brightened as soon as she saw her mother, and the woman almost collapsed in relief when she saw that her child was safe, and hugged her tightly.
‘She’s very much on the mend now,’ Marina said. ‘But we’re going to keep her in overnight. When a child reacts to medication as severely as Jessie did, sometimes there’s a second reaction a few hours later, so we want to make sure she’s OK before she goes home.’
‘The rash will take a bit longer to go. It’ll probably last for about a week,’ Max said. ‘And it’ll look worse before it gets better—it often seems to work its way downwards. We can give Jessie some antihistamines to make sure she doesn’t swell up and to help with the rash.’
‘But it’ll be terribly itchy, worse even than chicken-pox,’ Marina added. ‘So we’ll give you some lotion to help with that. Lynne on the children’s ward is brilliant with kids, and she’ll show you ways of helping Jessie to press or pinch her skin rather than scratch. I’ll take you up and introduce you to the team—Rhys Morgan, the consultant there, is just lovely .’
There was a particular softness to Marina’s smile as she said the other man’s name, and Max had to suppress a sudden flare of jealousy. How ridiculous. Despite what had happened last night, he had no claims on Marina—though she’d told him that she wasn’t seeing anyone. He didn’t have the right to be jealous.
Or maybe last night really had been all about comfort, and although she wasn’t actually seeing the paediatric specialist she was attracted to him. In love with him, even.
He pushed the thought away. ‘We’ll tell your GP what’s happened and make sure that Jessie’s hospital records are labelled, so the medical teams all know to give her a different sort of antibiotic rather than penicillin if she needs treatment in the future,’ he said to Jessie’s mother. ‘Though it’s worth getting one of those Medic-Alert bracelets in case you’re elsewhere in the country or if you go abroad—it’ll warn the medics that she’s allergic to penicillin-type antibiotics.’
‘I will. Thank you both so much. You’ve been brilliant.’
‘It’s what we’re here for.’ Marina smiled at her. ‘Come on, I’ll take you both up so Jessie can get settled in to the ward.’
Max watched her leave before he started on the paperwork. They were definitely good together at work—and he hoped they could sort things out so they were good together outside work, too. The way it used to be, before everything had gone wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A T EXACTLY half-past seven that evening, Max rang Marina’s doorbell. Her flat was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction to his from the hospital, though it was a pleasant walk, past two parks and in a road lined with trees.
A few moments later, she answered the door. Tonight she was dressed in a black, crinkle-pleated, silky skirt that fell almost to her ankles, a matching vest-top and a bright-pink georgette shirt which she’d used as an unstructured jacket; her hair was down, and her feet were bare apart from the nail polish on her toes that matched her shirt. She looked incredibly feminine and Max found it difficult to resist the urge to yank her into his arms and kiss her until both their heads were spinning—but the sensible side of him reminded him that it was a bad idea to push her too hard or too fast. He wanted her to relax with him. So he simply smiled and handed her a bunch of deep-blue irises. ‘For you.’
‘Thank you, Max.’ She looked stunned, then pleased.
Did she really think he’d forget her favourite flowers that quickly?
‘I wasn’t sure what you were cooking, so I thought I’d play it safe.’ He gave her the bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
‘That’s lovely. Though you really didn’t need to bring anything—it’s only supper.’
‘I wanted to,’ he said simply. ‘And I didn’t want you to think that I’m taking you for
‘She’s very much on the mend now,’ Marina said. ‘But we’re going to keep her in overnight. When a child reacts to medication as severely as Jessie did, sometimes there’s a second reaction a few hours later, so we want to make sure she’s OK before she goes home.’
‘The rash will take a bit longer to go. It’ll probably last for about a week,’ Max said. ‘And it’ll look worse before it gets better—it often seems to work its way downwards. We can give Jessie some antihistamines to make sure she doesn’t swell up and to help with the rash.’
‘But it’ll be terribly itchy, worse even than chicken-pox,’ Marina added. ‘So we’ll give you some lotion to help with that. Lynne on the children’s ward is brilliant with kids, and she’ll show you ways of helping Jessie to press or pinch her skin rather than scratch. I’ll take you up and introduce you to the team—Rhys Morgan, the consultant there, is just lovely .’
There was a particular softness to Marina’s smile as she said the other man’s name, and Max had to suppress a sudden flare of jealousy. How ridiculous. Despite what had happened last night, he had no claims on Marina—though she’d told him that she wasn’t seeing anyone. He didn’t have the right to be jealous.
Or maybe last night really had been all about comfort, and although she wasn’t actually seeing the paediatric specialist she was attracted to him. In love with him, even.
He pushed the thought away. ‘We’ll tell your GP what’s happened and make sure that Jessie’s hospital records are labelled, so the medical teams all know to give her a different sort of antibiotic rather than penicillin if she needs treatment in the future,’ he said to Jessie’s mother. ‘Though it’s worth getting one of those Medic-Alert bracelets in case you’re elsewhere in the country or if you go abroad—it’ll warn the medics that she’s allergic to penicillin-type antibiotics.’
‘I will. Thank you both so much. You’ve been brilliant.’
‘It’s what we’re here for.’ Marina smiled at her. ‘Come on, I’ll take you both up so Jessie can get settled in to the ward.’
Max watched her leave before he started on the paperwork. They were definitely good together at work—and he hoped they could sort things out so they were good together outside work, too. The way it used to be, before everything had gone wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A T EXACTLY half-past seven that evening, Max rang Marina’s doorbell. Her flat was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction to his from the hospital, though it was a pleasant walk, past two parks and in a road lined with trees.
A few moments later, she answered the door. Tonight she was dressed in a black, crinkle-pleated, silky skirt that fell almost to her ankles, a matching vest-top and a bright-pink georgette shirt which she’d used as an unstructured jacket; her hair was down, and her feet were bare apart from the nail polish on her toes that matched her shirt. She looked incredibly feminine and Max found it difficult to resist the urge to yank her into his arms and kiss her until both their heads were spinning—but the sensible side of him reminded him that it was a bad idea to push her too hard or too fast. He wanted her to relax with him. So he simply smiled and handed her a bunch of deep-blue irises. ‘For you.’
‘Thank you, Max.’ She looked stunned, then pleased.
Did she really think he’d forget her favourite flowers that quickly?
‘I wasn’t sure what you were cooking, so I thought I’d play it safe.’ He gave her the bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
‘That’s lovely. Though you really didn’t need to bring anything—it’s only supper.’
‘I wanted to,’ he said simply. ‘And I didn’t want you to think that I’m taking you for
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