Cinderella of Harley Street. Anne Fraser
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Peter and he would be caught in the middle, her own objectivity compromised by a lifetime of hurt. Of course it was impossible.
She couldn’t be with Leith. Her throat closed. All her dreams of a fairy-tale ending had been just that—a dream.
Flinging back the covers, Cassie dragged herself out of bed and started getting dressed. There was still the rest of her packing and a thousand other things to do and she didn’t want to be here when he returned. Better to end it now, quickly and as pain-free as possible. Leith and his son deserved better. They deserved someone who could be part of their family, not a damaged woman who had no intention of being a mother—not even a stepmother—particularly not a stepmother. If she couldn’t risk not loving a child of her own enough, how could she risk not loving Leith’s son? And Leith would demand it. If she were in his shoes, she would feel the same.
As for Peter … The little boy had enough to cope with without a new woman in his father’s life—one who might be there one minute and gone the next.
She tasted the salt of her tears. She loved Leith too much to get in the way of a life with his son. He would forget about her soon enough. But just in case she had to make sure he wouldn’t come after her.
The tightness in her chest hurt.
She scrawled a few lines on a piece of paper she found next to his computer. Then she opened the door and slipped outside.
CHAPTER THREE
Eighteen months later
LEITH FLICKED THROUGH the CV of the applicant he and Rose were going to interview in a few minutes’ time. He should have looked over it sooner, but his colleague had been particularly excited about this candidate, listing her credentials and experience, almost gloating about the number of heartfelt letters of commendation, and he hadn’t felt the need to study the application until now. But he should have. Damn it, he should have. It had to be her. How many Cassie Rosses could there be who were paediatricians and who had worked on the Mercy Ship?
Only one.
Resisting the temptation to screw her CV into a ball and drop it in the wastepaper basket, he flung the application on his desk.
Why had she applied for the temporary position? She must know it was where he worked. He clearly remembered telling her he was a partner in a Harley Street practice.
But there were hundreds of practices on Harley Street and he couldn’t remember if he’d actually told her which one he was a partner of. On the other hand, if she’d done her homework, she’d have seen his name listed as one of the partners.
What was she up to?
Eighteen months since he’d last seen her and she still haunted him.
She’d left without coming to find him, leaving only a note. That was all their relationship had meant to her.
That last night, the ship had sailed by the time he’d returned to his cabin. What had seemed to be a straightforward obstetric emergency had gone badly wrong when they hadn’t been able to stop the woman bleeding. It had taken hours before he’d been happy to leave the labour ward. He’d known he wouldn’t find Cassie, but to discover that she hadn’t left her number in his phone—only a short note—had floored him. They hadn’t made firm plans for the future, apart from agreeing to keep in touch, but he’d been so certain that she’d felt the same as he had that he’d imagined that one day they’d be together.
So much for his usually reliable radar when it came to women—although he would have bet his life back then that she had fallen for him as hard as he’d fallen for her.
So you got her wrong. Move on. You have enough on your plate with Peter. Let it go. Tell Rose and the others that you worked with her and you don’t think she’s up to it.
But he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Whatever else she was, she had been a fine doctor.
And he was over her. Way over her.
He picked up the application form again. She’d spent six months in Sudan before taking a posting in Afghanistan. That had ended three months ago. What had she been doing since then?
An extended holiday? Marriage? Time off to have a child?
His stomach knotted.
What did it matter? He and Cassie Ross were history.
And the practice needed an experienced locum to stand in for Fabio. It was only for a couple of months. Eight weeks. Possibly less.
So what harm could it do to interview her? At the very least he could finally prove to himself she meant nothing to him now.
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