touched her bruised
cheek with his gentle, loving fingertips, and his.  face twisted.

"He could have killed you," he gritted.  "You might have died and never
known how much I love you."

Her heart was breaking.  "Robert, don't," she pleaded, her tears
threatening.  "I think I'd better go now.  Take me back."

"Frankie, I can't," he said raggedly.  "Stay-please?  Just until
tomorrow?  Let me make sure you're all right "Dad?"

They both turned, startled, at the quiet sound of her voice.

"JJ," Robert said, his voice reflecting his confusion.

"It's all right, Jane, I'm just going," Frankie said quickly.  "I'm all
right now "You love her, don't you?"  the girl carried on, her eyes
fixed on Robert.  "It's not like Mum.  She's all over them like a rash
then drops them, but you're talking to Frankie like you do to me, angry
with her because you were worried sick."

She sniffed hard, tears spiking her lashes.  "You don't worry about
people unless you love them, do you?  Not really worry, so that you
can't sleep at night.  I know you don't sleep.  I can hear you, walking
about all night and playing music down here..."

She smudged the tears from her cheeks and looked at Frankie.  "Are you
OK?"  she asked in a whisper.

"Yes-I will be.  I was just a bit scared, that's all.  I'm fine now."

"You were nearly killed," Robert told her flatly.  "The guy in the suit
had a knife with a six-inch blade.  I think Gavin broke his wrist."

"Good.  He deserved it."  She gave a shudder and he squeezed her
gently.

"Are you OK?"

She nodded.  "I am if I don't think about it."

Jane crept closer, her eyes wide and serious.  "I heard Dad on the
phone telling someone to call the police and saying he was just coming,
and then I saw the way he drove off.  I was really worried about you,"
she quavered, and then the tears slid down her cheeks and Frankie held
out her arm, gathering her onto Robert's lap too.

"It's a good job this is a big chair," he said unevenly, and hugged his
daughter close.

She burrowed into his shoulder, clinging to his neck, and over her head
Frankie met his eyes and slid off his lap.

"I think you two need to talk," she said softly.  "I'll put the kettle
on."

He smoothed Jane's hair back from her face as Frankie left the room and
went through to the kitchen, pulling the door to behind her.  She
didn't shut it.  She didn't feel quite that brave yet, not with the
dark garden out there.  She pulled down the blinds over the kitchen
windows and put the kettle on, then huddled in the corner, arms wrapped
round her aching ribs, and waited.

Had Jane changed her mind?  Oh, dear God, please, she prayed.  She
couldn't live without him.  She could understand now how her father
could have killed himself rather than face life without his beloved
wife.  The past two weeks had been an endless wasteland, but she had
thought he didn't love her so it had been easier to deal with.

Knowing now that Robert loved her would make it so much harder to walk
away... "You really do love her, don't you?"

Robert held his precious daughter carefully, and hoped to God he didn't
blow this most important of conversations.

"Yes, I really do."

"I didn't understand," she said.  "I thought it was just-well, you
know, just an affair.  People have them all the time.  I just thought
you were different, and then finding out you were just the same was
awful."

He hugged her.  "I'm sorry about that.  I would never in a million
years have had you finding out like that.  I was going to talk to you
the next day, but you rather preempted that."

She snuggled closer.  "What does "preempted " mean?"

He smiled slightly.  "It means you got there first."

"Oh."  She shifted and looked at him, her young eyes wide.  "Is this a
serious affair, Dad?"

He reached up and cupped her face, smoothing the soft, young skin
lovingly.  "It's rather more than an affair, sweetheart.  I love her
very much-much more than I can say."

"Are you going to marry her?"

Oh, God.  He felt the ground shift beneath his feet, and trod
cautiously.  "Would you mind?"

She looked worried.  "Would it change things?  I mean, could I still
come here for weekends occasionally?"

"Occasionally?  Darling, this is your home," he stressed.  "Of course
you'd be here-every weekend, every holiday-always.  Oh, JJ, we'd never
shut you out, darling.  '

"Mum does.  When she meets somebody new she never wants me around."

"Well, I do, and so does Frankie.  She's very fond of you, Jane.  She
cares very much about you."

"Really?"  She looked surprised.  "Why should she care about me?"

He smiled tenderly at her.  "Because she loves me?  Because you're part
of me?  Maybe, just maybe, because you're actually rather lovable."

She blushed and punched his chest gently.  "Don't tease."

"I'm not."  He hesitated, then took a deep breath.  "Jane?"

"Mmm?"

"About Frankie.  '

"Mmm?"

"I really do want to marry her, but if you don't want me to, really
feel it would hurt you if I did, then I won't.  '

She looked at him in wonder.  "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course."

"But you love her."

"Yes, but I love you too."

A slow smile crept onto her lips.  "I think she'd make a good mum,
don't you?"

A huge knot of tension in his chest dissolved away, leaving him
drained.  "Yes, I do.  As a matter of fact, I think she'd make a
wonderful mother."

Jane ran her fingertip down his nose.  "Will you have more children?"

He laughed, unable to trap the happiness.  "I think I should ask her
that.  I haven't even asked her to marry me yet."

She leapt off his lap instantly.

"Don't you think you should?"

He grinned at her and got to his feet.  "Yes, I do."

He went to the door and opened it, then turned back to Jane.  "Stay
here," he ordered.

She saluted, a cheeky grin on her face, and with a wry chuckle he went
in to Frankie.

As soon as she heard him laugh, she knew it was all right.

She stood up and held out her hands to him, and he wrapped his arms
round her carefully and cradled her against his heart.

"Is she OK'!"  Frankie asked, just to be sure.

"She's fine.  She wants to know if we'll have more children."

Frankie eased away from him, her heart overflowing "Isn't there
something missing?"  she teased.

He gave a wry grunt of laughter.  "You're going to make me do it
properly, aren't you?"

She nodded, the mischief dancing in her eyes, and with a resigned sigh
he went down on one knee on the kitchen floor, took her hand in his and
looked up into her eyes.

"Frances Bradley, I love you," he said.  "You mean more to me than I
could have believed possible, and without you my life just won't be
complete."  He brushed his lips over the back of her hand, sending a
shiver down her spine.  Then he looked up at her again, and the look in
his eyes made her heart soar and brought tears to her foolish eyes.

"Marry me, Frankie.  Have my children, and let me look after you and
love you till we're old and grey.  Then you can do my hip replacements
and I'll do yours , and we'll creak on till we're too old to do
anything more than talk about the old times."

He stood up and cupped her shoulders in his hands, drawing her near him
as the smile faded.  "I want to grow old with you, Frankie.  I want to
watch our children grow, and their children, and their children's
children "We'd better start soon, then, hadn't we?"  she said lightly,
but her lip trembled and she buried her face in his neck and gave a
little hiccuping sob.

"Frankie?  Was that a yes?"  he asked.

She nodded, and behind them Jane shrieked in delight.

"Yes!"  she yelled, punching the air, and with a laugh Robert turned
towards her.

"I thought I told you to stay out, minx," he scolded lovingly.

"And miss that?  No way!  Think of all the blackmail potential!  I
should be able to drag Frankie off shopping for years on the strength
of that!"

Robert laughed and hooked his arm round her neck, drawing her into
their arms.  "Just promise me something?"

"What?"

"Don't teach your sisters how to shop?  Please...?"

MILLS & BOON

MEDICAL ROMANCE