The moment Henrik introduced Connie to Miss Sahira Shah, the senior cardiothoracic consultant knew there was a problem. It was there in his body language; he visibly relaxed around Sahira and occasionally smiled fondly at her when he thought no one was looking. Connie couldn't help being a little disappointed. After all, their unexpected night of passion had felt like the start of something, not a one-off encounter. But Henrik's obvious infatuation with Miss Shah, whether he was aware of it or not, was a problem that Connie had no desire to find herself dealing with. To his credit, Hanssen had taken her polite turn-down of his latest dinner invitation with good grace, and they had silently called it quits.
Connie strode confidently in her brand new Alexander McQueen heels towards the nurse's station, where Greg was sipping a coffee and staring off into the distance. He recognised the click of her shoes and tried to look busy, but she wasn't fooled.
'I realise it's almost the end of your shift, Mr Douglas, but I'm surprised you have time to sit down and contemplate the meaning of life when there are tomorrow's theatre lists to be drawn up for my approval.'
'All done, Mrs Beauchamp.' He said, handing her a sheet of paper and looking far too smug.
'Right, well, you'd better be going home then.' She replied curtly, signing the piece of paper with a biro taken from the pocket of his scrubs. As he walked off towards the locker room, she followed him.
'Actually, Greg, if I could have a word...'
He flashed her a smile as the door closed behind them and he removed his scrub top.
'Greg now is it?'
'Mmm. That's what we agreed, wasn't it? Mr Douglas on Darwin, and Greg-'
'In the bedroom.' He smirked, completing her sentence. He leant against the locker and looked at her with a glint in his eye. 'So why did I have to call you Mrs Beauchamp in bed then?'
'Well...,' She said, her voice low and seductive. 'would you like to call me Connie this time?'
'Ah. You mean tonight?'
The door opened and a slightly confused Sahira raised her eyebrows at the sight of Mrs Beauchamp tracing a slow pattern on the Irishman's chest with the business end of a ballpoint pen.
'Are you coming, Greg?' She asked innocently.
'Err, yeah, just give me five minutes.'
Connie rolled her eyes as they were left alone once more. 'Not you as well? Fine. Go and play happy families with the lovely Miss Shah.'
'It's not like that, she's a friend, we're going to the pub, that's all.' Greg replied defensively.
Connie laughed bitterly and shook her head. 'You know what, I'm not interested. I hope you get further than Henrik.'
...
The house was far too quiet. Connie had not expected Greg to flake out on her like that, not that it was an ideal arrangement, but he did provide entertainment, or at the very least an interruption to her otherwise quiet and repetitive life. On that subject, the phone rang and Connie was confused. Hardly anyone had her landline number. If there was a problem at the hospital they would call her mobile, as would her nanny. It was probably just a double-glazing company.
'Hello?'
There was a momentary silence and she wondered if it was a nuisance call, but suddenly there was a man's voice on the other end of the line.
'Connie?' He sounded quiet, and it took a few seconds before she could place the voice. Silly really, because she'd been married to the man for 12 years.
'Michael?'
The line went dead.
She placed the phone back on the kitchen counter, her hands trembling. Not with fear, shock perhaps. Why did he hang up? Actually, why did he ring in the first place? They'd said everything they needed to say to each other, and he'd gone to Sweden. What did he want now?
A different ringtone broke the silence this time, making her jump, and she snatched her mobile phone from her handbag. She checked the caller ID and couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment she felt when the name "Michael Spence" appeared on the screen.
Two Michaels in as many minutes, she thought wryly.
'Connie Beauchamp." She answers automatically, trying not to sound too rattled.
'Hey Connie, it's Michael. Listen, I'm gonna need your help with a patient. I know it's your night off, but this one is a little tricky, I need someone who's good with hearts.'
'Who's the on call CT consultant? I thought it was Elliot.' She snapped, unwilling to face the drive back to work again.
'It was, but he had an emergency, something about his dog.'
Connie rolled her eyes. 'Fine. You're lucky I haven't started on this Bordeaux yet.' She commented, running the tip of her finger round the rim of the glass and touching a drop of the deep red liquid to her lips.
'Drinking alone, Connie?' Michael jibed, but she didn't rise to the bait.
'I'll be with you in half an hour. Oh and Michael?'
'Yes, Connie?'
'You owe me.' She said smugly, emphasising each word to make her point.
...
Walking out of theatre, the exhausted surgeon cursed Elliot and threw her gloves at the bin in disgust. The last thing she needed right now was a patient dead on the table after a tricky aortic dissection that had dragged on for nearly 9 hours. It was too much.
'Connie, wait! Where are you going?'
Michael Spence followed her out of theatre at a jog. He'd been in there with her out of guilt at calling her rather than being any help, but at least his company was better than that of a silent scrub nurse and a grumpy anaesthetist.
'To tell the relatives.'
He caught her arm and she stopped, waiting for an explanation, her eyes ablaze at the intrusion of her personal space.
'There are no relatives.' He explained gently, 'She was homeless and alone.'
If the thought of having to break the news to fraught relatives was depressing, the idea that the woman had died alone and unloved was even worse. Connie turned to the wall as the tears of frustration and tiredness threatened to fall and expose her heavy heart to her colleague.
'Look, Connie, you're exhausted. Go home and get some rest. You're owed the time anyway.' Michael reasoned.
She shook her head stubbornly and marched away down the corridor without looking at him.
'I've got things to do. I'll be in my office.'
...
It was still dark outside, but it would soon be dawn. Connie left the blinds open and sat in her swivel chair facing the window, looking at the moon. She sighed. The tears had left uncomfortable tracks down her cheeks and she rubbed her face. Why had the death of one patient, who she had only seen briefly before the operation, affected her so strongly? She reached for her handbag to re-do her make-up and saw a red light flashing on her phone.
3 Missed Calls
Unknown Number
Michael again? Probably. There wasn't much she could do about, except dwell on the fact that her ex-husband was trying to contact her out of the blue after several years of separation. Not only that, but he was being really quite creepy about it.
The door opened and the other Michael, Mr Spence, barged in without waiting to be invited.
'Connie? What are you still doing here? Come on, I'll take you home, you're tired.'
She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. She didn't want to be here when Henrik, Greg and Sahira turned up for the morning shift. The humiliation of Greg's rejection was still niggling at her. Perhaps it would be best to go home and get some sleep.
'Ok. Thanks.'
He looked surprised that she gave in without a fight, but handed her the grey coat hanging on the back of the office door and walked with her out of the hospital. She settled comfortably into his luxurious 4x4 and they drove silently until they reached main road.
'Which way?'
'Mmm?' She replied.
'Which way to yours?' He repeated.
'Oh, follow the Bristol signs then turn off at the King's Head.'
He raised his eyebrows. They were heading to an expensive out-of-town area. Connie nodded off and woke up just as they turned left down a narrow lane next to the pub.
'It's the driveway up ahead.' She mumbled sleepily.
The tyres crunched on the gravel and he parked outside the front door. She seemed to rally at this point, opening her eyes properly and running a hand through hair where it had been flattened against the car seat.
'Would you like to come in? I haven't eaten, and I guess you haven't either.'
Michael smiled, his rumbling stomach already giving him away.
'Love to.'
She let them in and started turning on some low lights, making the oak-panelled living room more cosy. Michael was impressed, the house was beautiful. Not modern and minimalist like he would have chosen, but he liked it. A hint of Connie's perfume floated around the place, and he suppressed a half-smile. How many men had she seduced in this gorgeous house? It intrigued him; her lifestyle was the kind that people had in movies, bringing home cute one night stands to have fun with while maintaining total independence. It was a far cry from the dull monotony of married life.
He heard a crash from the kitchen and went to investigate.
...
Connie gave him an apologetic look as he entered the room.
'Dropped a pan, sorry.' She explained.
'Let me do that.' He said, smiling, and took the wooden spoon out of her hand to stir the pasta as it cooked in rapidly boiling water.
She tried to hide a yawn, but he noticed. 'Go and have a lie down on the sofa, I can finish this.'
She nodded and went to the living room, grabbing Grace's fleece blanket from behind the sofa. The central heating had gone off hours before, and she couldn't be bothered to re-set it or get a fire going in the grate. She snuggled down into the soft material and brushed her cheek against it. Not long until Sam brought Grace home.
'Here we go.' Michael announced, placing two large plates of pasta and sauce on the coffee table, a couple of forks tucked in his pocket.
He handed one to Connie and then frowned. 'Is that yours or mine?' He asked, indicating the sound of a phone vibrating.
She reached down to her handbag and removed her phone. Unknown number. She cancelled the call and set the phone on the table.
'No one important.'
She tucked her legs closer to her chest so that Michael could sit next to her and they ate in near silence. Eventually, Michael put down his plate and smiled at her.
'Mind if I grab some of that blanket?' He asked, shivering slightly.
'Of course.' She replied amiably, spreading out the quilt.
They settled into a comfortable position, and he was aware of her toes touching his thigh under the blanket. He had a sudden urge to reach down and settle her legs over his lap, but it seemed a rather intimate thing to do, and they had never exactly been close; in fact they would normally struggle to call each other friends.
'You're quiet.' He observed, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa to look at her more comfortably.
'I thought you liked doing all the talking.' She quipped, bringing up a subject that was frequently aired during their banter at work.
He laughed. 'Yeah, you got me there. Seriously though-'
Michael was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing again. She picked it up, thought for a moment and pressed accept. If she had to hear this, she didn't want to be alone in this house when she did.
She didn't speak.
'Connie? I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't know what to say. Can we talk? Please Con.'
He sounded a little drunk.
'I'm busy, I'm sorry.' She replied tersely.
She cancelled the call, put the phone on silent and dropped it into her handbag, avoiding Michael's eye.
'Let me guess, one night stand coming back for more?' He asked with a half-smile. He was expecting to recieve her "daggers" look, but instead she turned her head away, staring out of the window, where a light patter of rain was starting to appear on the glass.
'Husband, actually.' She said quietly. 'Well, ex-husband. No doubt you've heard all about that little fiasco.
'Hospital gossip and all that.' Michael admitted reluctantly. In fact he'd deliberately looked into the Michael Beauchamp scandal when he came to Holby, thinking that there might be something in there to use against Connie if necessary, but she appeared to be innocent of all the corruption. Now he knew her better, he was sure that she had had no part in his deception. If anyone was still flying the flag for the NHS, it was Connie Beauchamp.
'Where's little Gracie tonight?' He asked, changing the subject, hoping to cheer her up. It didn't work. If anything, she just looked even more lost and depressed.
'She's visiting Sam in the States.'
She smoothed the blanket over her knee and picked at a loose thread.
'We should totally get together one weekend, I bet my girls would love Grace. And Annalese might actually trust me to take care of them if you were there holding my hand!'
He spoke with a light-hearted tone, but they both knew there was some truth behind his words. He didn't see as much of his kids as he desperately wanted to.
Connie smiled half-heartedly. 'We should.'
'You know, Connie,' He started pensievely, resting a hand on her shoulder, his arm lying on the back of the sofa, 'We've had our differences in the last few months-'
He was interrupted by a trademark eyebrow-raise. 'Ok, years maybe. But what I said in London, I meant it. We could make a good team. I've learned from my mistakes. I've learned that there are more important things in life than making a quick buck, or controlling yet another aspect of hospital management. I love being a surgeon, and I love being involved in shaping Holby, but the hospital is your baby, everyone knows that. Even Hanssen knows that.'
Connie's lip twitched at the mention of the Director of Surgery's name. Michael didn't miss it.
'What, did you two have another disagreement?'
'No, no. Just the usual.'
Michael wasn't convinced, but he let it go. They fell silent for a moment, the conversation having gone stale. It wasn't long before he noticed Connie's eyelids closing, her breathing slowing to the steady rhythm of sleep.
'Hey.' Michael said quietly, giving her a little shake on her shoulder. 'No point falling asleep here, there's a bed upstairs.'
He had a little chuckle at her moan of discontent at being woken. Connie was kinda cute when she was sleepy.
'Fine.' She said, like a petulant child. 'I'll go to bed. Are you staying?'
Michael was about to make some silly quip about sharing her bed, but reconsidered when he saw that she was genuinely tired and wouldn't be amused by his games.
'No, I'll leave you to it. I've got a couple of flats to look at in the city, I'm meant to be meeting the estate agent in an hour.'
She walked him to the front door and hovered nearby as he pulled on his coat and scarf, her arms wrapped around herself awkwardly. She looked so much smaller without her killer heels on. Ready to leave, Michael paused considered his options, then pulled her into a hug, ignoring her vague protests.
'I'll see you tomorrow, Connie.' He told her, squeezing gently and pressing a kiss to her hair as he left. Normally that wouldn't be his style, but he didn't care. If she didn't like it, he would just pull the Rude American card and get away with it...
...
As the door closed, leaving Connie alone in her big house once more, she found that a smile was gracing her lips. Michael really was ridiculous. She wasn't sure what had brought on that little display of affection, but she was surprised to find that she didn't mind at all. Discarding all thoughts of the last 24 hours to be dealt with at another time, Connie dragged her weary limbs up the stairs to bed and slid under the duvet still dressed.