Читать книгу Bride at Bay Hospital - Meredith Webber - Страница 7

MEG heard the voice as she grabbed an armful of clothes from the built-in wardrobe in the main bedroom.

Her bedroom!

Or it had been until today.

Or officially yesterday.

‘Vacant possession!’ The voice was deep, and powerful enough to carry right through the old wooden house without being raised to shouting level. ‘I stipulated vacant possession.’

Whoever was on the receiving end of the cold statement must have had a quieter voice, for Meg heard nothing of the explanation. But by then she was scurrying through the kitchen, intending to slip out the back way, down the steps and across to the cottage next door without being seen.

‘He’d have had his bloody vacant possession if it weren’t for the flu,’ she muttered to herself, as exhaustion from an extra night shift weakened her bones and sapped her confidence so self-pity lurked perilously close.

She didn’t do self-pity!

‘Not that he’s arrived with a furniture van all ready to move in,’ she told her cat, who’d come out of the cottage to see if any of the clothes were trailing a belt or ribbon that would make a good plaything.

Meg dumped her load on her bed and crossed to the window in time to see the realtor’s car drive off.

Great! She could nick back over and get the rest of her stuff. One drawer full of undies—that was it!

She’d give him vacant possession!

But as she walked through the kitchen a sense of loss overwhelmed her, and she faltered as she remembered the happy times she’d had in the old house. Up until now, she’d only considered the financial aspect of moving—her father had let her have the house at a nominal rent because he’d understood her dream.

But now…

No, she wouldn’t think about her father—or about the dream.

The dream her mother said was foolish…

Anger swamped her maudlin mood. Anger at her mother for deciding to sell their old holiday house—anger at the stranger who had bought her memories. Muttering dire threats she would never carry out, she stomped back into the bedroom.

The stranger, tall and dark, face shadowed by the window behind him, was twirling one of her G-strings round his fingers so the little red hearts on it made a circle of red against the white—red, white, red, white.

‘Put that down!’ She gave equal emphasis to each word, her own red anger, barely controlled, whirling in her head.

‘Megan?’

The stranger looked from the panties to her, back to the panties, and then frowned before he said her name again—this time with even more incredulity.

‘Megan?’

She snatched the garment from him and turned away, certain it couldn’t be Sam—knowing from the rapid pulsing of her heart it had to be.

‘Megan.’

Not a question this time but a statement, accompanied by a touch of his hand on her shoulder. A mist of rage and something that could almost have been hatred filled her head, and she didn’t need the pressure of that hand to make her turn.

‘What is this, Sam? Some variation on the return of the prodigal son? Some revenge thing that you had to buy my house? Turn me out? Well, great! Have the bloody house! Have your vacant possession! And you can have my knickers, too, because I’d be damned if I’d wear them after you’ve touched them!’

And with that she stormed away, head held high but cheeks aflame with heat, while her heart skittered about in her chest like a terrified rabbit in search of the deepest, darkest burrow it could find.

‘Well, that went well.’

Sam sighed as he looked at the minute undergarment she’d dropped on the floor in her hurry to get away. Then he shook his head.

What was Megan doing in the Bay? And how could he have known she’d been living in the house? He’d bought it from the trustees of her father’s estate and had been told the house was tenanted, but never in his wildest dreams had he considered Megan might have been the tenant.

Megan…

Something in his chest scrunched tight as his head repeated her name, but he had it on good authority from any number of women that he didn’t have a heart, so it had to have been some other organ scrunching.

Or perhaps a muscle.

Intercostal muscles tightening his ribcage because of a perfectly natural trepidation about this return to the town of his childhood.

That would explain the scrunch.

He crossed the empty room and looked out at the wide sweep of blue water, wondering why the hell he’d come back, then, feeling the pull of the beauty in front of him, he realised just how dangerous this return might prove. That he, to whom emotional control was so important, should feel that pull was surely a danger signal.

That he should feel something at the sight of Meg was doubly dangerous.

Meg…

She’d stormed out through the kitchen. Where had she been going? He hadn’t seen a car outside, and she hadn’t brought in a suitcase to collect her last few items of clothing.

He followed the route she’d taken and looked out the back door, across to the cottage where he’d grown up. He’d had a note from the realtor recently. Something about a new tenant, good references, six months’ lease, and did he object to a cat…?

A cat!

He hadn’t objected to the cat, but now he saw it, a seal-point Siamese, sitting erect and alert at the back door, he knew for sure Meg was the tenant. Right through her childhood there’d been such a cat—a cat which had been both friend and confidant to the shy, gangly, red-headed kid she’d been.

How could fate have been so unkind to Meg that he and she were now transposed in their residences? No wonder she was upset. But why, if she was living in this house, had it been sold?

And why, if she’d wanted to keep it, hadn’t she made some arrangement to buy it?

He hardened his heart against the softness caused by thinking of unkind fates and Meg in the same sentence. He reminded himself they were virtual strangers now and, though neighbours once again, need have nothing more to do with each other apart from a neighbourly nod from time to time.

‘And this, Dr Agostini, is our director of nursing, Megan Anstey.’

It was just after nine the following morning, and Sam was following Bill Roberts, the hospital administrator, through the building, knowing he’d need a week or so to get all the names straight in his head.

Except for this name.

‘You’re a nurse?’

‘You’re a doctor?’

OK, he’d sounded startled, but he’d done nothing to deserve the huff of derision that had accompanied Meg’s question.

‘You two know each other?’

‘Good guess, Bill, though not, I hasten to add, in the biblical sense!’ Meg said, her vivid green eyes challenging and defying Sam as she added, ‘You’ll find most of the local staff—female staff in particular—know Dr Agostini. Just wait till the word gets round that Sam’s back in town. Flu recovery rates will pick up immediately.’

‘Is that what you call a warm friendly Bay greeting?’

Sam’s voice was silky smooth—dangerously smooth—and poor harmless Bill was obviously wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

‘We’ve already done the greeting bit,’ Meg replied. And now, if we’ve finished chatting, I’m down twelve staff and am needed on the wards.’

She whisked away without waiting for a reply, her heart thundering in her chest, her hands shaking, her knees so wobbly it was a wonder they were holding her up.

Sam next door was one thing. She was usually too busy to see much of her neighbours. But Sam right here, in her hospital?

‘Have you heard? Sam Agostini’s back in town—not only back in town but acting super for the hospital. I always assumed he’d be in jail by now.’

Coralie Stephens was both ward sister and the main trunk of the hospital grapevine, so this conversation shouldn’t have surprised Meg, but hearing Sam’s name on Coralie’s lips made her feel sick. Even sicker than the news he wasn’t passing through.

Coralie West she’d been back then, new in town, and the first conquest Sam had flaunted in front of Meg that terrible Christmas.

But at least Meg now had an explanation for Sam’s presence—acting super. Apparently the new medical superintendent they’d been expecting had been delayed. Though why, if he was only acting, would Sam have bought a house here?

She fended off all the unanswerable questions competing for attention in her head and concentrated on the staff roster on Coralie’s desk. Coralie was busy filling in her ward secretary on the legend that was Sam Agostini—the bad boy of the Bay.

‘Gorgeous, he was just gorgeous—darkly handsome with the most arresting blue-green eyes. But wild! You wouldn’t believe the things he’d do. The story is he once swam across the bay for a bet and you know what the sharks are like out there, and he certainly put one of his mates in hospital after a fight. I was there that night. Boy, could he fight.’ She paused. ‘I wonder if Wade knows he’s back in town.’

Meg heard the smugness in Coralie’s voice, and felt sorry for Wade Stephens. The man deserved better than his wife trying to rekindle an old affair with Sam Agostini!

‘We’re still in dire straits with staff—can you do an extra shift?’ she asked the sister, hoping to bring the conversation back to work-related matters.

Coralie’s reply was swift.

‘No way! Not today. I’ve a hair appointment.’

Coralie? Whose hair looked as if she cut it with a knife and fork?

Hair appointment?

Meg forbore from comment, but inwardly she was cursing Sam’s arrival back in town. As if the hospital wasn’t in enough trouble, with the epidemic of summer flu, without women who should know better going dippy over a good-looking scoundrel.

Maybe he had a wife.

Surely he’d have a wife!

She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring…

But, then, she’d barely noticed anything about the man—except that it had been Sam.

‘There are no sharks in the bay—it’s too shallow,’ she told the ward secretary, who was new in town. ‘The sharks just made for a better a story.’

The young woman smiled at her, but the avid way she turned her attention back to Coralie told Meg just how disruptive Sam’s return might be.

‘And this is the medical ward.’

Bill’s voice alerted her to the fact that the guided tour of his precious hospital had caught up with her, but as Coralie rushed forward to welcome Sam, enveloping him in a hug, Meg moved away. She couldn’t avoid giving him a wry smile as she passed him to remind him of their shared revulsion of all things soppy and sentimental when they had been inseparable holiday playmates as kids.

Sam fended off Coralie West, or whatever she was called now, as best he could, offering what he hoped was a disarming but suitably neutral smile.

‘Great to see you,’ he said, while in his head he wondered about his sanity. Bringing his mother back here had been one thing—but after she’d—

He cut off the thought, concentrating instead on the information Bill was giving him. Complex medical cases were transferred to Brisbane, but good visiting specialists meant they could handle most things.

‘And our consultant surgeons are terrific,’ Bill continued, leading him towards the surgical ward. ‘Top class.’

Were they following some hospital round routine that meant Megan was in front of him at every turn? She was bending over the desk, her hair, a darker, richer red than it had been when she’d been young, falling forward so it cast a shadow on her rather stern profile, her tall, lean figure curved towards the girl behind the computer, her long, slim legs bare of stockings and as white as Meg’s skin always was.

As kids they’d stretch out on the beach and she’d rest her leg against his so they could marvel at the contrast of her whiteness against his tanned brown skin.

‘Put more sunscreen on!’ he’d order, and she’d mimic his order to annoy him, but obey, knowing just how burnt she’d get if she didn’t cover up all the time.

‘It goes red then blisters, then peels and we’re back to white!’ she’d complained. ‘Red, white, red, white!’ And for some reason he thought of the tiny panties he’d swung on his finger the previous afternoon.

Meg in a sexy thong?

In his experience women only wore such things for a man.

‘So we can do it.’

He had no idea what Bill had been talking about, and at some stage, while he’d been lost in his memories, Meg had whisked away again.

Bill was called to the phone so Sam continued on his own, wandering into what was obviously the children’s ward. Meg again! Sitting on the edge of a bed, talking to a young lad who had his left leg and right arm hooked up in traction.

Sam paused by the desk.

‘That’s Brad Crosby,’ a nurse who introduced herself as Sue explained to him. ‘Broke both legs and one arm trying to fly off the veranda of his house. He’s always in trouble, that boy. Single p—’

‘Sue!’

Meg’s voice made them both turn, whatever Sue was about to say cut off.

‘Is the physio due to see Brad today?’

Sue checked on her computer as Meg came across to the desk, while Sam moved across to talk to the boy.

‘Flying, huh?’ he said as he drew closer. ‘What did you use for wings?’

‘Garbage bags,’ Brad said with a sigh. ‘The packet said they were extra-tough but they ripped right through the moment they took my weight. Not at the Velcro where I’d stuck them on my clothes but the plastic itself tore.’

‘Tough luck, eh?’ Sam said. ‘Guess you have to rethink the whole idea.’

‘No way!’ Brad told him. ‘My mum’d kill me if I did it again. Besides, Meg said to wait until I was a bit older when I get a bit heavier then I can try kite surfing. You know, on a small board at the edge of the water when a strong wind is blowing. Meg says it’s just like flying.’

‘Meg told you all this?’ Sam turned towards the woman in question, who was now bent over Sue’s shoulder looking at the computer screen.

‘Meg’s cool,’ Brad replied, a hint of hero-worship in his voice. ‘And she doesn’t nag. Not that Mum nags much, and when she does it’s only ’cos she worries about me—that’s something else Meg told me.’

Sam sat with the boy a little longer, learning more of the original uses to which Brad had put his apparently endless supply of Velcro, but when Meg left the ward he said farewell to his new young friend and followed her, catching up with her near an alcove that housed a public phone.

‘Did you cut Sue off to spare my feelings?’ he asked, looking down into a face that was both familiar yet extraordinarily new to him.

‘Cut Sue off?’

The slight flush in her cheeks told him she was prevaricating.

‘When she was about to make a remark about Brad being the product of a single-parent family,’ Sam persisted.

‘I cut her off because I don’t like the staff making judgements about patients, and they all know it.’ Defiant emerald eyes met his. ‘I hate the way a label can be slapped on someone and judgement made because of that label. As if people are nothing more than varieties of tomato sauce.’

Sam felt a smile twitching at his lips. This was definitely a Meg he knew, standing up for the rights of others—ready to take on the world if necessary. That hadn’t changed!

‘And Brad’s brand of tomato sauce had “single parent family” on the label?’

Meg grinned at him.

‘Same as yours—Bad Boy Brand!’ she said, but the words slipped in one ear and out the other, his mind too occupied with the jolt he’d felt inside his chest when Meg’s face had lit up with that cheeky smile.

‘I don’t know how to be with you.’ The words blurted from his lips, and a frown chased Meg’s smile away.

‘How to be with me?’

Sam knew the smile he offered was a foolish one, and shrugged his confusion away.

‘That came out wrong, but this is so weird, Megan. I feel I know you yet I don’t know you. The old Meg—well, we usually picked up right where we left off…’

Wrong analogy. Right where they’d left off last time had been a disaster—a hurtful, painful, unmitigated disaster.

Was Meg remembering?

‘It’s been thirteen years, Sam,’ she reminded him, revealing nothing beneath an ultra cool and controlled exterior and a polite smile he knew was false. ‘We’ve both changed.’

‘Have we?’

He shouldn’t be persisting with this conversation but couldn’t stop himself.

‘Of course we have. We were kids thirteen years ago—now we’re adults.’

‘Are we?’ He caught himself just in time. ‘Dumb question! Of course we are, although do you really feel different—feel like an adult—all the time?’

Meg’s cool façade cracked and she smiled again, enthusiasm bubbling back to the surface with the memories.

‘Right now I feel fifteen again—or thirteen—or eleven—having one of those earnest, interminable discussions we used to have. About evolution or religion or morality or—’

‘Friendship,’ Sam reminded her, taken back himself. ‘Would you lie for a friend? Die for a friend?’

‘No to both—wasn’t that always my stand? That there had to be another way around the problem?’

‘Oh, Meg, there you are.’ A nurse Sam hadn’t met came hurrying towards them. ‘Ben Richards is on his way in by ambulance—heart pains. Jenny phoned, asked if you could meet him.’

‘Ben Richards? The Ben Richards I—’

‘Put in hospital,’ Meg finished for him, but she said it softly so the nurse, who was walking away from them, didn’t hear her.

‘Damn!’ she continued as she hurried down the corridor, Sam following in her wake. ‘His father died from heart disease and Jenny’s been warning him this would happen. Ben’s overweight and he drinks too much.’

‘Then he hasn’t changed,’ Sam muttered, uncertain how to tackle this new challenge in the ‘returning home’ scenario.

‘He’s a patient and whatever that was all about—it was a long time ago,’ Meg reminded him, although she’d have given her eye teeth and probably a couple of front ones as well to know what had happened.

‘I should be able to manage, Sister Anstey,’ Sam told her, coolly polite, the nostalgic moments of accord between them lost again. The Sam who could always hide his feelings was back in control again. ‘In fact, if I remember rightly, you’re the one more likely to lose your temper in pressure situations.’

‘I didn’t put Ben Richards into hospital with concussion and a broken jaw thirteen years ago,’ Meg snapped, then regretted the jibe when she saw the pain on Sam’s face.

It was the one time he’d lost control! No one had ever found out what had started the fight but, whatever it was, the memory still had the power to hurt Sam deeply.

And seeing Sam in pain still affected her…

Oh, dear!

She led the way towards the emergency room doors where the ambulance bearers were already unloading their patient.

‘ECG’s OK but we can only do a rhythm strip so it’s hard to tell. He was in a lot of pain. We gave him aspirin and 5 milligrams of morphine IV, notes all here.’

Meg took the initial assessment forms, signed for them, then handed back one copy to the ambulance bearer before turning to introduce Sam.

‘Cal Johnson, meet Sam Agostini, acting medical super at the hospital.’

‘Sam Agostini? That really you, Sam? Didn’t end up in jail after all!’

Ben’s voice was hoarse as he interrupted the introduction, but he obviously wasn’t upset at meeting his old adversary. He grabbed at Sam’s hand and held it in both of his.

‘I hope you’re a good doctor, mate. My Jenny couldn’t cope with something happening to me right now.’

Sam leaned forward to reassure him as tears began to stream down Ben’s cheeks.

‘Our baby is sick.’ The big man’s voice was hoarse with emotion, his face twisted with grief. ‘So little and so sick—leukaemia. Did you know boys with Down’s syndrome are prone to it? Hardly fair, is it? And just when Jenny needs me to be strong, and supportive for her and the kids—for little Benjie—look at me. Useless bastard that I am!’

‘We’ll have you out of here in no time and, knowing this town, there’ll be someone out there with Jenny right now, helping with the kids.’ Sam rested his other hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘But first things first. Let’s see if we can find out what’s causing your pain and what we can do to stop it happening again.’

He glanced up at Meg.

‘Get him straight onto a twelve-lead ECG. I’ll take blood for testing. Does the hospital have its own path lab?’

‘We can do basic stuff. In Ben’s case cardiac enzymes, white-cell count, ESR, U and E, glucose, lipids and a clotting screen.’

Sam frowned at her.

‘Are you sure you’re not a doctor in disguise?’

Simple enough question, one would have thought, but once again he watched as Meg’s face lost colour. Anguished green eyes were raised to his—anguished green eyes that caused pain in the part of his chest where he didn’t have a heart.

‘Quite sure,’ she said quietly, walking beside the trolley as Ben was wheeled into the trauma room.

She was all efficiency—this woman he hadn’t expected to see and certainly hadn’t expected to feel anything for. Working with swift, sure movements, she changed Ben’s oxygen feed from the bottle on the ambulance trolley to the hospital supply, attached the leads to Ben’s chest, added more leads for a heart monitor then moved the monitor screen so Sam could see it.

And as she worked she talked to Ben—nothing kind of talk, explaining what she was doing, teasing him gently in a way, Sam realised, that boosted Ben’s spirits far more readily than sympathy would have done.

She passed Sam a catheter to insert into Ben’s arm, first to take blood for testing, then so drugs could be administered into his veins. Her fingers accidentally brushed his when the exchange took place, and she glanced up at him, bewilderment showing on her face, as if whatever she had felt puzzled her.

What he’d felt puzzled him as well…

‘It’s bad? Is that what you think?’

Ben’s anxious query told Sam he must be frowning.

‘No way, mate!’ he assured the man. ‘In fact, the exact opposite. There are no visible signs from the ECG that your heart’s playing up.’

‘But the pain!’ Ben protested. ‘It was like an elephant sat on my chest.’

‘I’ve heard it described more elegantly,’ Meg told him.

‘And I’ve heard it described exactly like that,’ Sam put in. ‘The pain is definitely a symptom that something’s not right, which is why we’ve got you hooked up to monitors that are telling us how your heart and lungs are working, and the level of oxygen in your blood. We’ll know more when we get the results of the blood tests back from the lab.’

He glanced enquiringly at Meg who assured him the blood had been sent.

‘What can happen,’ Sam continued, ‘is that the arteries that feed your heart muscle become clogged with plaque, and if they’re not getting enough blood to the heart and the heart muscle isn’t getting enough oxygen from the blood, you’ll feel pain. I’m giving you nitroglycerin to open up those blood vessels so more blood gets through, and the monitors will tell us how the drug is working. We’ll let you rest for a while but eventually you’ll be having a whole battery of tests. Have you been referred to a cardiologist before this?’

Ben shook his head, then grinned at Sam. ‘Only been in hospital once before,’ he said, ‘and you know why that was!’

Sam stopped still, an image flashed before him. A big group of them had been in the street outside the cinema complex, having celebrated the last day of the school year at the movies. He’d been thinking about Meg, who had been due to arrive the following day, when one of the girls—had it been Coralie West?—had come up and slipped her arm through his, suggesting they nip away for a kiss and cuddle at the beach.

He’d backed off, trying to find a way to say no without hurting her feelings, then suddenly Ben, who’d probably been sneaking rum into his Coke, had raised his voice.

Made an unbelievable accusation…

Sam’s head and fist had exploded simultaneously, sending the much taller Ben flying backwards. A mate had grabbed Sam, but he’d shaken him off, while Ben had clambered back to his feet and surged towards his adversary. Ben had been tough, farm-hardened and cunning in his choice of punches, but in the end, it had been rage that had won the fight for Sam.

Although it hadn’t been a win—it had been a loss.

A loss of innocence…

Of joy…

Of love…