Читать книгу Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse - Carol Marinelli - Страница 7

‘HAVE you seen him yet?’

Harriet Farrell had barely taken her jacket off before the question on everyone’s lips was directed at her.

‘I assume we’re talking about the new consultant,’ Harriet responded, rolling pale blue eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ve already had two of the late staff waylay me and tell me how divine he is. And, no,’ she added, turning to the mirror and pulling her straight, sandy red hair back into a ponytail. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘He’s divine,’ Charlotte, one of the grad nurses, sighed dreamily. ‘Spanish,’ she added, as if that information alone was enough to exalt him to sex-idol status.

‘Well, with a name like Ciro Delgato, even I’d managed to work that one out,’ Harriet responded with a dry note to her voice. ‘I just hope he’s good at his job. Have you seen how full the waiting room is? Unless Dr Divine is as good as his résumé attests, we could be in for a very long night.’

‘Oh, come on, Harriet, don’t be such a killjoy. Anyone would think you didn’t want to be here tonight.’ Susan, one of the more senior nurses on the night shift, grinned. ‘I’m as happily married as you are, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t appreciate a fine specimen when he comes along, particularly one with a dreamy accent! It certainly makes a night shift in Emergency go faster.’

‘Ah, but you’re not married to Drew Farrell, Susan,’ Charlotte teased, not noticing Harriet’s flaming cheeks as she rummaged in her bag for red and blue pens. ‘I, for one, wouldn’t want to leave my famous, good-looking husband alone in bed to do a Saturday night shift in this place, no matter how good-looking the new consultant was.’

It had been meant as a joke, Harriet knew that.

But even as she watched her colleagues head out for handover, even as she smiled and told them she’d be along in a few minutes, her throat was so thick with emotion she thought she might break down at any moment. Charlotte’s comment had been so inadvertently near the mark it felt as if Charlotte must have read her diary.

Not that Harriet kept one!

Sitting down on one of the rickety plastic chairs, she allowed herself the indulgence of a few moments alone, letting the bright smile that was so much her nature slip for a while.

And she should have a lot to smile about.

Married to Drew Farrell, living in a gorgeous house in an exclusive beach-side suburb in Sydney, attending A-list events draped in the latest fashions. It was easier to smile and say that life was great than open up to relative strangers and admit the truth, easier to just carry on pretending that she and Drew were the perfect, golden couple.

If only they knew the truth.

Burying her burning cheeks in her hands, she let out a low moan.

If only they knew that ‘happy’ was the last word she’d use to describe her marriage right now. If only they knew how hard it had been to paint on a smile and come to work tonight because they were desperately short of experienced staff. That just because she was married to a man whose name seemed to be on the tip of every thirteen-year-old’s lips, just because the man that adorned teenagers’ walls also shared her bed, it didn’t automatically mean that life was wonderful. Standing up, Harriet stared into the mirror, every freckle magnified somehow, her snub nose scarlet now from her short emotional lapse. Even though the tiny mirror stuck to the wall with Blu-tack didn’t reveal it, she could feel every lardy pound of overweight flesh digging into her waistband, could almost feel the incredulity behind the stares when Drew remembered to introduce her to his new friends. She could still hear the heavy silence that had resounded last night when she’d walked shy and uncertain down the stairs, draped from head to foot in a thousand-dollar dress, and the tiny beat of disappointment that had resonated. Drew’s eyes had told her that, despite the best designer, despite two months of mortgage money being spent on shoes, make-up and hair, she still hadn’t quite looked the part of a certain actor’s wife.

The look in Drew’s eyes had told her that she looked every bit the fat night nurse she was…

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ Harriet said it out loud, forcing herself out of her self-imposed misery. After all, hadn’t Drew been nice tonight? Hadn’t he made her a coffee when she’d put down the telephone and told him that she’d be working an extra shift? He’d even filled her a hot-water bottle when a griping stomach pain had hit around seven p.m. and she hadn’t been sure that she had been up to going in. He had tenderly rubbed her back and told her that she’d feel better soon.

He loved her.

She had to hold onto that—had to believe that the man she’d married, the man she’d believed in all these years, was still there under all the hype. That the dreams they’d built amounted to something.

‘Thanks for this!’ Judith Kerr, the senior nurse handing over the late shift, gave Harriet an attempt at a smile as she walked over. Having trained and worked in the military for a quarter of a century, Judith clearly couldn’t quite come to grips with the rather more relaxed attitudes in civilian nursing and seemed to have a permanent air of disbelief about her. ‘We’re just so short tonight, not on numbers…’ She gestured to the gathered crowd and didn’t even bother to lower her voice. ‘More on experience.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Charlotte moaned, but Judith was unfazed.

‘I’m here to run a department, not massage your tender egos. You might have read the textbooks, Charlotte, come top in all your assessments and exams, but until you’ve walked many miles in Emergency you need someone experienced to oversee the department. Now, Harriet might only have been here for a few months but she’s been doing the job for years and, like it or not, that’s what this place needs on a Saturday night! Especially when we’ve got a new doctor on.’

‘How is he?’ Harriet asked, far more interested in Judith’s professional assessment than the dreamy whispers she had heard in the locker room.

‘He seemed OK.’ Judith sucked in her breath, which effectively meant ‘but’.

‘He was working his way through the patients beautifully at first, I was hoping to have the place a bit more ordered for you, but he went into cubicle four about an hour ago and has barely moved since.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Nothing!’ Judith said, clearly exasperated. ‘There’s a young head injury that needed to be discharged but instead of getting on, he’s chatting away—even the patient’s mother is getting impatient and wanting to leave.’ Seeing Harriet frown, Judith explained further. ‘The young girl studies classical ballet. Apparently she’s really talented and, given that Dr Delgato has a “special interest” in sports medicine, he’s decided to give her the five-star treatment.’

‘Judith!’ Even though it was a mere word, a single syllable, Harriet knew without turning her head this must surely be the new consultant. ‘I would like to take some blood on this patient.’ His thick accent was as deep and delicious as promised, but as Harriet swung around she was mentally knocked sideways at the sheer impact of Ciro close up. For once, the girl talk in the locker room had been woefully inadequate. Sexy didn’t come close to describing him. Straight raven hair flopped over a divinely sculptured face, cheekbones razoring his haughty profile, but his delicious mocha-coloured eyes started to darken as Judith’s tongue sharpened.

‘That patient is a simple head injury who should have been discharged an hour ago,’ Judith barked. ‘You’re not working at the sports institute now, young man. If she wants specialist treatment just because she’s a ballerina, then a city emergency room isn’t the place to get it.’

You had to know her to love her.

Had to know that behind that rather rigid exterior beat a heart of solid gold.

And even if Harriet had only known Judith a few short months, she’d met many Judiths in her time. Women whose barks were far, far worse than their bites. Old-school nurses who thought anyone under the age of fifty were just babies who needed to be told.

But whatever mould Judith came from must have broken when it hit the Mediterranean because clearly no one had spoken to Ciro like that before. His brown eyes were almost bulging now, his expression utterly incensed, and Harriet almost felt herself bracing for an impact, half expected a tirade of Spanish expletives to fill the emergency corridor. But even if his voice was controlled when it came, even if his stance remained utterly composed, the force of his angry glare, the slight twist of his lips as the staccato words came out had even the formidable Judith withering a touch under his direct stare.

‘All my patients get special treatment, Sister. So do not even attempt to insinuate—’

‘I was merely pointing out—’ Judith attempted, but Ciro curtly shook his head.

‘Are you on duty in the morning?’ he demanded, waiting until Judith finally nodded.

‘Then you should be very grateful to me. Very grateful that you are not the sister in charge when a fifteen-year-old girl who was discharged from your department the previous night comes in either in a state of collapse or cardiac arrest! I will take care of this by myself.’ Stalking off, he left Judith, probably for the first time in her nursing career, standing open-mouthed and blushing.

Handover was rapid. Judith was unusually subdued and the rest of the day staff were no doubt keen to escape for the last few hours of Saturday night. When it was over Harriet took a few moments to allocate the staff beneath her, first asking if anyone had any preferences.

‘Resus,’ Charlotte immediately asked, and Harriet gave a small grin at her enthusiasm.

‘You can work in there, with Susan,’ Harriet agreed, keen to give the grad nurse the experience she needed, but ever mindful of staff-patient ratios. ‘But when it’s quiet, you’ll need to give a hand out in A bay.’

‘Louise.’ Harriet gave an apologetic grimace, knowing that most emergency nurses wanted to be in where the action was, not watching from a glass booth in the waiting room. ‘Do you mind covering Triage for the first part of the night? I’ll make sure that I rotate staff.’

‘Fine,’ Louise agreed with a not too thinly disguised sigh, which Harriet chose to ignore. As the senior nurse on duty she needed to be on the floor and needed to delegate the staff appropriately, and Triage was important. As the first port of call for patients it needed a perceptive, experienced nurse to assess the patients and categorise them. As much as most nurses hated being in there, it was one of the most important roles in a well-run emergency department and a leaf or two out of Judith’s book wouldn’t go amiss.

Judith!

After a quick check to make sure everything was in order, Harriet headed for the changing room and, sure enough, there Judith was, slowly emptying her locker, filling her wicker basket with her Thermos and sandwich container, her proud face not even looking over as Harriet slipped in quietly.

‘Judith?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I know you are,’ Harriet started, not quite sure how to broach this difficult, proud woman but knowing she was hurting. Knowing that, unlike the rest of the mob who had scampered off after handover to the pub or their families, Judith would be going home to an empty house and that the only part of the shift she would remember was the final part. ‘Look, in a couple of weeks you two will probably be friends,’ Harriet ventured, and Judith gave a tired nod.

‘Probably. Oh, Harriet, I didn’t mean to imply that he was giving her preferential treatment just because she was a dancer.’

‘No, you probably didn’t.’ Harriet gave a half-smile. ‘But that was what you said, Judith, and, given it’s his first shift in Emergency in this country and English isn’t his first language, and given that your sense of humour doesn’t come with a user manual, he’d be forgiven for thinking that you meant it.’

After the longest time Judith nodded, even managed a watery smile. ‘Should I apologise?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Harriet gave a far wider grin this time. ‘Never apologise to a doctor, Judith, you know that better than me.’

Heading back to the department, happy that Judith wasn’t if exactly cheered at least feeling a bit better, Harriet eyed the whiteboard, planning her next move. She wasn’t sure what reached her senses first, the deep voice or the heady scent of his aftershave, but for reasons she couldn’t even begin to fathom, every sense was on high alert as an all-too-familiar request met her ears.

‘Who is in charge?’

Harriet felt her confident introduction dissipate into a croak.

‘That would be me,’ she somehow managed, dragging her eyes upwards. Incredibly tall, he was easily a good few inches taller than Drew who stood at six-one, but there was nothing remotely slender about him. Ciro was an absolute brute of a man, impossibly wide shoulders, the short-sleeved theatre blues displaying muscular forearms, dusted with dark hairs. Even his hands, holding out a casualty card towards her, were somehow sexy—olive-skinned and long-fingered. Harriet immediately felt incredibly guilty for even noticing they were utterly devoid of a wedding ring.

‘The sister who was on before was very dismissive, but I am preocupado…’ Ciro hesitated. ‘Worried,’ he corrected, and even though she’d already guessed what he was alluding to she gave a small appreciative nod when he translated his word effectively. ‘Very worried and concerned about this patient.’

Grateful for something to concentrate on other than this divine specimen, she took the casualty card and skimmed through the notes written by the evening doctor Ciro had taken over from, cutting through the medical jargon in a moment and summing up the bare facts. ‘Alyssa Harrison, fifteen years old. Fell at a ballet rehearsal, lacerated scalp, sutured, neuro obs stable, ready for discharge. What’s concerning you, Doctor?’

‘A lot, I think.’ His voice was serious, and he gestured to an empty cubicle. ‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’

‘Of course!’ Harriet agreed, but nothing was that simple in Emergency. Before heading off, she flagged down a passing RN with the words, ‘I won’t be long,’ and, handing the drug keys to Susan, she added, ‘Dr Delgato wants a word in private.’

‘Lucky thing.’ Susan grinned. ‘Take as long as you need—I would.’

Thankfully the short walk allowed her blush to fade. No man had even come close to causing such a reaction in her and Harriet didn’t even need to glance at the ring that adorned her own finger to know that whatever she was feeling was inappropriate.

‘It would appear straightforward.’ Ciro wasted no time getting to the point. ‘Alyssa was seen and stitched before I arrived on duty—she had no neurological signs, etcetera, but the doctor who saw her suggested we keep her in for a few hours for head-injury observations, which have all been normal. Now her mother is very keen to get her home.’

‘But?’ Harriet asked, because clearly there was one.

‘I don’t think this young girl is well at all, I’m not happy to discharge her, yet she doesn’t want to get undressed for a full examination,’ Ciro said grimly.

‘A lot of fifteen-year-olds wouldn’t,’ Harriet ventured, ‘especially…’ Her voice trailed off, but in the interests of patient care she cleared her throat and boldly continued, ‘Well, you’re a young man, good-looking—’

‘I have taken that into consideration,’ Ciro broke in, apparently not remotely embarrassed by Harriet’s rather personal observation. ‘She is swathed in legwarmers and a cardigan. All I have managed is to roll up her sleeve, check her blood pressure and take a small look at her ankles while I checked her reflexes. That was enough for me to see that this girl is not just thin, but I would say anorexic and severely malnourished. Her ankles are swollen and oedematous, which would suggest severe malnutrition, and her arms are very thin. Now, usually you would have the parent helping, telling the child not to worry, that it is a doctor examining her and this needs to be done, but instead the mother is agreeing with the daughter when she says that she doesn’t want to get undressed and loudly insisting that any further investigations are unnecessary and that she wants to take her home.’

‘OK.’ Harriet chewed her bottom lip as she realised the possible gravity of the situation, listening intently as Ciro continued.

‘I took her pulse for a full five minutes and she is having arrhythmias. I suggested that we put her on a monitor and do an ECG and some bloods, but the mother again refused. She said that she would take her to the family doctor tomorrow. It is my belief that the mother knows her daughter is grossly underweight, knows that if she is examined properly she will be kept in hospital, and is trying to avoid it.’

‘Have you managed to speak to Alyssa alone?’

‘No.’ Ciro shrugged, his shoulders moving just a fraction. ‘Sister…’

‘Harriet,’ she corrected automatically.

‘Harriet, I do not overreact.’ He stared unblinkingly at her. ‘I do not make problems when there are none. I have asked for the most senior nurse to come with me, as I am going to attempt again to examine Alyssa properly, and if the mother again refuses then I am going to have to get…’ Again he paused, again Harriet guessed he was trying to find the right word—only this time she attempted to help him.

‘Heavy?’ Harriet suggested, and from his slightly bemused expression clearly that wasn’t the word he’d been searching for!

‘If the mother doesn’t comply, then the polite requests and friendly small talk ends and I will call the mother into the interview room and tell her that unless the daughter is examined and treated properly tonight, not only will I be consulting with the paediatrician but also the Department of Community Services, because, although it may be unusual circumstances, Alyssa is at risk.’

‘You’ll get heavy!’ Harriet summed up for him with a smile.

‘Very!’ Briefly he smiled back as the alternative meaning of the word dawned on him, but it faded quickly, his voice slightly urgent when he spoke. ‘Harriet, this is not good.’

She believed him.

Despite the fact she hadn’t even observed him with a patient, had only known him for a few moments, Harriet knew, as nurses just did, that this was a voice of experience talking, knew to go along with his hunch in the knowledge it would be reciprocated; that one day when it was Harriet that was concerned, that when everything on paper told her that the patient was fine, she’d be able to turn to him and tell him that today or tonight or whenever the time came to follow a hunch, she was worried about a patient.

And he would listen.

‘Let’s go and get Alyssa examined and speak with Mrs Harrison, shall we?’

‘Are you OK, Harriet?’ He was still frowning. ‘You look a bit…flushed.’

She felt a bit flushed, only, unlike earlier, it had nothing to do with six feet four of Mediterranean hunk and everything to do with her stomach pain which, despite a hot-water bottle and some painkillers, was still making itself known, but she certainly wasn’t about to tell Ciro that.

‘I’m fine.’ Harriet shook her head dismissively, walking briskly towards the cubicles, ignoring the griping pain in her stomach and mentally preparing for the potentially unpleasant task ahead.

But Ciro clearly hadn’t quite finished. One hand caught her arm as she went to go, those observant eyes staring down at her, narrowing slightly as he took in the pale lips in her flushed face and the tiny grimace of pain as she swung around to face him.

‘You are unwell.’ His statement was delivered as fact, his eyes holding hers as Harriet’s mind raced for some witty response, desperate to shrug off his attention. Sympathy was the very last thing she wanted or needed right now if she was going to get through the night but, given that she had no choice but to get through the night, Harriet decided to swallow her pride and ask this relative stranger for a bit of help.

‘I’m feeling a bit nauseous,’ she admitted. ‘Would you mind writing a script for some Maxalon for me?’ She watched as his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I don’t usually ask things like this, anyone will tell you that, if I could just have something to get rid of the nausea…’

‘Fine.’ He gave a short smile and Harriet gave a relieved one. ‘After I’ve examined you.’

‘Examined me?’ Horrified, her mouth dropped open. ‘I just asked you to write me up for two anti-emetics, Dr Delgato. Most doctors—’

‘Are you saying that doctors here are prepared to prescribe drugs without examining their patients?’ Ciro questioned, his frown deepening.

‘I’m not your patient, Dr Delgato,’ Harriet pointed out. ‘I’m your colleague.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Ciro answered in the same tight vein, ‘the answer is no.’

‘Then we’d better get on with our work,’ she responded tersely, reclaiming her arm from his grip and walking towards the cubicle more determinedly now. ‘If you can give me a couple of minutes alone with her before you come in, I’ll see if I can get Alyssa undressed so that you can examine her.’

‘You won’t get anywhere with the mother,’ Ciro warned.

‘Just watch me.’

Smiling, Harriet breezed into the cubicle, introducing herself to the patient who lay on the trolley. As Ciro had said, she was swathed in legwarmers and a thick cardigan. Her dark hair was drawn back in a small bun and gorgeous velvet-brown eyes, huge in her face, were blinking in confusion as Harriet produced a gown. Without pausing for breath, as if the entire conversation with Ciro hadn’t happened, as if she had no idea that the mother and patient were resisting treatment, Harriet explained in clear terms what was going to happen.

‘Mrs Harrison.’ Smile still in place, Harriet faced the well-groomed, heavily made-up woman. ‘We’re concerned that Alyssa’s heartbeat is rather irregular at times, so I’m just going to pop her into one of our gowns and then the doctor can examine her properly.’

‘No!’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was firm, her bracelets jangling as she went to grab at the gown, rouged lips furious, but Harriet’s smile remained intact. ‘I’ve already been through all this. I want to take my daughter home.’

‘Of course you do,’ Harriet replied sweetly, ‘but it really is imperative that Alyssa be examined thoroughly. Hopefully it’s nothing serious, but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, Mrs Harrison, we can’t just ignore an irregular heartbeat.’

‘As I’ve explained,’ Mrs Harrison snarled, ‘on several occasions, I’d rather my daughter was seen by our family doctor. I’ll take her there first thing tomorrow—’

‘This can’t wait till tomorrow.’ Harriet’s smile was still intact, but the slightly dizzy air to her tone had gone. Her voice was firm, holding the woman’s gaze as she spoke. ‘Your daughter has a cardiac arrhythmia.’ Still she stared directly at Mrs Harrison. ‘It has to be dealt with tonight. I’m going to get Alyssa into a gown and put her onto one of our monitors so we can keep a closer eye on her.’

And something in her unequivocal stance, something in her voice, must have told the woman that this was non-negotiable, and even though Harriet would never have forced Alyssa to undress, she demanded the mother’s co-operation, told her with her eyes that this had to be confronted. Finally, after the longest time, she felt an inward sigh of relief as Mrs Harrison gave a tiny reluctant nod and turned to her daughter.

‘Listen to the sister, Alyssa.’

‘Harriet,’ she offered, her smile softer now, her eyes kind as she approached the young girl. If Alyssa was, as Ciro suspected, suffering from anorexia nervosa then being undressed and exposed would be traumatic for her, and Harriet was determined to make the entire procedure as gentle and as unintrusive as possible, covering the young girl with a blanket as she helped her out of her clothes. Harriet had to keep her own emotions firmly in check as she briefly witnessed the stick-thin limbs. She talked in gentle soothing tones as she gently leant her patient forward to tie up the gown and even though there hadn’t been much room for doubt, any that might have lingered was quashed as she saw the length of Alyssa’s spinal column, vertebrae protruding, dry, flaky skin hanging off. Glancing up at Mrs Harrison, Harriet saw a flash of shock on the woman’s face but she didn’t comment.

Now wasn’t the time.

‘Well done,’ Harriet reassured the girl. ‘Now, these sticky things just go onto your chest, and it lets us keep an eye on your heartbeat.’ Placing the dots and leads on Alyssa’s frail chest, Harriet quickly covered her back up, before turning on the cardiac monitor. As Ciro made his way in he gave Harriet a brief appreciative nod when he saw that the family was now being more co-operative.

‘Alyssa, Mrs Harrison.’ Ciro smiled warmly. ‘I know you are both keen to go home, but first we need to ensure that Alyssa is well enough. Now, I know you’ve already been through this, but, given the doctor that first treated you has gone home now, can you tell me again what happened this evening when you cut your head?’

‘I was at rehearsal—we’ve got the first performance next Saturday.’ It was the first time Harriet had heard Alyssa speak, her voice, small and breathless, almost drowned out by the busy background noise of the emergency department.

‘She’s the lead,’ Mrs Harrison explained. ‘That’s why I want to get her home. She needs her sleep so she can practise tomorrow. It’s a very demanding role—’

‘Alyssa,’ Ciro broke in, ‘why did you fall?’

‘She landed awkwardly…’ Mrs Harrison started, but her voice trailed away as Ciro and Harriet both looked at Alyssa for the answer.

‘I was halfway through my routine and I just got a bit dizzy. It only lasted a second, but I was in the middle of a jump, so I fell awkwardly.’

‘How often do you get dizzy?’ Ciro asked, and Harriet could only admire his questioning, assuming, as was probably rightly so, that this was probably fairly normal for Alyssa.

‘A bit…’ She gave a tiny shrug.

‘OK.’ Ciro nodded. ‘Alyssa, I’m going to examine you, it’s nothing to worry about, and then I’m going to take some blood from you. Harriet has put you onto one of our heart monitors so that we can see what your heartbeat is doing and maybe find out why you’ve been getting dizzy.’

Infinitely reassuring, still he was commanding, his voice firm but somehow soothing. His hands were gentle as he first pulled down Alyssa’s lower eyelids, examining the conjunctiva, then her hands and nail beds. Lifting the blanket and checking her reflexes, his middle finger probed the swollen ankles that looked out of place on such thin legs.

‘You have some fluid retention. Does this happen often?’

‘Sometimes,’ Alyssa answered, ‘but Mum gives me—’

‘Just some vitamins,’ Mrs Harrison said quickly. ‘I get them at the chemist.’

‘OK.’ Ciro didn’t push for any further details, acted as if the information barely merited a comment, but Harriet knew, just knew, it had been noted, but that for now he was focussed on the important task of gaining Alyssa’s trust.

He listened to her chest, warming the stethoscope in his palms first, all the while keeping as much of Alyssa covered as possible. When he’d finished listening he probed her abdomen for a moment before replacing the blanket.

‘Thank you, Alyssa. I know that wasn’t pleasant for you, but it was necessary. I’m going to take some blood now. I’m going to insert a small cannula and leave it there, but from that I can take blood, and if we need to give you any fluids or medication we can do it all through there, so at least you’ll only get one needle. I’ll try not to hurt you.’

He didn’t. Slipping the needle in neatly, he collected several vials of blood before unclipping the tourniquet and flushing the bung to keep it patent with the heparin flush Harriet had pulled up. Only when the blood had been taken, when the IV was in and Alyssa attached to a monitor did he approach the most difficult part of the whole subject. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Would you get the scales?’ Ciro asked Harriet.

‘Alyssa knows her weight,’ Harriet responded without looking up at him, keeping her eyes on Alyssa. It would be easy to go and get the scales, but Harriet also knew that the delay and interruption could ruin the relatively compliant mood that they had somehow managed to foster, and it would be far better to forge ahead while the going was good. So instead she broached her patient, knowing, somehow knowing, this was what Ciro wanted her to do. Effective interview skills in Emergency required as much teamwork and synchrony as a surgeon and scrub nurse required, and with some doctors it took for ever—if ever—to perfect, yet with Ciro they fell into it easily, Harriet handing him the metaphoric scalpel without him needing to ask for it. ‘How much do you weigh, Alyssa?’

‘Forty kilos.’ When still Harriet held her gaze, she answered again. ‘Thirty-eight and a half.’

Deliberately Harriet didn’t flinch and she was thankful that, when Ciro spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact.

‘We’ll need to check it before we give any medication,’ he said, more to Harriet, ‘but whatever way you look at it, this is very underweight.’

‘She’s a ballet dancer.’ Mrs Harrison’s voice was terse. ‘She has to watch her weight.’

‘Of course.’ Ciro nodded, smiling at the agitated woman. ‘But Alyssa is extremely underweight. I’m going to run some tests and then I’ll ask one of my colleagues to come down.’

‘And how long is that going to take?’

‘It might take a while,’ Ciro admitted, ‘but I will tell you that it is my belief that Alyssa needs to be admitted—’

‘No!’ Furiously Mrs Harrison shook her head. ‘This can all wait.’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Ciro shook his head. ‘Look, I understand—’

‘No, Doctor, clearly you don’t!’ Mrs Harrison angrily interrupted. ‘My daughter is dancing next week in a role that could see her getting into the most elite dancing school in Australia. She has to rehearse, she has to—’

‘Perhaps we could talk outside,’ Harriet suggested, anxious to move what could be a very emotional discussion well away from Alyssa’s bedside, but Mrs Harrison wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Perhaps we can’t!’ she smartly retorted, and Harriet knew that for now the conversation was over. ‘I’ll wait for those blood results, and then I’m taking my daughter home.’

‘Thank you for your help in there.’ Ciro caught up with Harriet at the nurses’ station as Harriet attempted to put to paper what had just taken place, knowing that a detailed record, though always required, was especially important in cases such as this, so that the staff that were involved later knew exactly what had been broached and what the response had been. ‘You were very good with Alyssa, the mother, too. It looked as if you actually knew what you were doing.’ He smiled as she frowned. ‘That came out wrong, forgive me. What I am trying to say is that you—’

‘I worked on an adolescent psychiatric unit when I did my training,’ Harriet explained, realising that no offence had been meant. ‘I really enjoyed it. For a while there I even thought of…’ Her voice trailed off, long-forgotten dreams briefly surfacing as she remembered the thrill of excitement at being accepted to study psychology and the thud of disappointment when her fledgling plans had been effectively doused. A part-time nursing wage, while she’d studied at uni, had been nowhere near enough to cover a very part-time actor, whose dreams had always somehow been more important than her own. But this was neither the time nor place for what could have been and, quashing memories, she concentrated instead on the matter in hand. ‘Mrs Harrison was shocked when she first saw Alyssa undressed,’ Harriet said. ‘I don’t think she knew, until then, just how thin her daughter was.’

‘Because she doesn’t want to know,’ Ciro responded. ‘At least, not until the concert is over and Alyssa has her scholarship. She wants her daughter to get into this dance school—that is her sole focus.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh.’ Harriet frowned, but Ciro stood unmoved.

‘I have worked with many athletes, and with their parents, too. Believe me, Mrs Harrison doesn’t want to hear anything that might compromise her daughter’s chances of performing next week, whatever the cost.’

His arrogant assumption annoyed her, and Harriet let it show, her forehead puckering into a frown, her mouth opening to speak, but Ciro got there first.

‘I don’t want them to leave the department.’

‘We can’t force them to stay—’ Harriet started, but Ciro halted her with a stern gaze, his voice clipped when he spoke.

‘I was not exaggerating earlier, Harriet. I will call Community Services if I have to. If Alyssa goes home, I can guarantee she will be back at the bar first thing tomorrow, rehearsing for her performance. And, from my clinical examination, it is my belief that that child is in danger of collapse and possibly sudden death if she exerts herself.

‘So, I repeat—I do not want her leaving this department!’

As Ciro called over the porter and handed him the bloods to take directly to Pathology, Harriet stood stock-still at the desk, pen poised over the notes she was writing, her eyes shuttered for a moment. It wasn’t Ciro’s ominous warning that caused her eyes to close in horror, but the use of the word ‘child’.

They were talking about a fifteen-year-old child, and she mustn’t lose sight of that fact. It was their duty to protect her, especially if Ciro’s educated hunch proved to be correct.

‘What was all that about?’ Charlotte nudged her, putting a massive pile of drug charts in front of Harriet that needed to be checked.

‘The patient in cubicle four,’ Harriet murmured, her mind ticking over. ‘Alyssa Harrison…’

‘The head injury that’s here with her mother?’ Charlotte checked. ‘I thought she was being discharged.’

‘Not any more. Ciro doesn’t want her to leave the department. I’m going to ask Security to keep an eye on them.’

‘But what if the mother wants to take her?’

‘Then a simple head injury will become incredibly complicated.’ Harriet gave a thin smile. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For now just keep an eye open and let me know straight away if they show signs of leaving.’ The emergency phone trilling loudly interrupted the conversation and had Charlotte practically dancing on the spot with anticipation. When the red phone rang, everything stopped! A direct line to Ambulance Control, it was used to warn the staff about any serious emergencies they could expect, and sometimes, if the situation merited it, an emergency squad of nurses and a doctor would be sent out.

Harriet answered the telephone calmly, listening patiently to Ambulance Control and shaking her head as Susan came over swiftly, with Ciro following closely behind, clearly wanting to find out what was coming in, or whether the squad needed to go out.

‘Just a plane about to land with one engine,’ Harriet said easily, and Susan gave a dismissive shrug, before wandering off. Even the easily excited Charlotte managed a rather bored rolling of her eyes and went off to answer a call bell.

Only Ciro remained, his expressive face clearly appalled at the news.

‘One engine!’

‘Yep,’ Harriet answered. ‘I’ll just let the nursing coordinator know.’

‘And then what?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Then what?’ Ciro barked, clearly frustrated by her obvious lack of urgency. ‘Am I to go out to the airport? Should we start moving patients out of the department?’

‘Ciro…’ Putting up her hand, Harriet stopped him. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Tell that to the poor souls flying thirty thousand feet in the air,’ he started, and somewhere deep inside, something flared in Harriet—a twitch of a smile on her lips, a small gurgle of laughter building within, a tiny flash of mischievousness at the realisation that she could prolong his agony, a glimpse of the old Harriet, the old, fun-loving Harriet, that seemed to have been left behind somehow. Ciro responded to it.

‘What?’ His lips were reluctantly twitching into a smile, too. ‘What is so funny? I am overreacting, no?’

‘Yes.’ Harried grinned. ‘You obviously haven’t worked in an emergency department that covers an international airport before.’

‘No.’

‘Those poor souls won’t even know there’s a potential problem. This type of thing happens all the time. Ambulance Control alerts us as a courtesy, to be ready in case…’

‘Then shouldn’t we be doing something, getting ready?’

‘Ciro, we are ready,’ Harriet answered. ‘The mobile emergency equipment was all checked at the beginning of the shift, we’ve got a major disaster procedure plan in place, ready to be implemented at any given moment. This is a fairly regular occurrence. Planes can and do land perfectly well with one engine. However, as a precaution, the airport emergency crews will all be ready to meet the plane and if, if, a disaster were to eventuate, we’d commence the major incident plan. But for now it’s way too soon to do anything.’ He didn’t look particularly convinced. ‘Ciro, if they had rung to say a plane was going to land with no engines, we’d be moving. This time next month you’ll barely turn a hair at the news. They’ll ring soon to say it’s landed safely.’

He gave a relieved nod and she should have left it there, should have ended it with a swift smile and got straight back to work, but she didn’t.

‘Unless, of course, the wheels get stuck in the undercarriage.’

‘Now you are teasing.’

‘Yes.’ Harriet smiled, but somewhere in mid-smile it wavered, somewhere in mid-conversation the witty responses ended and all she could do was stare. Stare back at those mocha eyes that held hers, stare at that full, sensual mouth. He smiled back at her and the terrible realisation hit that she was flirting.

Oh, not licking her lips and hand on hips flirting, but there was a dangerous undercurrent that was pulling her. A rip in the ocean that was slowly but surely dragging her in, this seemingly light conversation peppered with dangerous undertones. Surely, surely she shouldn’t be noticing the tiny golden flecks that lightened those velvet eyes, surely she should no more than vaguely register the heavy, masculine scent of him. But instead it permeated her.

Harriet could feel her own pulse flickering in her throat and from the tiny dart of his eyes Ciro registered it too, and for a slice of time the department faded into insignificance, for a second it was only the two of them, not two colleagues sharing a light-hearted joke, but instead a man and a woman partaking in that primitive, almost indefinable ritual. A ritual that somehow acknowledged mutual attraction, that managed, without words, to voice a thousand questions. Never had she been more grateful for the sharp trill of the emergency phone ringing, dragging her back to reality, a mental slap to her flushed cheeks, a chance to regroup, to pull back, a chance to stop something that must never, ever be started.

‘It landed.’ Her voice was high and slightly breathless as she replaced the receiver, taking great pains to calmly log the call in the book, anything other than look at him. ‘Safely.’

‘I told you it would!’ Blinking in confusion, she dragged her eyes to his, smiling despite herself when he gave a nonchalant shrug and somehow turned the previous few minutes on their head. ‘Didn’t I try and tell you that you were overreacting, Sister?’

One good thing about being busy was that the hours went by quickly. Ciro, clearly used to dealing with a full department, worked his way expertly through the patients. Harriet guessed that once he didn’t have to pause to look up every last phone number and find out where every blessed form was kept to order various tests, he’d be an absolute dream to work with—so long as you followed his rules!

‘Look at you, Harriet!’ Charlotte’s voice was almost a screech. ‘You’re in the newspaper! Why didn’t you say?’

Mortified, clutching a telephone receiver in one hand, with the other Harriet reached out to grab the paper, but Charlotte was having none of it. At twenty-one she was a huge fan of Drew’s and never missed an opportunity to talk about him.

‘I just saw one of the patients reading it! I told them that you worked here so they let me have the paper—Oh, Harriet, you look gorgeous!’

‘I look huge,’ Harriet corrected, refusing to even glance at the beastly photo of her on the red carpet at the acting awards ceremony that had been held the previous night.

‘Any results back on Alyssa?’ Ciro asked as he came over. ‘The medics are waiting to see her, but I want some more information before I speak with the mother again and tell her that we’re keeping her in.’

‘I’m still on hold.’ Harriet didn’t even look at him, couldn’t actually! She was concentrating too hard on breathing, tiny white spots dancing in front of her eyes, sweat beading on her forehead as great waves of nausea rolled over her. And Charlotte’s incessant voice wasn’t exactly helping matters.

‘But you’re not huge, you look stunning!’

‘Who looks stunning?’ she could hear Ciro asking, mortification heaped on mortification as behind her back Charlotte gleefully showed him the photo and took the new doctor on a whirlwind tour of her supposedly wonderful life.

‘Harriet here is married to a soap star.’

‘Soap?’

‘Soap opera!’

‘Her husband is an opera singer?’

‘No, he’s on TV. How come,’ Charlotte asked with the tactlessness only a very pretty twenty-one-year-old could get away with, ‘that with the patients your English is brilliant, but when you’re talking to us it’s—’

‘Charlotte!’ Harriet warned, putting her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, but Ciro was unfazed.

‘Because most of the English exams that I had to pass concentrated on medical terminology,’ Ciro answered easily. ‘I can name every bone in your body yet I cannot talk easily about television shows.’

‘He could name every bone in my body,’ Susan sighed as Ciro headed back to the cubicles, with Charlotte following like a faithful puppy. ‘He’s very good, isn’t he?’ Susan carried on, following Harriet’s far-away gaze as she sat on the telephone on seemingly eternal hold, trying to chase up Alyssa’s blood results. Despite marking the forms as high priority the results still hadn’t come through and Mrs Harrison’s already short fuse was clearly about to run out. Glancing over to cubicle four, Alyssa frowned as Mrs Harrison pulled the curtain, effectively blocking her view.

‘He’s doing well,’ Harriet admitted almost reluctantly, determined not to let even a hint of what she was feeling carry to her peers, rolling her eyes as yet again the switchboard operator asked her to stay on hold. ‘So long as you don’t ask him for any favours.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I asked him to write up two Maxalon for me and he refused. He said that he’d only write them up if he examined me first.’

‘And you said no!’ Susan teased. ‘I wouldn’t have to be asked twice to take my kit off. Are you OK?’ she asked more seriously when Harriet didn’t smile back, just fanned her face with her hand and licked lips that were suddenly dry.

‘No,’ Harriet finally admitted. ‘In fact, once I get these results I think I’m going to have to take first break. Susan, would you mind going and checking on Alyssa? Tell Mrs Harrison that we need the curtains kept open, unless she’s using a bedpan, of course.’

‘Sure.’ Susan stepped down from her stool. ‘And when I’ve done that do you want me to ring the supervisor, and see if she can send someone down to replace you?’

‘Fat chance.’ Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘I was the last of the last resorts already. I’ll just have to grin and bear it, I’m afraid. Let’s hope the department stays quiet.’

Jinx!

Even as the words came out of her mouth, even before the two nurses could touch the wooden desk in front of them in an effort to stop the jinx, the urgent call went up!

A loud crash, followed by a wail of horror filled the relatively quiet department and, throwing the receiver down on the desk, Harriet managed a rueful smile as she ran towards cubicle four, Susan quickly apportioning blame as she ran behind. ‘That’s your fault, Harriet!’