Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthur
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could interfere with his plans then.
Tilly watched him go. Limping. Oops. She’d say that was a fair case of alienation there. Mentally she shrugged. Shame. He’d have made a gorgeous gene pool for Ellie’s future children. Tall, good bone structure, great body, and even related to a delightful old lady. But he had no sense of humour. And that was the most important trait as far as Tilly was concerned.
Not that she was concerned. She frowned at herself. It had nothing to do with her how cleverly amusing Ellie’s children could be.
Tilly went back inside her own house just as her flatmate Ruby arrived behind her, drifting up the stairs with a serene smile and a filmy scarf floating behind her.
‘Hi, there, Tilly.’ Ruby looked her up and down. ‘You not ready? Sunday brunch at the pub?’
‘I’d forgotten.’ She glanced at the old grandfather clock in the corner. ‘Give me ten.’
Twenty minutes later the girls were perched on stools looking out the Stat Bar window at the park full of football-kicking young bloods and the sea beyond. Another glorious blue-sky day in paradise.
Tilly weighed the words in her mind before she said them. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to curb her usual method of blurting stuff out. ‘Mrs B. has a nephew.’
‘Next door? Oh, my goodness, Tilly. That’s so exciting.’ Ellie sat blonde and beautiful and suddenly buoyant on the stool. ‘Is he gorgeous? Does he like you? Would he like me?’
Tilly glanced at Ellie. Blonde, petite, beautiful. Who wouldn’t? ‘Not sure about you but he can’t stand me. I took him out with a garden gnome.’
Three pairs of eyes swivelled to full interest. She certainly had their attention now, Tilly thought ruefully. ‘I had the notion he was breaking into one of the windows at the back of Mrs B.’s. He was actually fixing it.’ Tilly listened to herself, surprised at the glum note she hadn’t expected, and injected more bravado. ‘It was a good throw, though, sideways to the back of the legs.’
There was a stunned silence followed by a howl of amusement from the girls.
‘What did he say?’ From Ruby.
‘Was he hurt?’ From Ellie.
‘What did Mrs Bennett say?’ From Jess, who liked the older lady next door as much as Tilly did.
Tilly pulled the slice of lime out of the neck of her bottle of light beer and sucked it. ‘He swore, he’s got a limp, and Mrs B. got the giggles. So did the police officer who arrived.’
Ruby was impressed. ‘You called the police as well?’
‘I thought he was a burglar.’
‘Very sensible.’ Jess nodded. ‘I doubt a real burglar would be happy with being hit by a gnome.’
‘I’d bet he wasn’t happy. What’s his name, Till?’ Ellie asked, clearly feeling sorry for her future partner.
‘Marcus.’ Tilly could see him in her mind as clear as day. ‘He’s six-four, blue eyes, dark curly hair and built like a brickie’s labourer. Great genes.’
‘Ohhhh.’ Ellie’s eyes shone.
‘You sure you don’t fancy him, Till?’ Ruby was watching with those knowing eyes.
Tilly swallowed the rest of her beer and dropped the lime skin in. ‘Not my type.’
Ruby and Jess exchanged amused glances. Ellie wasn’t included because she was still off in dreamland, populating the world with miniature dark-haired brickies. ‘Sounds like everyone’s type to me,’ Jess said.
‘So how long’s he staying?’ That was Ruby.
‘No idea. Conversation flagged after the police car drove off.’ Tilly looked up and saw the laughter in her friend’s eyes and she had to chuckle. Parts of the encounter had been funny. But the fact that he obviously hated her—would like to see her boiled in oil probably—wasn’t amusing at all.
CHAPTER TWO
MONDAY morning sunshine streamed into the open bedroom window as Marcus towelled his shoulders. As he turned away from the streaky mirror he caught a glimpse of the purple bruises on the backs of his legs.
At least he wasn’t limping today, no thanks to the red-headed witch next door. He hadn’t gone for a run today just to give his legs a chance to heal. But he could have done with one to rid himself of the snatches of nightmares that had included dear Matilda. He didn’t know why she’d made such an impression on him—apart from the physical imprint of assault.
He hung the towel evenly on the rail and walked naked into the bedroom. His aunt had been twinkling at him most of last night because it was all so-o-o funny. And he’d heard enough about Matilda with the legendary handywoman skills to make him dislike her even without the gnome.
But he wasn’t wasting thought on annoyances because today was a big day. His mobile phone beeped twice, an appointment reminder that he had an hour until work, and as usual he was on time.
He’d worked hard for this. Not just the early stuff, sweating over a restaurant stove between uni classes, extra shifts right through his internship, and the study he’d put in for his O&G exams—it was the effort put in to give him the right to make policy changes.
To have a say.
To protect women and babies from idiots and poor out comes and poor practitioners. An oath he’d sworn as a heartbroken child.
Now finally to be the consultant in charge of an obstetric unit, a small one by city standards but one with a brilliant reputation, and he knew exactly how he wanted it run. His mothers and babies would be the safest in Australia.
A snatch of song, a woman’s voice drifting up from the garden below with a soft Irish melody that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He lifted his head. The tune was pure and incredibly seductive and Marcus slung the towel around his hips and leaned out of the window.
His head whipped back in when he saw who it was. St Matilda in a bikini top with a towel around her waist. Long red hair crinkled wet from the sea like a siren’s.
She was like a gnat, buzzing outside his conscious decision not to think about her, and he wanted to swat her. And that delicious backside of hers.
Whoa! Where had that come from? Heat descended to his groin and he backed farther away from the win dow.
He’d been working so hard these past few years he hadn’t had time for anything but brief flings. It was obviously just a physical need he should think about addressing again. Maybe he’d have time soon but certainly not in that neighbourly direction.
Plus she was too young for him. Though he had to admit just then he’d felt younger than he had in a while. He grinned then his leg twinged as he reached for his clothes and he thought of the gnome. Best to avoid the pain.
Two hours later Marcus surveyed his two residents, his registrar, and the MUM, Midwifery Unit Manager, in his new office as he outlined his plans. And it felt good.
They’d had a ward round on each floor, the gynae floor on top and antenatal beds next down with the antenatal clinic. Then the neonatal nursery floor and on the ground the birthing units and theatres.
He’d done a double take when Gina, the midwife in charge, had proudly pointed out the new large baths in the labour ward for pain relief in labour. Apparently they’d been put in from fundraising by one of the new graduate midwives but he hadn’t commented as yet on that. No doubt she’d noticed her announcement hadn’t been greeted with shouts of joy.
‘Diligent observation with strict documentation, a medical officer for each birth if possible, though I do understand sometimes babies come in a rush. But I’d like admission foetal monitoring on all women until the baby’s wellbeing