Ha – did I lull you all into a false sense of security thinking Lila was gone? Well she is back! Sort of … this is only a little chapter in terms of content – but it's more of a transition chapter before things kick off soon!

I love this chapter – Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard is great fun to write, almost as much as his daughter! By the way – in my head, it's Alistair to rhyme with stair, as opposed to Alistair to rhyme with stir – just because it sounds far more senior consultant-y!

Thanks for all the reviews so far – please carry on because, as I always say – I write for you guys, and if you guys are loving the story then that's all that matters!

This chapter's song is:
Snow Patrol – Run

Enjoy

"Good Morning maternity, Sister speaking."

"Good-morning, I would like to speak with Dr Patrick Turner please?"

"He's in a meeting at the moment, can I take a message?"

"When is he due out?"

"Uh – I'm not sure, but they've only just gone in."

"Right. This is Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard at Guys. I'm in Geneva at the moment at a conference, so have him telephone my secretary on 020 356 291 … did you get that?"

"Yes – 356 291."

"Right – she'll have a number for my hotel. I need to speak with him fairly urgently, but uh – you can tell Dr Turner that it's a private call so he needn't worry about telephoning after-hours. And what was your name?"

"Sister Julie Pearson."

"Right Sister Pearson – excuse me, good bye."

"Bye." Hanging up the phone, Julie scribbled a note onto a post-it and stuck it to the edge of the nurses' station, before continuing with her writing on the computer vaguely, trying to concentrate on the care plan on her computer screen something was nagging at the back of her mind. Something about the man on phone, something she couldn't put her finger on, continuing to type she flicked between boxes, typing in the standard responses and selecting the standard answers from the drop down menus. Healthy mothers with uneventful pregnancies and bonny babies were easy to care for, but their paperwork was un-erringly tedious. With relief she reached the end of the page and saved the spread sheet just as Trixie hoved into view carrying a pile of sheets,

"Trixie?"

"'Ey Julie, what's up?"

"Does the name Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard mean anything to you?"

"Ah – he's dat big wig at Guy's? Wrote dat ting for de papers … about how bad young mums are, and how dey don't deserve proper care or some ting?"

"Ye-es, but I feel like I know him for some other reason … no?"

"Ey! Wan he da father of dat F1, Lia?"

"Oh God … Lila … you're right! Uh – thanks Trixie!"

"Any time Julie!" scrabbling for the phone again, Julie quickly dialed Patrick's home phone and waited for the ringing, it took a while before it was answered.

"Hello?"

"Shelagh, it's Julie."

"Oh hi – you alright?"

"Yeah. Just a heads-up, and I'm going to tell Patrick as well … but I've just had a phone call from Sir Morgan-Howard, Lila's dad."

"Oh Jesus, well what did he say?"

"Nothing much – but he says he wants to see Patrick about a uh – personal matter urgently."

"Shit."

"Quite. I'm only telling you because Sir Morgan-Howard is a powerful man and if things all go cock-a-hoop then Patrick'll need all of us on his side … most of all you."

"Yeah. Thanks Julie. Bye now."

"See you." Hanging up again, Julie collected up her paperwork bundle and made her way back into the room where her healthy young mother was waiting. After a moment there was a buzzing at the unit's intercom system, jumping out of the staff room John glanced at the video monitor behind the nurses' station and buzzed the couple in,

"Hi there, I'm John your midwife today – do you just want to pop yourselves into number … 3? And I'll be in a second, I'll just grab your file … yeah – just there on your left." watching the heavily pregnant and her exhausted partner disappear into the side-room he walked over to the pigeon holes filled with notes behind the desk and picked out hers.

"Morning John."

"Mm? Oh morning Bea – how's things?"

"Can't complain, much the same."

"Knee still giving you gip?"

"Isn't it always."

"And the old man still getting under your feet?"

"Isn't he always! No – he's a good soul, you know he's taking me to Cornwall next week, for our anniversary."

"Really? How long have you two been married the Bea?"

"Ooo – 35 years you know."

"Blimey – what's your secret?"

"He does his thing, and I do mine. Oh – now, I've got an apple cake for you all – I'll pop it in the staff room shall I?"

"Oh Bea – your cakes are legendary, but you know you really shouldn't!"

"Oh I don't mind – I've always said, A&E and the maternity department are the nicest in this hospital, not many'd take the time to chat with an old domestic like me."

"Oh Bea, you sell yourself short, you're an institution and I don't know where we'd be without you!"

"You're too kind love, now am I alright to do the nurses station?"

"Yes, thanks. Oh – and if I don't see you before you go away, you two have a wonderful time, eh? Have some winkles for me!"

"Thank you love, and god bless." With a smile the small woman watched John retreat into the side room before whipping out her Chlor Clean wipes and lifting up the mice and key boards she made her way across the surface, slowly binning the various bits of paper and detritus the collected at the station.

I'll sing it one last time for you, then we really have to go. You've been the only thing that's right in all I've done. And I can barely look at you but every single time I do, I know we'll make it anywhere away from here

"Light up, light up … as if you have a choice. Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you dear …"

"Hi love."

"Louder! Louder! And we'll run for our lives! I can hardly speak I understand! Why you can't raise your voice to say …"

"It's Karaoke time is it? Why are you washing your hands like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're Lady Macbeth in a BBC4 production."

"I've been chopping chillies and I'd like to be able to put my contacts in without causing spontaneous combustion in the near future! So …"

"So?"

"How was it?"

"Work? Much the same as usual."

"No! The phone call? Julie called me."

"Sorry love, you've lost me."

"Julie said he'd rung for you and that you were going to ring him back?"

"What? I haven't seen Julie all day, I was in a meeting for about six hours – who rang for me?"

"Oh God."

"What? Who rang Shelagh."

"Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard."

"Shit."

"Yeah … so you didn't get the message?"

"No … what did he say."

"I don't know – Julie rang me, to warn me, that you had to ring him."

"It's like an episode of Are you being served!"

"It's OK – I'll ring Julie now."

"OK … I'm going to have a gin … and a cigarette."

"I'll join you!"

"Bonsoir, Metropole Genève. Comment puis-je aider?"

"Boinsoir … uh … parlez-vous anglais?"

"Of course Sir, please excuse me. This is the Metropole Geneva, how can I help this evening?"

"Ah – I've had a message to telephone Sir Alistair Morgan-Howard, I think he's staying with you."

"One moment please Sir … ah yes, can I take a name and I'll get him for you Sir?"

"It's Doctor Patrick Turner … he did ask me to telephone."

"Of course Sir, one moment please." There was a buzzing click followed by the low resonating sound of a piece of music that Patrick was almost sure was Brun, but easily could have been by someone else, after a few minutes of feverish smoking and classical music there was another buzzing click on the line.

"Hullo, Dr Turner?"

"Sir Alistair, I had a message to ring you."

"Yes yes you did. It's uh – it's a rather delicate matter, regarding my daughter – I believe you know her?"

"Lila and I have met yes."

"Look here, I'm a man of the world … I understand!"

"Ri-ight."

"But you can't fail her for that!"

"Sorry, what can't I fail her for?"

"Well … rejecting your advances. Look here – like I said, I'm a man of the world, she's a nice looking girl and you've been … well, alone for a good while now! I don't blame you, but you can't blame her for not being enticed – I mean really, neither of us are as young as we were!"

"Ri-ight … I am so sorry. But I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about … I mean … I mean for a start that's not why I wouldn't sign of your daughter! Besides from anything else I'm married, I re-married almost a year ago, and then … Sir Alistair. I failed Lila because she's a bad doctor, she made constant mistakes, and not just minor errors, but full blown life endangering mistakes! She was rude to patients and staff and as a piece-de-resistance she turned up at my house with the police in tow coked out of her skull pretending she was my daughter."

"I … Slander."

"Sir Ali-"

"Slander … Dr Turner will not be tolerated."

"You can't expect me to take her back on!"

"I can, and I do. Take her back on, or I go to the GMC with the story of how a grubby little obstetrician in a back water East London maternity unit tried to molest a Junior doctor and when she turned him down he failed her. You'll never work again."

"But … that is completely immoral, you can't do that! She's a bad doctor."

"She's also a Morgan-Howard, and that affords one certain privileges in life."

"Like getting off scot free?"

"Like having friends in high places. In the medical council … in the house of Lords … in the media … your decision Dr Turner. Good Evening"

Shelagh woke up slowly, her eyes adjusting to the gloom, reaching across for her glasses she slid them on and looked at the alarm clock beside her, rolling over she saw what had woken her. Patrick was sat up in bed staring at the wall at the end of the bed un blinkingly, twisting his wedding ring around his finger, he started as he felt Shelagh move.

"Sorry Love, did I wake you?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"It's 3:20 – why are you up?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Patrick … I know you, and this is not alright Patrick, this is scared Patrick."

"I knew it was a mistake to marry a therapist."

"Patrick, I know it's really rubbish."

"You can say that again."

"Patrick, I know it's really rubbish."

"You should be in a 70's sit-com."

"Sorry … couldn't resist! But seriously, I know that it's really rubbish – but you didn't try and woo her, you're in the right – you failed a substandard Junior doctor, you did the right thing for the right reasons."

"Unfortunately where the Morgan-Howard's are concerned, the moral high ground counts for sod all, what counts is connections!"

"And let me guess - the Turners have very little in the way of connections?"

"Well … I'm quite friendly with the post-man."

"That'll have to do then I suppose. It will be OK."

"The problem is love – I'm not sure it will be. If … if things go south, will you be alright?"

"Patrick Turner. Everything will be fine. And if it isn't … then everything will still be fine, I'll always be here, and so will Tim."

"If only I didn't have principles eh?"

"Oh if only!"