Читать книгу Assignment: Single Father - Caroline Anderson - Страница 7

‘MISS WILLIAMS? It’s Xavier Giraud. I gather from Jackie that you might still be interested in my vacancy.’

That gorgeous dark-chocolate voice again, rich and mellow, with the slight French accent that gave it an edge of mystery. Despite her exhaustion and disillusionment, something Fran had thought was dead and buried flickered into life.

‘Yes—yes, that’s right,’ she replied. ‘I’d like to talk to you again about it. I’m sorry if I sound indecisive, but it’s so far from what I’ve done up to now and I do want to be sure before I make a commitment, for both our sakes.’

‘Of course. I understand absolutely. It’s rather a strange job—or rather, I suppose, a combination of jobs. Not many practice nurses work as nanny-cum-housekeeper as well, but don’t let me put you off, for heaven’s sake!’

His soft chuckle tingled over her nerve endings and brought them zinging to attention.

‘So, when could you come and see me again?’ he went on. ‘Are you in London at the moment?’

‘No—no, I’m up here now for good,’ she said, fingers crossed, wondering if it was true. She’d like it to be, but she did need somewhere to live, of course, and fast. She couldn’t camp on Jackie’s floor indefinitely.

‘Right. So you could be available at short notice? It’s just that I’m stuck for cover for the children at the moment, and I’m having to take the afternoons off, and it’s really not fair on my colleagues.’

There was the slightest hesitation before he added, ‘You do know, by the way, that my daughter doesn’t walk or talk, I take it? Jackie did tell you?’

‘She did mention it,’ Fran said guardedly. Actually, Jackie had said a great deal more when she’d told Fran about the post Xavier had asked her agency to fill, but Fran wasn’t about to repeat any of it to him. She’d wait and see for herself just how forthcoming he was about the circumstances behind his daughter’s accident.

‘And that’s not a problem?’

‘Not to me,’ she said, crossing her fingers and hoping she wasn’t being too hopelessly optimistic. ‘I assume I won’t be expected to carry her up and down stairs?’

‘No, of course not,’ he assured her hastily. ‘She can transfer from chair to stairlift and bed and so on without help, and she bathes and dresses herself pretty much unaided.’

There was a pause, and she could almost hear the cogs whirring. Then he spoke again.

‘Look, I have an idea. I’m tied up at the moment, but I’d like to see you as soon as possible. Could you get here for the end of surgery? About elevenish? We could have a chat, and I can show you round and introduce you to the others, and then, if I can persuade someone to do my calls, I could take you to my house and show you the setup. You won’t be able to meet the children, of course, because they’re at school until four o’clock, but it would be a start. What do you think?’

She hesitated for the merest instant, wondering how wise it was to involve herself with a widower and two motherless children, one of whom, according to Jackie, had been left with terrible, crippling injuries, not all of them physical.

Then she thought of working as a practice nurse, a quiet, orderly existence about as far removed from her work in A and E as it was possible to get, and dismissed her hesitation. Besides, she needed somewhere to live—fast.

‘That would be fine, Dr Giraud. Shall I see you there at eleven o’clock?’

‘That would be wonderful,’ he said, and she thought she could hear relief in his voice. ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Williams.’

The line cut with a little click, and she replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Well, he seemed keen enough to see her again, and he’d come over as a very decent sort of person. She could do worse than look after him and his children and do a few inoculations.

She left the agency’s little office tucked away behind Reception, and went through to tell Jackie about her imminent second interview and quiz her friend a little more about the man with the most fascinating voice she’d heard in years.

She didn’t get a chance. There was someone else in there, a man she recognised—a man with a sexy, lopsided grin and the most arresting blue eyes she’d ever seen. He looked up at her and her heart lurched and then settled again. Good grief! Twice in ten minutes. She was going to develop chronic arrhythmia at this rate.

His smile widened in recognition. ‘Well, if it isn’t the bodacious Sister Williams,’ he said, and Fran suppressed a smile.

‘Well, if it isn’t the accident-prone Mr Nicholson. It’s good to see you alive.’

‘Do you two know each other?’ Jackie chipped in, clearly agog, and he chuckled.

‘Let’s just say we met over a red-hot needle a little while ago.’

‘Yes. How is the chest?’ Fran asked him, and he gave a short, humourless laugh.

‘Oh, the chest is fine—it’s healed beautifully. Unfortunately, though, the rest of me is lagging behind a little, hence my visit here. I need a nurse.’

Jackie smiled at her encouragingly, and Fran sat down, rapidly getting a sinking feeling that her friend wanted her to take this assignment instead of the one with Dr Giraud.

Not a chance. Whatever her reservations about working for the GP, they paled into insignificance compared to this. This man, with his panther grace and lazy, sexy eyes, was trouble, with a capital T, and she had no intention of getting involved.

Grin or no grin.

‘I’ve got an interview at eleven with Giraud,’ she said quietly but firmly.

Jackie waved her hand. ‘You’ve got another one now,’ she said, and Fran gave an inward sigh and looked at Josh more closely. The situation didn’t improve with inspection.

He had fading bruises round his eyes, a cast on his arm and an external fixator on his leg. She asked him a few questions and didn’t like the answers.

He’d had an accident twelve days before; that she’d known because of all the news coverage. What she hadn’t known, and what he now told her, was the extent of his injuries, and it made an impressive list.

He’d had a blood clot removed from his brain, his liver and spleen had been damaged, his pelvis was cracked, his right wrist was broken, his right femur was pinned and the fixator on his lower right leg was holding together a collection of matchwood, from what she could gather.

Why he felt he was well enough to go home, she couldn’t begin to imagine, but there was no way she was going with him, however beguiling the smile or challenging the eyes. It was altogether too close to her recent work in A and E—she could imagine the carnage at the site of the RTA, the flashing lights, the controlled pandemonium in Resus—no way. Much too close to home.

When the accident had happened, right in the middle of her crisis at work, it had been all the more shocking to see it on the news because she’d only just treated him. He’d fallen over a cat and landed on a binbag full of rubbish, cutting his chest. She’d teased him, and then a few days later he’d nearly died.

She shot Jackie a slightly desperate smile. ‘Could we have a word?’

‘Sure. Just a moment, Mr Nicholson. We’ll soon have you sorted out.’

‘Just so long as you don’t leave me at the mercy of my mother,’ he said with a thread of desperate laughter in his voice, and Jackie smiled and made soothing promising noises that Fran hoped didn’t include her.

They went into the office and Jackie leant back against the door and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, he is so gorgeous!’ she said under her breath. ‘I can’t believe you know him. You are going to take this job, aren’t you? You’re not going to be silly?’

Fran shook her head. ‘No. I’m going to see Dr Giraud at eleven and I’m probably going to take his job—if he offers it to me. And I don’t know Josh, I’ve only met him once.’

‘Well, surely you know who he is? Good grief, he’s famous.’

‘Yes, they talked about him at work. I’d never heard of him,’ Fran confessed. ‘I gather he’s got a bit of money.’

‘A bit? I think the expression is “fabulously wealthy”,’ Jackie said with a chuckle. ‘Anyway, what about the job? He needs looking after. It was a high-speed crash on the A12—something about a horse on the road. It was one of those really dark nights. Judging by the sound of it, he was very lucky to escape with his life. I’d forgotten all about it. Fran, it’s the chance of a lifetime. You have to take the job!’

For a brief moment she hesitated, tempted by the glamour, the wealth—and that grin. Then she thought of Xavier Giraud, the man with the incredible voice and the tragic children, and she shook her head slowly.

‘No. I don’t think so, Jackie. It would just bring back too many memories. I’ve seen too many young men like him die. I don’t need it.’

‘He’s not going to die.’

‘Please, I can’t. Anyway, I’ve said I’ll see Dr Giraud. I can’t go back on that. I’m sure you’ll find a whole queue of young women happy to take Josh Nicholson on, and probably loads of older ones as well, come to that. And if all else fails, there’s always his mother, by the sound of it.’

Jackie laughed softly. ‘Never mind the older ones and his mother, I might have to come out from behind the desk and look after him myself—if I hadn’t just met David, I might well be tempted.’ She squeezed Fran’s shoulder and smiled forgivingly.

‘You go and see your Dr Giraud. He’s lovely, too, in fact. Not as rich, and there are the kids, of course, but he’s a super guy. He’s got the nicest eyes, and all the patients are in love with him.’

‘Even the men?’ Fran said drily, then laughed. ‘Don’t answer that. You go and sort out Mr Nicholson, and I’ll go round to the surgery now. I’ll be a few minutes early, but I want to be sure of finding a parking place. I’ll let you know how I get on.’

She went through the back to the agency’s tiny car park and then debated walking along to the surgery for all of three seconds before she slid behind the wheel of her little car and eased out into the road. She’d had precious little sleep last night, what with one thing and another, and the last thing she felt like doing was racing along the quay to the surgery and arriving windswept and flustered for her interview. She looked bad enough already!

It was further by car because of the one-way system, but the traffic was quiet, as it usually was on a weekday morning in sleepy Woodbridge, and she drove slowly down through the winding streets of the little town to the surgery.

It was housed in a purpose-built complex near the quay, modern and well equipped, and she arrived with minutes to spare. Still, better early than late.

The surgery car park was almost full and for a couple of seconds she regretted her impulse to drive, but she just managed to squeeze her car into a tiny space at the end next to the wall. Not for the first time, she was thankful her car was small. It certainly made life easier.

Locking up, she went into the reception area and rang the bell. A pleasant woman in her thirties with a welcoming smile and a friendly manner came out and asked how she could help. She had a name badge on that said she was Sue Faulkner, Receptionist, and Fran returned her smile.

‘Hi. I’m Fran Williams—I’ve got an interview with Dr Giraud when he’s finished his surgery,’ she said, and the woman’s smile widened.

‘Ah, you’re the nurse! Come on in. I’m afraid he’s still got patients, but I’ll make you a cup of coffee while you wait. I could have warned you not to bother to be early, he’s always running late. He likes to give the patients a thorough hearing, so he always has too many because they all want him, and he always overruns. Still, it’ll give you a chance to meet the rest of us. I gather you were here last Friday?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fran told her. ‘I didn’t see you then.’

‘No, you wouldn’t, I don’t work on Fridays. Still, I’ve met you now. Angie’s here, the full-time practice nurse, so she can show you round, I’m sure, and tell you a bit more. Come on through.’

While she was talking she lifted up a flap in the counter and opened the gate under it, and Fran followed her into the back of the reception area and through to the office.

It was a hive of activity, but nevertheless everyone turned and smiled a welcome, and the practice nurse put down the pile of supplies she was carrying and came over, her hand extended.

‘Hi, again. Everybody, this is Francesca Williams—our new team member, with any luck.’

‘Fran,’ she said with a laugh, ‘and I’m not counting my chickens.’

‘Oh, nonsense. You haven’t run screaming yet, that’s better than the others. Come and see the room you’ll be working in, and then we’ll have a coffee. Xavier’ll be ages, I expect.’

She followed Angie out through the waiting room and down a corridor, her words echoing in her head. Run screaming? From what? She felt a quiver of doubt and wondered what on earth Jackie had let her in for.

‘Why should they run screaming?’ she asked, but Angie just laughed and shut the door of the treatment room behind them.

‘Oh, you know—mention kids and people either love them or hate them. So far everybody’s either hated them or had their own after-school commitments. Most people who want to work part time in the morning have kids of their own, or else they just want to dabble. Nobody wants to take on a disabled kid, and hardly anybody wants to live in, or at least not for the right reasons.’

Fran shrugged, wondering if being homeless was a good enough reason. ‘I haven’t got anywhere to live at the moment, so it suits me, at least on a temporary basis. I’ve only just moved back to the area.’ Very only just, she added to herself—about twelve hours ago, to be exact, but Angie didn’t need to know that.

The other woman cocked her head on one side and studied Fran thoughtfully. ‘You do know it’s a permanent job, don’t you?’

Fran nodded. ‘Yes—but I was told he needed someone now regardless and would take me on a temporary basis if necessary.’

Angie sighed and nodded. ‘Well, that’s certainly true. He’s run ragged, trying to cope with work and the children, and we’re certainly at full stretch here. I’m sorry, I can’t remember what Xavier said about you. Have you worked as a practice nurse before?’

‘No,’ Fran confessed. ‘I was an A and E sister until ten days ago.’

‘Oh, gosh, well, you’re going to be bored to death here, then,’ Angie said with a humourless laugh. ‘I’m afraid we can’t offer you drama and excitement.’

‘Good. I’ve had enough drama and excitement to last me a lifetime.’ She could see a question forming in Angie’s eyes, and cut it off deftly. ‘Will I need to train for this job?’

‘Yes—but I can do it as you go along. It’s not a problem. It’s just a pain having to keep retraining new people every few weeks, but it can’t be avoided and at least you’re up to speed with current treatment.’

‘Well, I’m good with first aid.’ Fran chuckled. ‘But I don’t suppose I know the first thing about leg ulcers.’

‘Easy. I’ll make sure you get lots of help. I’m always here in the mornings, so you won’t have to struggle. So, this is the room. Nothing flashy like you’re used to, I don’t suppose. Where did you work, Ipswich?’

‘No—London,’ Fran said, looking round and being deliberately uncommunicative. She didn’t want to go into her reasons with the delightful but very open Angie, at least not until she’d spoken to Dr Giraud again and knew she was at least going to be offered the job.

‘Tell me about the equipment you use,’ she said, deliberately focusing on the here and now, and for a few minutes they chatted about procedures while Angie showed her some of the more sophisticated kit at their disposal.

Then the door opened, and Fran turned to see who had come in and her heart skidded to a halt.

‘Ah, Xavier, I was just showing Fran the room,’ Angie was saying, but she was hardly aware of the other woman’s voice. Instead she was transfixed once again by the haunting quality of those smoke-grey eyes that seemed to be searching deep into her soul. A smile creased their corners, and she thought she’d never seen a kinder pair of eyes in her life.

‘Miss Williams, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. It was just one of those days. In fact, they’re all one of those days,’ he confessed with a wry smile, and held out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you once more.’

That voice again—and she’d forgotten what a physical presence he had. He was tall, a shade over six feet, perhaps, with thick, springy hair and shoulders wide enough to lean on. His mouth was full and chiselled, his jaw strong, and there was enough character in his face for ten men.

‘It’s good to see you, too,’ she said, placing her hand in his. His fingers curled around the back of hers, warm and firm and confident, yet gentle at the same time, and she felt an inexplicable sense of homecoming.

‘Come on through to my consulting room—we can have a chat in peace. Have they offered you coffee?’

‘I was about to make it,’ Angie said, and he smiled at her.

‘You couldn’t make two and bring them through for us, could you? I’ve only got a few minutes, I’ve got a call to go out on—it’s not that urgent, I don’t think, but I want to be sure.’

‘OK, two it is.’

Fran followed him through the corridor and he ushered her through a door into his consulting room. It was bright and modern and well equipped, and there were pictures on the wall behind his desk which she hadn’t noticed on Friday.

His family, of course. A boy and a girl, and a woman, probably his wife, small and dainty and much more chic than Fran could ever be.

So what? she thought unconvincingly. You aren’t trying to compete with her.

He opened his mouth to speak and the phone rang. He gave a barely audible sigh and excused himself, then lifted the receiver.

It was obvious from the conversation that his patient was deteriorating, and he glanced at his watch and sighed again, ramming a hand through his hair. A tousled strand fell over his forehead and he pushed it back impatiently.

‘OK. Tell Mrs Donaldson I’ll come now and see him, and ask Stuart to take my other calls, please,’ he said, and turned to Fran with an apology in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but she shrugged.

‘That’s the way it is. Why don’t I come with you, and we can talk while you drive?’

Relief washed over his face. ‘Would you?’ he said, and she wondered if he was afraid to let her go without her signing on the dotted line, if what Angie had said about the other candidates was true.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You can’t keep your patient waiting.’

His brow pleated thoughtfully. ‘It sounds as if it could be a GI bleed, but she’s a bit of a worrier, so it may not be. He hasn’t been suffering with gastric problems that I’m aware of, but that doesn’t mean anything. Still, I won’t know till I see him, so if you’re OK to come with me, we’ll go now. It’s a short way out of town, so we’ll have a few minutes to talk at least.’

He stood up and opened the door, just as Angie appeared with two cups of coffee.

‘Sorry, I have to go out and I’m taking Fran with me,’ he said with a rueful smile at her.

‘No worries, I’m sure I can find a home for it,’ Angie replied, and the look on her face suggested that it wasn’t the first time.

Just like A and E, Fran thought. Every time you thought you had a minute, something would happen. They picked up their coats from Reception and she followed him out to the car park. He had a people carrier, not the huge sort but easier than an ordinary car to get his disabled daughter in and out of, she imagined.

He threw his coat onto a back seat, slid behind the wheel and started the engine, fastening his seat belt as he pulled out of the car park. ‘I’m sorry about the coffee,’ he said as they drove off, but she just shrugged.

‘It doesn’t matter, I’m used to it. It happens all the time in A and E.’

‘That’s what you did before, isn’t it? Work in A and E?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t elaborate, but as she’d expected he didn’t let it go.

‘Tell me about it,’ he said, and, although it was a question and not an order, she felt she had no choice.

‘I was a specialist trauma nurse. I did it for a couple of years.’

‘And then?’ he pressed, and she swallowed hard and straightened up.

‘Then I gave up. I finished ten days ago.’

Even thinking about it made her feel sick, it was all still so raw and fresh, like an open wound. She hugged her arms round herself and hoped he’d give up, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, of course, because he had to find out about her. That was what her interview was all about, and she’d known it was coming, so she just braced herself and waited.

‘So recently? Forgive me for saying this, but it seems strange that you should leave when you had no other job lined up. Was it a sudden decision?’

‘Pretty much.’

He paused, then said cautiously, ‘May I ask why?’

No, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. Instead she shrugged. He had to know, in case it happened again. ‘It just happened one day. I just froze up,’ she said bluntly. ‘I suppose if you want a technical term for it, you could call it burnout. Whatever, I couldn’t do it any more, and after a few days, I had to stop.’

He nodded his understanding. ‘I’m sorry, that’s tough. It does happen, though. In all branches of medicine, I suppose, but especially on the front line. Sometimes it just gets too much, doesn’t it?’ he said, and suddenly she found herself telling him all about it, about the blood and the waste of life and the endless failures, day after day, even though it was never their fault.

‘We had a run of fatalities,’ she told him. ‘One after another, all young, all foolish, all so unnecessary. I just realised between one patient and the next that I couldn’t go and talk to another set of bereaved parents and try and make sense of it for them where none could be made. I just couldn’t do it any more.’

‘So what happened?’

‘My boss sent me home, but the next day wasn’t any better, or the one after that, so he told me to go away and think about it, and he’d have me back when I was sorted, if ever. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to go back, though. It’s only ten days ago, but it feels like a lifetime, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again. And now I just feel so lost. I thought I knew what I was doing with my life, and now suddenly I don’t, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.’

She shrugged again, just a tiny shift of her shoulders, but he must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye because he shot her an understanding smile.

‘It’s hard when everything seems to be going smoothly and then fate throws a spanner in the works. I know all about that and the effect it can have on you.’

She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Oh, what an idiot! ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s nothing like as bad as what’s happened to you and your children, and I didn’t mean to imply—’

‘You didn’t. It was me that drew the parallel, and it does exist. In my case it was a bit more dramatic, but yours is no less valid. Life-changing moments are usually pretty drastic, by definition. Let’s just hope we aren’t going to find one here.’

He swung into a driveway and cut the engine, and Fran followed him up the path of a neat little bungalow. The front door was open by the time they reached it, and the elderly woman waiting for them was wringing her hands with worry.

‘Oh, Dr Giraud,’ she said, clutching his arm. ‘Oh, he’s worse. He looks all grey and waxy—come in.’

Fran followed them down the hall to a bedroom at the back. An elderly man was lying in bed, his skin every bit as grey and waxy as Mrs Donaldson had said, and Fran took one look at him and her heart sank. He was obviously hypovolaemic and shocky, and his condition was all too familiar.

Please, no, she thought. Don’t let him bleed to death. Not the first patient I’m involved with.

‘Mr Donaldson, tell me about the pain,’ Dr Giraud said, quickly taking his blood pressure and pulse, scanning him with eyes that Fran sensed missed nothing.

‘It’s just here,’ he said, pointing to his midsection. ‘So sore. It’s been getting worse for days.’

‘Any change in bowel habits? Change of colour of stools?’

‘Black,’ he said weakly. ‘I read about that somewhere. That’s blood, isn’t it?’

Xavier nodded. ‘Could well be. I think you’ve got a little bleed going on in there. Fran, could you get a line in for me?’ he asked, turning towards her and giving her a reassuring smile. ‘A large-bore cannula and saline to start. I’m going to phone the ambulance station and bring the oxygen in from the car. Are you OK to do that?’

‘Sure,’ she said, quelling her doubts, and found the necessary equipment in his bag. Part of her interview, or just another pair of qualified hands? Whatever, within moments the line was in, she was running in the saline almost flat out and checking his blood pressure again with the portable electronic monitor.

‘What is it?’ Xavier asked, coming back in just as the cuff sighed and deflated automatically.

‘Ninety over fifty-two.’ It had been ninety over fifty-six before, she’d noticed, so it was falling too fast for comfort.

He frowned. ‘OK, I’ve told them to have some O-neg standing by. We’d better take some blood for cross-matching and a whole battery of other tests while we wait for the ambulance, because once they start the transfusion it’ll be useless. Could you do that for me? There are bottles in my bag.’

He turned to the patient. ‘Right, Mr Donaldson, let’s put this mask on your face and give you some oxygen, it’ll help you breathe more easily.’

Once that was done he sat on the edge of the bed and explained to them what was happening and what Fran was doing.

‘The ambulance is on its way—Mrs Donaldson, could you find him some pyjamas and wash things to take with him? They’ll be here in a minute and you don’t want to hold them up.’

‘Of course not. I’ll get everything ready.’

She started going through drawers, clearly flustered and panicked, and Mr Donaldson watched her worriedly.

‘Betty, not those, the blue ones,’ he said as she pulled out his pyjamas, and while he was distracted Fran caught Xavier’s eye.

‘I’ll check his BP again,’ he murmured, and while she labelled her blood bottles he repeated the test. It was eighty-seven over forty-eight, and he winced almost imperceptibly. Only a slight drop, but in a very short time, she thought, so the fluids weren’t holding him stable.

‘Open it right up,’ he said quietly, indicating the saline with a slight movement of his head. ‘I’ll call the ambulance station again, ask them to hurry. I’ve spoken to the surgical reg on call and told him to stand by, but there’s not much else we can do here.’

An endless five minutes later the ambulance arrived, and Mr Donaldson and his worried wife were whisked away, leaving Fran and Xavier standing on the drive watching them go.

They didn’t speak. There was nothing much to say. They both knew it was touch and go, and Mr Donaldson was already weakened from the slow and steady blood loss he’d suffered over the last few days.

Reaction set in, and Fran’s legs started to tremble. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but once they were in the car and driving back towards Woodbridge, Xavier shot her a weary smile.

‘Bit close for comfort, eh?’ he said softly, and she swallowed and nodded.

‘I thought it would be easier—less cutting edge.’

‘It is—or your part of it is under normal circumstances. Don’t forget, you wouldn’t usually have been there. Still, I’m glad you were with me. I needed that extra pair of hands, and you got the line in amazingly fast considering his low pressure. Thanks for that. Thanks for all your help, in fact, you were great.’

Odd, how those few words of praise and thanks could make her feel so very much better. She’d done nothing she hadn’t done hundreds of times before, but to have gained his approval was somehow extraordinarily uplifting.

She put Mr Donaldson firmly to the back of her mind, settled back against the seat and let the tension drain away. ‘So where to now?’ she asked after a minute.

‘My house. We can have coffee without interruption, I can show you the accommodation which goes with the job and if we get really lucky we might even find time for some lunch.’

‘Sounds good,’ she said, realising she was starving hungry.

‘And then,’ he added with a grin, ‘if I still haven’t managed to put you off, you can meet the children.’