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Without waiting for a porter, they manipulated the trolley into Theatre where preparations were already under way for an emergency section.
Brooke scrubbed, preparing for her role which was to take the baby once it was delivered, leaving the surgeon to concentrate on the mother. Gill had said the new consultant was good. For the sake of Mrs Fox she hoped that was true. Things weren’t looking good.
‘How much blood has she lost?’ The deep male voice trickled through the doors and Brooke froze.
No. Dear God, no.
She listened again, her heart pounding in her chest. There was a low murmur of voices as Gill replied, and then his voice again. ‘OK—we need to get this baby out fast.’
It was him. It was definitely him.
She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. Six years. It had been six years since she’d last heard that voice, but she’d have recognised it anywhere. Deep, tough and totally male. Smooth and confident like melted chocolate poured over solid steel. It was the sort of voice that made everyone stop and listen. The sort of voice that was used to issuing orders and commands. And it was the same voice that had once seduced her to within an inch of her life.
Brooke felt her knees shake as panic swamped her. What if
he recognised her? No. She had to make sure he didn’t. If he ever found out…
Frantically searching for some way of concealing her identity, she noticed a box of masks and grabbed one, hooking it over her ears with shaking fingers. It wasn’t a long-term solution but at least it should buy her some time.
She slid into Theatre, her heart thumping, and quickly realised that she needn’t have worried. The new consultant wasn’t remotely interested in who was standing in his theatre. He was busy, saving two lives.
His hands as steady as a rock, he divided skin and muscle with a speed and skill that made Brooke blink with disbelief. Even in her state of panic she could see that he was good. Incredibly good.
‘Is there a paediatrician on the way?’ His sharp question was swiftly answered by Gill.
‘Dr Patel’s on her way down now, Mr Matthews.’
Brooke watched, transfixed, as he stroked through the layers until the uterus was exposed and then made a small transverse incision and passed his right hand into the uterus.
‘Out you come, little chap,’ he murmured, his eyes flicking up to his SHO who was assisting. ‘Press on the fundus.’
Sita Patel arrived just as the newly delivered baby let out an outraged yell, and suddenly Brooke was reaching for the wriggling child, her actions all automatic, her mind still paralysed with shock.
‘OK, what have we got here?’ The consultant had already turned his attention back to the job in hand. Stopping the bleeding. ‘Suction, please. And again… That’s better… Oh, yes, I see what’s happening…’
Brooke and Sita took charge of the baby, placing it gently on the resuscitaire which had been wheeled into Theatre, so named because it incorporated essential equipment for resuscitating a baby.
‘Apgar of 8 at one minute,’ Sita murmured, looping the paediatric stethoscope around her neck as Brooke carefully used suction to clear the baby’s mouth and nose of mucus. ‘He’s got good lungs!’
‘Is he OK? Is my baby OK?’ Mrs Fox was twisting her head anxiously and Jed Matthews gave her a smile, his eyes creasing above the mask.
‘He’s great—can’t you hear that yell? Dr Patel will bring him over just as soon as she’s checked him and made him warm. How are things over there, Sita?’
‘Fine, Mr Matthews,’ Sita replied, finishing her examination of the baby and hovering while Brooke wrapped him up warmly to prevent heat loss. ‘He’s ready to meet his mum.’
Brooke swallowed. Jed Matthews. She hadn’t known his name before today. She allowed herself a brief glance, her heart turning a somersault as she focused on the thick, dark lashes and the brilliant blue eyes visible above the mask. She’d never met a man with eyes like Jed’s. Just one look from those very male eyes and she’d drowned…
‘Good.’ His fingers were still working quickly within the uterine cavity, trying to stop the bleeding. ‘How much blood have we got cross-matched, Sister?’
‘Two units,’ Gill murmured, moving to his side and watching him work.
‘Let’s give her one unit now, please. Swab.’ He reached out a hand and took the sterile swab, frowning down at his handiwork. ‘OK, that looks fine. I’m ready to close. Part of your placenta had come away, Mrs Fox, and that was why you were bleeding, but it’s fine now. Nothing to worry about.’
Brooke stood immobile, her eyes moving down to those powerful shoulders, clearly outlined by the loose fabric of his theatre greens. How could it be him? How could he be here, of all places?
No longer under pressure, he glanced up and his eyes narrowed as he intercepted her look. For a long moment they stared at each other and Brooke swallowed hard, fighting an overwhelming impulse to turn and run. He hadn’t recognised her. He couldn’t possibly. Her hair was totally tucked away. Only her eyes were showing. He couldn’t have recognised her, could he?
Gill followed his gaze. ‘Oh, this is Brooke Daniels, one of our midwives. I didn’t have a chance to introduce you earlier—’ Suddenly she frowned curiously at Brooke. ‘Why on earth are you wearing a mask?’
