The Midwife's Child. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.

       PROLOGUE

      ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you can’t find her?’

      Jed paced the floor angrily, his hands thrust into the pockets of his white coat as he glowered at his brother. ‘Think, man! It’s your hospital, for goodness’ sake. You trained there, you know everyone. You must know who she is. Concentrate!’

      ‘It’s not concentration I need, it’s information,’ Tom pointed out mildly. ‘Jed, be reasonable. What have you given me to go on? All you can say is that you don’t think she’s a doctor. No name, no age, no nothing! You don’t even know she works in my hospital!’

      ‘Of course she works in your hospital.’ Jed stopped pacing and frowned impatiently. ‘Why else would she have been at the Christmas Ball?’

      ‘She could have been someone’s guest. Did you think of that? You were my guest, remember? You don’t work there…’ Tom watched his brother’s face and then shook his head slowly. ‘How on earth did you get the highest marks ever recorded at your medical school? For someone of supposed exceptional intelligence, you’re being remarkably slow in your thinking.’

      ‘She wasn’t anyone’s guest.’ Jed stared out of the ward office window to the bustling London street twenty-eight floors below.

      ‘How do you know?’

      Jed shrugged and shook his head slowly. ‘Something she said…’

      ‘Oh, you did manage some sort of conversation, then.’ Tom’s lazy drawl was loaded with sarcasm and Jed turned, his handsome face set as he glared at his brother.

      ‘This is a joke to you, isn’t it?’

      ‘Well, no, not a joke exactly.’ Tom shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s penetrating stare. ‘But even you have to appreciate the irony of the situation.’

      Jed gritted his teeth and his eyes narrowed. ‘I do?’

      ‘Oh, come on, Jed!’ Tom leaned back in his chair and risked a grin. ‘All your life you’ve had women tripping over each other to get to you. Now, at last, we discover that there is, in fact, at least one woman in the world who can resist your charms. It gives the rest of us poor mortals some hope. Maybe she doesn’t go for the tough, macho sort. You could loosen up a little, you know—’

      ‘Unless you want to find out just how macho and tough I can be, you should give it a rest,’ his brother said dryly, turning back to stare out of the window. ‘I thought you knew everyone in this hospital.’

      ‘I know everyone worth knowing,’ Tom agreed, helping himself to the last biscuit from a packet abandoned on the low coffee-table. ‘And, believe me, your mystery woman doesn’t work here.’

      Jed made an impatient sound. ‘You don’t know—’

      ‘Hear me out, will you?’ Tom lobbed the empty biscuit packet into the bin and gave his brother an injured look. ‘I’ve made discreet enquiries and turned up nothing, but that’s hardly surprising, considering the dearth of information you gave me to go on. I tell you this, if I ever give up medicine I will not be setting up as a private detective.’

      He rummaged in his pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. ‘Here we are. This was the doctors’ ball, remember, and according to my sources there were only eight tickets sold to non-medical staff—the tickets were like gold dust. Because I’m the best brother in the world and I’m intrigued to see you seriously smitten for the first time in your life, I’ve tracked down each one of those eight individuals and had a good look at them. Three of them were blonde and three of them had short hair so that rules them out. No way did they match the description of your girl.’

      Jed was watching him intently. ‘What about the other two?’

      ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ His brother shook his head dolefully. ‘One of them is Annie Foster, that gorgeous sister on ITU who I went out with for two months, so we know it’s not her. And the last one doesn’t even remotely match the description you gave me, so unless you were seeing her through rose-tinted glasses your girl doesn’t exist.’

      Jed stiffened and a muscle worked in his jaw, ‘She definitely exists and you know I don’t wear glasses, rose-tinted or otherwise.’

      ‘Well,