Читать книгу His Honourable Surgeon - Kate Hardy - Страница 9

AFTER a fortnight at the Albert Memorial Hospital in Chelsea, Jake felt as if he’d been there for years. He’d been accepted as part of the team and he’d been included in invites to drinks to celebrate a staff nurse’s twenty-fifth birthday, as well as the team night out at the local Indian restaurant. He’d gone to both and had had a great time—though he’d noted that Vicky hadn’t been to either event. Technically, she’d been on duty, covering for other staff—but after a couple of glasses of wine Gemma had let it slip that Vicky always covered staff nights out. Vicky worked on bank holidays, Christmas and Easter, too, so staff with children could spend time with their families. And when she did take time off, she was booked onto a course or had arranged to shadow someone and get more experience.

And he still hadn’t apologised to her, he remembered, feeling guilty. Not that he’d had the chance. She’d kept all conversation to a minimum, and what she’d said had focused entirely on their patients. But he didn’t think she was a snob: her manner with patients was too good for that. So was she just avoiding him? And was that because he’d been rude to her the very first time they’d met—despite the fact he’d given her a genuine compliment on her surgical skills since?

He’d do something about it today, he decided, and did the last five reps on the lateral raise machine before leaving the weights room for the pool. Twenty lengths, and he’d hit the shower. Then a bacon sandwich and a strong, sweet cup of coffee in the staff canteen, and he’d be ready to start the day on the ward.

And he’d talk to Vicky. Today.

There were already three or four people in the pool. But only one of them arrested his attention. She was doing lengths—but the front crawl she used was a precise and neat stroke, rather than flashy. She looked as if she’d been trained professionally, to get the maximum speed from the minimum stroke, and her whole attention appeared to be focused on her swim. Up and down, up and down, face in the water, turned to the side for a breath between strokes, then straight again. Jake couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about her drew him.

He dived cleanly into the pool when she was part way through a length. Surfaced beside her. And nearly forgot to swim when she turned her face towards him for a breath and he recognised her.

Victoria Radley.

Well, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Clearly she was as focused when doing exercise as she was at work. But one thought wouldn’t go out of his head: was she that focused when she made love?

Oh, for goodness’ sake. They were both professionals. She was his colleague. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her in those terms. He didn’t have room in his life for a relationship right now.

But the thought wouldn’t go.

And when she climbed out of the pool—how on earth could she manage to look so elegant, scrambling out of the pool?—Jake found himself swimming straight for the side, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t done the twenty lengths he’d promised himself, and also climbed out of the pool.

He fell into step with Vicky just before she reached the entrance to the changing rooms, and tried his best to sound casual. ‘Hi.’

‘Oh. Hello.’ Cool, no flicker of friendliness.

‘I didn’t know you were a member here.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s the nearest gym to the hospital.’

Mmm, he’d worked that one out, too. And it meant no wasted time travelling to the gym—so he wouldn’t have to get up at an unearthly hour or rush to the ward after a training session.

Her words were perfectly polite, but there was no hint of invitation in her voice. She was just the cool, calm professional he knew from the hospital.

And he wanted to know what lay beneath the smooth, unruffled mask. What made Victoria Radley tick? What made her smile? What made her eyes light up? What made her angry, and what made her laugh?

‘Will you have breakfast with me?’

Those beautiful blue eyes widened. Clearly she hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected it either. His mouth had worked before his brain had gone into gear.

‘I really ought to get to the ward,’ she said.

‘You’re on the same shift as I am. Which doesn’t start for…’ he glanced at the clock ‘…forty minutes. We’ve got time for a shower and breakfast.’

There was the slightest, slightest flush against her cheekbones. And it vanished before he was really sure that she’d blushed. But he hadn’t said anything out of place…had he?

Unless she’d interpreted ‘shower’ and ‘breakfast’ rather more intimately than he’d intended.

And that thought alone set his whole body tingling, as if champagne instead of blood was whooshing through his veins. He pulled himself back together with an effort. ‘I hear the staff canteen does an excellent bacon sandwich,’ he said.

And it’d be just his luck that she was vegetarian.

She said nothing.

Still sore at him? ‘My shout,’ he said, ‘because I need to talk to you about something.’

That got a reaction. ‘What?’ She sounded suspicious and her eyes were slightly narrowed.

‘Work.’

It was almost as if he’d waved a magic wand, because she seemed to relax again. ‘OK. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes?’

Most women he knew would take at least half an hour to get ready after a workout. But he was beginning to realise that the Hon. Victoria Radley wasn’t like any other woman he’d met. ‘Ten minutes,’ he agreed.

And then she did something that threw him completely. She smiled. A proper smile. And his heart rate practically doubled.

He’d only just got his pulse back to normal when he reached the lobby, still slightly damp, nine minutes later. Precisely sixty seconds after that, Vicky joined him.

‘I had a call from the hospital CEO yesterday,’ he said as they walked down to the hospital.

‘Oh?’

‘About Declan Foster. His parents wrote in and said how good you’d been.’

Vicky shrugged. ‘Just doing my job.’

‘And a bit more besides. I’ve noticed your paperwork is meticulous and you always make sure that the patients, as well as their relatives, know exactly what’s going on. And I think teaching a small boy to play chess might not be in your job description.’

‘It was as good a way as any to spend a lunch-break,’ Vicky said lightly.

‘Several lunch-breaks,’ he corrected. He’d noticed.

She frowned. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘No, as long as you’re not overdoing things. We all need time to recharge our batteries, Victoria.’ At her sharp look, he added, ‘May I call you Victoria? I prefer working on first-name terms.’

For a moment, he thought she was going to say no.

Then she nodded. ‘It’s Vicky.’

‘Vicky.’ He could actually taste her name. Crisp, slightly astringent. And it made his mouth water.

Oh, he needed coffee. Before he said something stupid. ‘You’re supposed to take breaks.’

‘I’m fine.’

There was a slight edge to her voice, and he sighed inwardly. ‘I’m making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. When we first met…I didn’t mean to imply you were a slacker. You caught me on the hop, doing a recce. I was embarrassed, and I said the first thing that came into my head.’

‘I see.’

Clearly she wanted him to eat humble pie. OK. As long as it meant she kept talking to him, he’d do it. ‘You’re dedicated. Very dedicated. I’ve never met anyone who works this hard before.’

‘It’s the only way to break through the glass ceiling,’ she said as they walked into the canteen.

The glass ceiling? That was something he hadn’t even considered. ‘This is the twenty-first century. It’s supposed to mean equal opportunities.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘How many female heads of department do you know? How many women professors?’

He thought about it. ‘Not many.’

‘Exactly. If they have a family, they’re expected to take a career break, which holds them back because they’ve spent five years raising children and need to brush up their skills again—not to mention the years of experience they’ve lost and the fact their male colleagues are now five years ahead of them. If they don’t take a career break, they get a reputation as hard women who don’t care enough about their families, and it’s held against them.’

He frowned. ‘Discrimination is illegal.’

‘But it happens.’

He had no answer to that. ‘So I take it you don’t have children?’

‘No.’

He just about managed to stop himself asking the next question. And what does your partner do? Because it was none of his business whether she was involved with someone or not. And he’d already told himself he wasn’t going to act on his attraction to her. He needed to talk about something neutral. Fast. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ he asked as they reached the canteen.

‘Coffee, fruit and yoghurt, please.’

Polite and distant again. Which was what the professional in him had wanted—but what the man in him hadn’t wanted. ‘Do you mind if I have a bacon sandwich?’

She gave him a wry look. ‘They’re your arteries.’

When they sat down, he added tomato ketchup to his sandwich. ‘Lycopene,’ he said with a grin.

‘Which doesn’t negate all the cholesterol,’ she shot back.

‘Don’t care.’ He bit into the sandwich. ‘Oh, yes. This is seriously good.’ He nodded towards the half-sandwich on his plate. ‘Sure you don’t want to share?’

Vicky adored bacon sandwiches. Had it been Seb or Charlie opposite her, she wouldn’t even have waited to be asked. But sharing a sandwich was intimate. She barely knew Jake—and it was going to stay that way. She couldn’t afford a relationship. Not when she was so close to getting a consultant’s post. If she let herself get distracted, her career would go straight down the plughole. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let that happen now. ‘Quite sure, thank you.’ She poured yoghurt over her fruit. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about besides Declan?’

‘I did the getting-to-know-you bit with the rest of the staff on team nights out.’

And because she’d been covering the ward, he hadn’t had the chance to have that kind of chat with her. She sighed. ‘I’m sure my personnel file will tell you all you need to know about me.’

‘That you’re a senior registrar, that your exam results were superb, that your appraisals have always been excellent, and you’re tipped for the next consultant’s post.’

If he’d already reviewed her files, what else did he want to know?

The question must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘I don’t know you. I’ve seen how you are with patients and staff, and I’m impressed.’

Please, don’t let him be trying to come on to her. She knew her willpower was strong, but she didn’t need the extra temptation. Jake Lewis, with his dark eyes and the floppy hair that made him look like a disreputable cherub, could be a temptation. Like rich, dark chocolate. Addictive. ‘You’ve reviewed my files and you’ve seen me work. That’s all you need to know,’ she said primly.

‘Wrong. If I’m to develop the staff on my team—so they’re happy in their jobs and work well for me—I need to know what they want out of their job. Where they want to be in five years’ time, and what they think they need to get there. Where they think they’re weak and need more experience or more training. Things that aren’t written in files.’

Was he serious?

She risked a glance. He looked serious enough.

Though he also looked good enough to eat, with his hair still slightly damp from the shower. She thought of rich, dark chocolate again and suppressed a groan. Jake Lewis was dangerous. Someone she needed to avoid.

‘So what do you want, Vicky?’ he asked. ‘To be head of department? Professor?’

‘Both.’

He nodded. ‘From what I’ve seen, you’ve got the skill and the dedication to make it.’

Was he trying to curry favour? No, he looked completely sincere. ‘Thank you.’

‘So your plan is?’

‘Consultant next year. Then a part-teaching, part-practising post—I want to do the academic side and work on some research, but I like working with patients too much to give it up. Plus, theory’s worth nothing if it’s unworkable in a real-life situation.’

‘And what experience do you think you need now?’

‘More surgery.’

‘Noted,’ Jake said. ‘When you’re in Theatre with me, I’ll try to give you the chance to lead as much as possible.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And let me have a list of the training courses you want to go on.’

‘There’s a small thing known as the departmental budget,’ Vicky said.

‘Which is why I’m not promising to send you on every course you want to go on. But when I know what everyone’s skills are, and where there are training needs, I might be able to arrange interdepartmental training. Shadowing, mentoring, that sort of thing.’

‘Provided our head of department agrees.’

‘He’ll agree,’ Jake said softly. ‘I can be very persuasive.’

Vicky looked at his mouth and thought, I just bet you can. Then she stifled the idea. She was not going to start thinking about Jake Lewis in that way.

‘And I find a cost-benefit analysis usually does the trick,’ he added.

He understood admin as well as medicine? Interesting. In Vicky’s experience, most doctors were either people-oriented or paper-oriented. They couldn’t do both. That made Jake a rarity.

‘Why did you become a doctor?’ he asked conversationally, as he added sugar to his coffee.

‘Because medicine was interesting.’ And because it was a challenge.

‘Anyone else in your family a doctor?’

Why did he want to know? It had no relevance to the way she did her job. ‘My brothers,’ she said shortly.

‘Which specialty?’

That definitely wasn’t relevant. And why did he want to know about her brothers? Charlie, with his rose-tinted glasses, would’ve said Jake was trying to be friendly. Seb—well, pre-fatherhood Seb—would’ve said Jake was a social climber, hoping that by making friends with her he’d get an introduction to the baron and invites to swish parties. Vicky was somewhere in the middle—and she wanted her brothers left out of this. ‘Not neurology.’

She’d been short with him—rude, even—but he didn’t have that you’ve-just-slapped-me-down look.

But before he could say anything else, her pager bleeped.

Perfect timing.

She glanced at the display. ‘Thanks for breakfast. I’m needed in ED.’

‘You’re not on duty yet.’ He frowned. ‘Do you always have your pager switched on?’

‘No.’ Not always. Just ninety-odd per cent of the time.

His dark eyes held a hint of amusement, almost as if he didn’t believe she’d been paged. As if he thought she’d called one of her friends from the changing room at the gym and asked them to bleep her in fifteen minutes’ time—to get her out of a potentially difficult situation.

She’d thought about it, admittedly, but she also knew it would have fuelled gossip: why did Vicky Radley want to wriggle out of having breakfast with Jake Lewis? People would speculate. Rumours would start running round the hospital. So having breakfast with him had been the lesser of two evils. And it had been work-related, anyways. ‘See you on the ward,’ she said, and headed for the emergency department.

‘Hello again,’ Hugh Francis said with a smile when she reached ED. ‘I was hoping it’d be you.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Mrs Carter, seventy years old, suspected TIA—but I’m not sure if it’s a very early stroke.’

‘OK. I’ll have a look. If I’m worried, I’ll admit her to our ward.’

‘Thanks.’ Hugh took Vicky through to the cubicle where Violet Carter was sitting on the bed, and introduced her.

‘I’m perfectly all right, you know. You don’t need to fuss over me—you go and see someone who’s really ill,’ Mrs Carter said.

Vicky smiled at her. ‘That’s very public-spirited of you, but I’d like to check you over.’

‘It was just a funny turn.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Vicky invited.

‘It was like a curtain coming down over one eye. But it’s gone now.’

Mrs Carter was describing a textbook case of amaurosis fugax, a typical symptom of a TIA or transient ischaemic attack, Vicky thought. ‘Anything else?’

‘I banged my knee when I answered the door, but that’s just clumsiness. Old age.’

Or another symptom of a TIA. ‘How about talking?’

‘Perfectly normal. I think our postman’s deaf, you know—he kept asking me to repeat things.’ Mrs Carter sighed. ‘I don’t know why he insisted on bringing me here.’

Vicky glanced down at the notes. ‘He was just worried about you. I think you might have had something called a transient ischaemic attack—called a TIA for short. It’s where the supply of oxygen is cut off to part of your brain, usually by a blood clot. Your body can restore blood flow and break down any little clots, so that’s why you feel perfectly all right now.’

‘So I can go home?’

‘Soon,’ Vicky said. ‘The thing is, if you’ve had a TIA it means you’re likely to be at risk of having a stroke in the future, so I want to check you over thoroughly before I let you escape. May I ask you a few questions?’

Mrs Carter nodded.

‘Have you had a stroke before, or any recent surgery?’

‘No.’

‘Has anyone in your family ever had a seizure or a fit?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Have you had a virus or infection lately?’

‘No.’

‘Are you taking any medication?’

‘I take water pills—the doctor says my blood pressure’s too high—but I never forget to take them, because I’ve got one of those little boxes you put your week’s supply in. My daughter got it for me.’

‘And she lives near?’

Mrs Carter sighed. ‘Yes. And she’s a worrier, so don’t you go telling her about this. I just stood up a bit too quickly when the postman rang, that was all.’

‘Did you have any pain?’

‘Not really.’

‘Where was it?’ Vicky asked.

‘You’re as bad as my daughter. She never gives up either,’ Mrs Carter grumbled. ‘Just a little bit in my chest. It’s gone now. And, before you ask, I gave up smoking years ago and I eat proper meals. None of that microwave ready-meal junk.’

Vicky grinned. She could see herself being like Violet Carter in forty years’ time. Dressed in purple and outrageously independent. ‘Mrs Carter, I respect the fact you can look after yourself perfectly well. But I need to be sure you’re not just being brave. If you do have any problems, I can give you medication for it and you’ll be fine—but if you’re not telling me something, you could end up being very ill.’ When the old lady looked recalcitrant, she added her trump card. ‘Which means I’d have to talk to your daughter, and she’d probably want you to live with her so she can keep an eye on you.’

‘God forbid!’ Mrs Carter exclaimed. ‘I’d be up in front of the bench within a week.’

‘The bench?’

‘On a murder charge. I can’t bear all that fussing. Not to mention putting up with teenagers slamming doors and listening to that rubbish they call music nowadays.’

‘Me neither,’ Vicky said feelingly. ‘So is there anything you’re not telling me?’

‘I was a bit breathless. But I told you, I just stood up too quickly.’

‘Would you let me examine you and run some tests, then?’

Violet rolled her eyes. ‘If it means you won’t tell my daughter, yes.’

Vicky smiled. From their discussion, she’d already been able to assess Violet Carter’s attentiveness, ability to interact, language and memory skills—and they were all fine. But she checked the blood pressure in each of Violet’s arms, then her respiratory rate and her temperature.

‘I’m going to look into your eyes, if you don’t mind.’ She checked for retinal plaques and the pupils’ reaction to light. Everything was fine.

Nerve testing was equally inconclusive. She started with the cranial nerves: there were no problems with Mrs Carter’s eye movements and her eyelids closed normally; there were no problems with swallowing or the movement of her tongue; and the wrinkles on her forehead were symmetrical—no sign of drooping. Somatic motor testing told her a little more—there was no sign of tremor or any problems with the major joints or shoulder girdle, though there was a slight weakness on the left-hand side. When Vicky asked Mrs Carter to walk a few steps, her movements looked fine. She was able to put her finger on her nose and her heel to her knee.

‘So are you satisfied I’m all right now?’ Mrs Carter asked.

‘Nearly. I’m going to send you for a CT scan—that’s just so I can get a better look at what’s happening inside your head.’

Mrs Carter snorted. ‘If you could read my mind right now, young lady, I think you’d be shocked.’

Vicky laughed. ‘No. I wish more people were as independent and determined as you are.’ Mara certainly wasn’t. Never had been, never would be, and Vicky was guiltily aware that too often she left Charlie to deal with their mother. Though so did Seb.

‘As well as the CT scan, I’m sending you for an ECG—that’s to check how your heart’s working.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my heart.’

‘Good. But I’m still sending you for the tests. I want to know what caused you to have your “funny turn” —and I don’t think it was anything to do with standing up too quickly. I’d like to make sure there isn’t a clot hanging around that might give you a full-blown stroke or a heart attack.’ At Mrs Carter’s mutinous look, she added, ‘Or I could just phone your daughter.’

Mrs Carter grimaced. ‘You win. And I’d never play poker against you.’

‘Chess is my game.’

‘Never played it.’

‘If your tests make me keep you in for observations, I’ll teach you,’ Vicky promised. ‘And then you can extort promises from your grandchildren. If you beat them at chess, they have to turn the volume down and not slam doors.’

Mrs Carter gave her a narrow look, then grinned. ‘You’re on.’

‘OK, Mrs Carter. I’ll come and see you when your test results are in.’

‘My name’s Violet,’ Mrs Carter said.

‘Vicky.’ Vicky held her hand out.

‘I think you and I will rub along just fine,’ Mrs Carter said, shaking her hand. ‘You’ll tell me the truth.’

‘I will if you will.’

‘And you’ll keep my daughter out of it.’

‘I’m not promising anything until I’ve seen your results,’ Vicky warned. ‘But if I can avoid worrying her, I will.’

‘That’s good enough for me.’