Читать книгу Gina's Little Secret - Jennifer Taylor, Jennifer Taylor - Страница 7

BY THE time the neuro registrar arrived, Marco was feeling decidedly out of sorts. It seemed that every time he closed his eyes that young nurse would appear and start talking to him. He was sick and tired of her shrill little voice buzzing in his ears like a demented wasp. Why hadn’t that other nurse come back, he thought impatiently, the one who had spoken to him so gently? He could put up with her disturbing him very easily.

He frowned as once again a memory tried to surface only to disappear the moment he attempted to capture it. He was more convinced than ever that he had met her before, but if that were the case then why hadn’t she said something? His head ached even more as he tried to work it out but it was just too difficult. Hopefully, it would all come back to him in time, all the good memories as well as the bad, like those about Francesca.

Sadness welled up inside him and he closed his eyes, afraid that in his present state he would do something unforgivable like cry. After Francesca had died, he hadn’t cried, hadn’t been able to. He had been too numb at first, too eaten up by grief later to give vent to his emotions. Over the years it had become increasingly important that he shouldn’t break down. He had needed to remain strong if he was to stick to his decision never to allow himself to fall in love again. There had been just that one time he had wavered, when he had realised that he was letting himself feel things he shouldn’t …

‘Dr Andretti? I’m Steven Pierce, the neuro registrar. Sorry about the delay but it’s been like a madhouse today.’

The memory melted away and Marco’s eyes shot open. He stared at the man standing beside the bed then let his gaze move to the woman beside him. So she was back, was she? She had deigned to spare him some time now that her colleague had decided to pay him a visit?

Marco’s irritation levels shot up several notches and he glared at the younger man. ‘About time too. Is it normal practice to leave a patient suffering from a head trauma in a busy ward like this?’ His gaze skimmed around the room, taking stock of the patients and their visitors, and his expression was frosty when he looked at the nurse. ‘The noise level in here is appalling, Sister. If I was in charge of this department then you can be sure that it would be run along very different lines.’

‘But you aren’t in charge, are you, Dr Andretti?’

Her voice was still soft, but there was a coolness about it that stung and Marco’s frown deepened. However, before he could say anything else the younger doctor intervened.

‘Unfortunately, AAU is one of the busiest departments in the hospital. We think we have a tough time on the wards, but I don’t know how the staff here copes with all the comings and goings.’

Marco inclined his head, acknowledging the rebuke and the justification for it. He had been rude and there was no excuse for that. ‘Of course. I apologise if my comments caused offence, Sister. Mi scusi.’

‘There is nothing to apologise for.’

Her tone was still chilly and he felt a prickle of disappointment nibble away at his irritation. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he didn’t want her to be so distant with him. The thought surprised him so that it was a moment before he realised the registrar was speaking again.

‘I noticed that you spoke Italian just now, Dr Andretti. Obviously, some aspects of your life are starting to return.’

‘Si,’ he concurred slowly. ‘I realised earlier that English wasn’t my first language, but it is only now that I know Italian is.’

Steven Pierce nodded. ‘It’s a start. You will probably find that bits and pieces come back to you in no particular order. You’ll recall one event and not recall something else that happened at the same time.’

‘You think it is retrograde amnesia,’ Marco queried.

‘Yes, more than likely. Most people with amnesia suffer a gap in their memory that extends backwards from the onset of the disorder. When you hit your head during the accident that was the start and now you’re finding it difficult to recall what went on before then.’ Steven smiled. ‘However, the fact that you are able to diagnose your own condition is another indication that your memory is starting to return.’

‘Bene. It is not pleasant to not know who you are and what has happened to you,’ Marco admitted. He glanced at the nurse and felt surprise run through him when he saw the alarm on her face. It was obvious that something was troubling her even though she was doing her best to disguise it.

She must have sensed he was looking at her because she glanced round and he saw the colour run up her face before she turned away, busying herself with rearranging the water jug and glass. Marco knew that it was merely an excuse to avoid looking at him and felt more perplexed than ever. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what was wrong when the younger man continued.

‘I’d like to move you to the neuro unit so we can run some tests, but unfortunately we’re short of beds right now.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘I’m afraid Dr Andretti will have to stay here for tonight, Gina. Sorry about that.’

‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’

She summoned a smile but Marco could tell how strained it was even if the other man didn’t appear to notice. He listened without interrupting while the registrar explained that he would like Marco to be kept under observation. If he was honest, his attention was focused more on Gina than on the plans for his ongoing care.

Marco shivered as he silently repeated the name. Once again there was that flash of recognition, the feeling that he had met her before. He tried to force the fog from his brain but it wouldn’t lift. Was he imagining it? Was his brain trying to compensate for its lack of memories by creating new ones?

As a doctor, he knew it was possible. False memories could be implanted in a person’s mind; it was a proven fact. But why would he want to do such a thing? Surely he wasn’t so desperate to ease his loneliness that he would choose to latch onto a total stranger?

That was another memory, the fact that he was lonely. Marco let it settle in his mind then dismissed it as he did every single time. He wouldn’t allow himself to wish for more than he had. He’d had everything a man could have dreamed of once and lost it. He couldn’t and wouldn’t go through that agony again.

His heart began to pound as he looked at the woman standing beside the bed. Maybe he couldn’t recall where they had met but he knew—he just knew—that they had! In that second he realised how vital it was that he regain his memory as quickly as possible. He had to find out why Gina was pretending not to know him.

The evening wore on, bringing with it the usual mix of the mundane and high drama. Gina had worked on AAU for almost two years and had seen it all before, but that night seemed very different from all the others. She was so conscious of Marco’s presence that her senses seemed acutely heightened. The noise level was extremely high; the number of visitors per bed did need reducing; waiting times were too long—people needed to be seen by a specialist far sooner than was currently happening.

She sent Julie off to clear the ward of excess visitors. Two per bed was the designated limit and she intended to stick to that. While Julie was doing that, she phoned all the departments that were supposed to be sending someone down to see a patient, refusing to accept the usual excuse that they were short of staff. As she politely reminded them, AAU was for acute cases only. It wasn’t an overflow for the various wards. She had just finished when she heard a monitor beeping and Rosie came rushing into the office.

‘The man in bed seven can’t breathe!’ the student gabbled at her.

‘Have you put him on oxygen?’ Gina asked, getting up. She didn’t say anything when Rosie shook her head. She would run through the emergency procedures again with her later, after they had dealt with this crisis. Hurrying into the ward, she picked up the oxygen mask and swiftly fitted it over the patient’s nose and mouth. ‘Just try to breathe normally, Mr Jackson. That’s it, nice and steady now. Good. You’re doing great.’

She checked the monitor, noting that his pulse rate was much faster than it should have been and that his blood pressure was too low. Philip Jackson was forty-four years old and had been admitted via ED after complaining of being short of breath. His symptoms had disappeared since he had been on the unit and Miles Humphreys had concluded that the man had suffered nothing more serious than a panic attack. Miles had overruled her suggestion that Philip should remain there overnight for monitoring and had discharged him. Philip had actually been waiting for his wife to collect him when this had happened.

Gina bit back a sigh as she turned to Rosie. Miles wasn’t going to be happy about being proved wrong. ‘Can you ask the switchboard to page Dr Humphreys, please?’

She picked up the patient’s notes as Rosie hurried away. The best way of dealing with Miles, she had found, was to be totally clued up about every aspect of a case. There was nothing of any significance in the notes that ED had made so she delved further into the file, frowning when she discovered that Philip Jackson had undergone surgery to repair a hernia three months earlier. It hadn’t been included in the patient’s recent history, but could it have a bearing on his present condition?

Miles arrived a few minutes later. Gina’s heart sank when she saw him striding down the ward because she knew he was going to give her a hard time. Why wouldn’t he just accept that she didn’t want to go out with him? You couldn’t make someone want to be with you, as she knew from experience. Unbidden her gaze went to Marco and she felt heat flow through her when she discovered that he was watching her. She hurriedly turned away, forcing herself to concentrate as Miles demanded to know what had happened.

‘Mr Jackson has had difficulty breathing again.’ She kept her gaze on the patient but she could feel Marco’s eyes boring into her back. Had he remembered who she was? she wondered sickly. It was obvious that his memory was starting to return, so it could happen any time. What was she going to say if he asked her about her life? Could she simply ignore Lily’s existence, pretend that she didn’t have a daughter?

‘I asked you a question, Sister. If it isn’t too much to expect then I would like an answer.’

The sarcasm in Miles’s voice cut through her musings and Gina jumped. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

Miles’s expression darkened. ‘I asked if any of the staff were present when the patient started to complain of shortness of breath.’

‘No,’ she replied truthfully. ‘Rosie came to fetch me when the monitor started beeping.’

‘I see. It appears that things are getting rather slack around here. If you’d been keeping a closer eye on your patients, Sister Lee, this might not have happened.’

Gina forbore to say anything. She knew that Miles would love it if she argued with him. The fact that he had discharged Philip Jackson didn’t matter, it seemed. She waited silently while Miles examined him. Although Philip was responding to the oxygen, his blood pressure was still low. He also complained of having a pain in his chest which was worse every time he breathed.

‘Keep him on oxygen for now and we’ll see how he goes,’ Miles instructed after he’d finished. ‘I’m still not convinced it isn’t another panic attack.’

‘According to his notes, Mr Jackson had surgery to repair a hernia almost three months ago,’ Gina pointed out levelly. ‘Could that have any bearing on what’s been happening recently?’

‘Certainly not.’ Miles’s tone was scathing. ‘If there was a problem following surgery, it would have shown up before now. I suggest you stick to nursing the patients, Sister, and leave the diagnoses to those of us who are qualified to make them.’

Gina’s face flamed. It was galling to be spoken to that way. The visitors at the next bed had obviously heard what Miles had said because she could see the sympathy on their faces. However, before she could say anything another voice cut in.

‘Sister has raised a valid point. It is an established fact that a pulmonary embolism can occur up to three months following surgery.’

Gina swung round, her eyes widening when she saw the grim expression on Marco’s face. He wasn’t looking at her, however; he was staring at Miles. His deeply accented tones were icy as he continued.

‘I suggest you send the patient for a scan to rule out that possibility.’

A rush of heat ran up Miles’s neck. ‘I assure you that there is no need for you to get involved, Mr … um …’ Miles stopped, obviously at a disadvantage because he didn’t know Marco’s name.

‘Andretti. Dr Andretti,’ Gina told him, placing just enough emphasis on Marco’s title that Miles couldn’t fail to notice it. ‘Dr Andretti is an expert on trauma care,’ she added sweetly.

‘Oh, I see.’ If anything, Miles went even redder. ‘Thank you, Dr Andretti. Rest assured that I shall bear your advice in mind,’ he blustered.

Marco’s expression didn’t soften. ‘You would be better off sending the patient to Radiology rather than waste time thinking about it. If it is a pulmonary embolism then time is of the essence.’

‘I … ahem … yes, of course.’ Miles hurriedly scribbled an instruction to that effect and thrust it into Gina’s hands. ‘See that Mr Jackson is sent for a scan immediately, Sister.’

‘Of course,’ Gina murmured as Miles hurried away. She told Philip Jackson that she would arrange for a porter to take him and moved away from the bed, pausing as she drew level with Marco. She wasn’t sure why he had stood up for her, but she had to admit that it felt good to know that he had. She forced that foolish thought aside as she smiled politely at him. ‘Thank you, Dr Andretti. I appreciated your help just now.’

‘Prego!’ He shrugged, drawing her attention to the solid width of his shoulders beneath the thin hospital gown. Although there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on him, he had a leanly muscular physique that looked impressive in or out of clothes.

The thought was more than she could deal with and she started to move away, only to stop when he caught hold of her hand. Gina could feel the light pressure of his fingers on her skin and a wave of longing suddenly shot through her. It had been three years since she had felt his touch, three years since any man had touched her, because she’d not had another relationship since. Maybe that explained why it felt as though there was fire, not blood, running through her veins.

‘I was happy to help … Gina.’ His gaze held hers fast and she felt her heart rate increase when she saw the question in his eyes. In that second she knew that he had recognised her and panic rose up inside her.

‘Look, Marco, this really isn’t the time or the place to discuss what happened between us,’ she said urgently.

‘No? Then when would be a good time?’

His tone was even so it was impossible to guess what he was thinking. Gina struggled to regain her control. She still hadn’t made up her mind if she intended to tell him about Lily. When she had first found out that she was pregnant, she had decided to contact him. After all, he’d had a right to know that he was to be a father, although she’d planned to make it clear that she didn’t expect anything from him. However, when she had failed to contact him by phone and the letter she had sent to his home had been returned, unopened, she had changed her mind.

Marco had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in anything she had to tell him. To her mind, he had forfeited any rights he’d had and she wouldn’t contact him again. However, that had been before he had reappeared in her life. Even though she loathed the idea, it made a difference. It was hard to know what to do, although one thing was certain: until she had made up her mind, she needed to stay calm.

‘I don’t know. The last thing I want is people talking, so maybe it would be better if we left things as they are until you’re discharged.’ She gave a sharp little laugh, hearing the strain it held and praying that Marco couldn’t hear it. ‘That’s assuming we have anything to talk about. After all, it’s not as though we parted the best of friends.’