Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby by Anne Fraser / Lynne Marshall

he’s asked me if I can travel with him.’ Shelooked at her mother. ‘It does mean I won’t be around to help as much as I’d like.’ She paused. ‘Maybe I should tell him I can’t do it. Come to think of it, I must be crazy.’
    Her father reached out and patted her on the arm. ‘Do it,’ he said. ‘I want you to. It would make me feel better knowing that I’m not holding you back.’
    Rose hugged her father, feeling his too-thin frame under her arms. Where had the strong muscular father of her teens disappeared to? He had always been there for her, now she wanted to be there for him and her mother. But he hated being dependent. And she had to make sure she didn’t make him feel worse.
    ‘By the way, Miss Fairweather phoned.’ Rose’s mother mentioned the name of the neurosurgeon Rose had seen after her father’s stroke. ‘She wants you to call her at the hospital. She wouldn’t say any more. There’s nothing wrong, is there, love?’
    Rose felt a shiver of alarm but pushed it away. Her father’s GP had recommended she see the specialist after discovering her father’s stroke had been caused by an aneurysm. He’d told Rose that the condition often ran in families and to be on the safe side she should have herself checked out. Miss Fairweather had agreed and advised Rose to have an MRI. That had been on Friday and she had refused to let herself think about it over the weekend. She had been positive that there was nothing to worry about. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any symptoms. No headaches, tingling sensations. Nothing. She dismissed the uneasy feeling that was creeping up her spine. No doubt the consultant just wanted to let her know that her results were all normal.
    ‘I’m sure she just wants to let me know everything’s okay, Mum. Don’t worry. I’ll give her a ring now.’
    But when Miss Fairweather asked Rose to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible, Rose knew it wasn’t okay. Had her results been fine, the neurosurgeon would have said so over the phone. Rose replaced the receiver, having made an appointment at the end of the week. She returned to the sitting room and her mother looked at her, alarm written all over her face.
    ‘Not bad news, love?’ she asked, the colour draining from her face.
    There was no point in worrying her parents until she knew what Miss Fairweather had to say.
    ‘No, Mum. Everything’s fine,’ Rose lied.
    The following days at Jonathan’s practice settled into a pattern. Patients would come to see Jonathan in the morning, then in the afternoon he would go out on visits, leaving Rose to type up notes if she wasn’t needed. Some of the patients Rose recognised from the newspapers or TV, some she didn’t recognise, but felt she should. Jonathan treated them all with the same easy grace and familiarity. Some afternoons she’d accompany him on his house visits, each home almost more spectacular than the last. Whenever Rose found herself thinking about her upcoming appointment with Miss Fairweather, she would push the thought away. There was no point in worrying until she knew what the neurosurgeon had to tell her.
    But at home, in the privacy of her bedroom, she spent her evenings searching the net for information about aneurysms. None of it gave her much cause for optimism.
    When Jonathan turned up for work in the morning, he’d sometimes look tired, as if he’d spent most of the night clubbing, although he never appeared hungover. And sureenough, there were photographs of him in the tabloid press, outside clubs and restaurants, with one glamorous woman after another on his arm. If it gave Rose a strangely uncomfortable feeling to see him with different women, she would dismiss the thought with a shake of her head. It was none of her business what he chose to do in his own time.
    Once there was a photograph of him playing polo and she discovered that at least two of his free afternoons were given over to the sport. In the picture, he