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Anna flopped down into her chair. Maybe Jamie was right, and luck didn’t come into it. But there were some things that determination and hard work alone couldn’t put right.
Maybe it was those eyes that were making her think this way. They tempted her to revisit a past that was done with, and couldn’t be changed. If things had been different, then she might have allowed herself to get a little closer to Jamie. But they weren’t different, and he probably wasn’t interested in her anyway.
Think that. Keep thinking it.
She had no business lingering over Jamie Campbell-Clarke’s eyes, or his dedication, or the spark that fuelled their professional rivalry. Anna wasn’t in the market for a relationship with him, or anyone else.
She’d fallen into that trap once before. As soon as things had started to get serious with Daniel, she’d told him that she couldn’t have children, fully expecting him to leave. When he hadn’t, she’d thought she had found that special someone who could accept her as she was. But after a year of marriage he’d changed his mind and left. Once was more than enough when it came to having her heart broken.
Anna puffed out a breath. Jamie was right in one thing. She had patients waiting and she had to get on.
* * *
Jamie’s characteristically brusque two-line email had imparted the information that he’d visited Callum at home the previous evening, that he was in good spirits and that his Aunt Mary had reinforced the message that his gratitude for the help he was being given should take the form of not worrying at the dressings on his hand. He’d be back in six weeks and was looking forward to losing the unfortunate tattoos. Anna emailed a similarly brusque acknowledgement of the update, telling him to contact her if there was anything else she could do. She imagined there wouldn’t be.
And this morning there were new challenges, the first of which didn’t take a medical form. The private London Central Clinic was used to receiving patients whose fame required a degree of discretion and anonymity, but this patient had stretched policy almost to breaking point. She’d even caught her boss humming snatches of ‘Everywhere’.
And the singer responsible for that rock classic was here. Even Anna felt a small flutter over meeting the man who had reached a million hearts, including her own, with the song.
‘How’s he doing?’ She murmured the words to the ward receptionist, who leaned across her desk to whisper a reply.
‘Just great. A little taller than I thought he’d be.’
Right. That wasn’t the information Anna was after. ‘He’s settling in?’
‘Oh, yes. They took him a cup of green tea and a biscuit.’
Asking what kind of biscuit would only stoke the fires. ‘He has someone with him?’
‘No, he came on his own. Just a driver and he didn’t stay long. Parked on a meter, I expect.’
So fame didn’t always guarantee companionship. It seemed a shame, though. ‘Everywhere’ had been the song that had spoken to Anna when her life had hit a rough patch, and she imagined she wasn’t alone in that. It was all about hope, about kindling a flame in the darkness, to lead the way into the light.
‘Okay, I’ll go and see him now. Which room...?’
Jonny Campbell was sitting alone in his room. Dark glasses covered his eyes, and his head was nodding slightly to whatever was playing through his high-end headphones. His bag lay on the bed, unopened. One of the ward orderlies would unpack it for him if necessary, but Anna reckoned that Dr Lewis had told them to wait a short while, to see if he’d do it himself. Their patient was nominally here for assessment of burn scars on his arm and the side of his face, but Jon’s listless indifference during his assessment interview had raised the possibility of mental health problems as well. Dr Lewis had taken overall charge of his case, and Anna had been told to start treating the burns, but to be aware that there may be other issues.
‘Hello. I’m Anna Caulder.’
Her words made him jump. Maybe his eyes had been closed under the glasses. Anna saw his hand shake as he removed his headphones.
‘Hi. Jon Campbell.’
‘I’m sorry if I startled you. You prefer Jon, or Jonny Campbell?’
His lips curved in a slow smile. ‘Jonny Campbell’s my professional name. Just Jon will do. You prefer Anna or Miss Caulder?’
‘Anna will do.’ He seemed so different from his stage persona. And yet somehow so familiar. Anna shook off the feeling. Her job was to find out what the real Jon Campbell needed, not the rock star Jonny Campbell.
‘I think Dr Lewis prefers Dr Lewis. Or maybe sir...’
Anna laughed. The dry humour that Jonny Campbell put to such good use on stage was there still.
‘Yes. I think he does. He’s a great doctor, though.’
‘I’ve no doubt of that. But he doesn’t have your beautiful blue eyes.’ Jon tilted his head towards her, and Anna blushed, fighting back the urge to tell him that she’d been to one of his concerts and loved his songs.
‘Well I’m here to take care of your burns.’ And to ignore compliments.
