Love Without Measure. Caroline Anderson
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tragedies that passed through their department. It was the sort of intuitive, bone-deep sensitivity that would make him a wonderful lover, too, she thought, and yanked herself up hard.
No. No, no, no! Why should she think of that? She knew nothing about what made a man a lover, good or otherwise! She drank her coffee, wondering if she would have time to finish it and escape before Patrick got back. It was a long way to the canteen. If he had to queue …
She had reckoned without his long legs. She heard a door swish, a firm stride approaching, and her escape was cut off.
She sank back with a sigh, and Kath chuckled.
‘She was going to bolt—you feed her, Patrick. God knows someone needs to take care of the silly girl; she won’t do it herself.’ She stood up, slipped her feet back into her shoes and stretched. ‘You two take half an hour, crises permitting, and then Jack and I will go for lunch. OK?’
She left them, and Anna had no choice but to turn her attention back to Patrick. Her eyes settled on the mountain of sandwiches, buns and fruit he was putting on the table, and widened in amazement.
‘I hope you don’t expect me to eat all that?’ she asked, her voice rising to a squeak.
He chuckled. ‘It would probably do you good, but no. I had rather hoped you’d leave me a little. Of course, if you feel that hungry, I can always go and get more—’
‘No! Heavens, no. If I get through one sandwich I’ll be doing well.’
He snorted rudely, snapping open the plastic containers and tipping the contents out on to plates.
‘Cottage cheese and tomato, ham and lettuce, egg and cress, tandoori chicken, prawn cocktail—take your pick.’
She blinked. ‘Um—prawn?’ she ventured, finding her voice. Lord, it must have cost a fortune. She ought to offer to pay for her share …
He put two sandwiches on a plate and pushed it into her hand, then took her cup and refilled it. ‘Eat—come on,’ he nagged. ‘They’ll curl up before you get to them.’
She bit obediently into the deliciously moist sandwich, and groaned.
‘All right?’
‘Gorgeous,’ she mumbled round the prawns. It was. She took another bite, and another, unaware of Patrick’s searching gaze on her as she demolished the sandwich and started on the second half. A slow smile of satisfaction touched his eyes, then he turned his attention to his own lunch, biting deeply into his sandwich but monitoring her progress over the top. She finished, and he lowered his plate.
‘Good?’
Anna stared down at her empty plate, surprised.
‘It was—wonderful.’
‘Have another.’
She opened her mouth to refuse, but his face was implacable. Instead she gave a rueful smile, and reached for the spicy chicken.
‘That’s my favourite,’ he grumbled.
She made to put it back but he laughed. ‘I’m teasing. I like anything. You go ahead and have it.’
He picked up the other half, though, and winked at her across it. ‘You can take your pick of the rest.’
She ate it silently, pondering on her knight in shining armour. He looked about thirty-five, she thought, maybe younger, but his face had that lived-in look that had seen many sides of life, not all of them kind. The earthquake? Perhaps that had aged him. He was good-looking, though. Good bone-structure, his body broad and strong without being overly heavy. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, she thought, despite his prodigious appetite. He bit into another sandwich and glanced up, meeting her eyes. His mouth occupied, he waved instead at the food.
‘More,’ he mumbled.
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Fruit, then—or a doughnut.’
She felt herself weaken. ‘You’ve got doughnuts?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Are they warm?’
He nodded, his mouth busy again.
‘Jam?’
He nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkled with understanding.
She heard her stomach rumble. Oh, what the heck? He clearly intended to feed her till she split. She couldn’t disappoint him.
The doughnut was wonderful, light and fluffy, the jam still warm. It squirted down her chin and she laughed and reached for a tissue.
He was there first, a napkin at the ready, steadying her jaw with his other hand as he wiped the jam away. Their eyes met, and for a long and almost unbearable second she thought he was going to kiss her.
Then he sat back, cobbling up the napkin and lobbing it neatly into the bin.
Her breath eased slowly out. Had she imagined it? Oh, God.
She finished the doughnut and then wiped her fingers, reaching for her coffee with hands that were not quite steady. She cast about for another topic for her mind, and came up with money as the safest option.
‘What do I owe you for that lot?’ she asked.
He looked astonished. Owe me? Nothing.’
‘Don’t be silly, it must have cost a fortune.’
‘I think I can just about run to a few sandwiches for our first date,’ he said drily, and drained his coffee-cup while she tried to ignore the funny hiccup in her heartbeat at his use of the word ‘date’. Ridiculous. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘if you insist on going Dutch you can refill my cup, bring me a banana, and tell me everything I need to know to keep out of trouble.’
Clearly it was as far as she was going to get. ‘Are you always this stubborn and bossy?’ she asked mildly as she did as she was told.
‘Always. Thank you.’ He took the cup and set it down. ‘Now, the trade-off. Who do I have to avoid, who do I have to crawl to, what are the internal politics?’
She groaned. ‘Internal politics? I try and stay out of it. Funding, of course, is always a hassle. So far they haven’t threatened to close us down, but funding for our emergency teams going out to incidents is always a bit of a fraught issue. They say it’s very expensive, and I’m sure it is, but it’s absolutely vital that we continue to keep the service available and I’m sure in the long run we actually save money.’
He nodded. ‘Who usually goes?’
‘The most senior members of staff available to a small incident. To a major incident with multiple casualties we usually keep several senior staff here to deal with the casualties as they come in, but others, of course, go out for on-the-spot surgery and emergency resuscitation. The first job in major incidents is Triage, really, sorting the patients into priority for transfer to hospital, and that’s something we’re all very used to.’
‘Do you have a Triage system operating in the unit all the time?’ he asked.
Anna nodded. ‘Yes—it’s often me doing that. We only bother if it gets busy, but the reception staff are excellent and keep us in touch all the time with what’s coming through the door.’
Patrick stretched out, his long legs crossed at the ankle, and balanced his coffee-cup on his chest. ‘What’s the usual waiting-time?’
She laughed softly. ‘You tell me. Certainly less than several days, unlike your Africa. We try and keep it down to under half an hour, and patients are always seen by the Triage nurse within a few minutes of arrival in any case, unless we’re so quiet that they’re virtually straight in. Sometimes, though, it can be up to an hour before they get seen and that really bothers me. It’s the malingerers that mess up the system—the people that won’t go to their GP because they don’t like to bother him, or because they have to wait in the surgery, or because this is more convenient than