Читать книгу An Inescapable Temptation - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 6

‘HELP!’

Gabriel turned his head, trying to figure out where the cry had come from amongst the bustling bodies at the port side. The Venezia Passegeri was packed—mainly with crew and harbour staff. Carts packed with passengers’ luggage and an obscene amount of fresh food were being piled aboard the cruise ship in front of him, all blocking his view.

‘Help! Over here. Someone help!’

The cry rippled through the crowd as heads turned and focused towards the shout. It only took Gabriel a few seconds to realise the cry was coming from the edge of the quay. He dropped his bag and pushed his way through the crowd. A woman was standing near the edge, her face pale, her breathing coming in rapid, shallow breaths. Her trembling hand was pointing towards the water.

Gabriel’s eyes followed her finger. There, in the water, was a child—a teenager—struggling in the waves that already seemed to have a grip of him. He must have only just fallen in, but this part of the marina was right on the outskirts of Venice, nearest the sea, and the waves were picking him up and down as he coughed and spluttered, pulling him out to sea.

Gabriel didn’t even think. He just dived in. Straight into the murky waters of Venice.

By now a few crew members had noticed the commotion and were shouting in rapid Italian. Gabriel swam quickly towards the boy. It only took a few seconds to wish he’d taken the time to remove his shoes and dress uniform jacket. They weighed him down almost instantly. His white uniform would never look the same again.

The boy kept sinking before his eyes, the waves sweeping over his head as he struggled for breath. Gabriel powered forward, anxious to reach him before he disappeared from sight again.

He got there in less than a minute but the boy had sunk under the waves. Gabriel took a deep breath and dived underwater, reaching down into the darkness. It was amazing how the strong Italian sun penetrated so little through the murky waters. Venice was renowned for its dirty canals. The cruise ship terminal was situated on the outskirts near the edge of the Adriatic Sea, where the deep-keeled ships could dock. And although the waters were marginally better here, they still looked nothing like the clear blue seas depicted in the travel brochures. His fingers brushed against something and he tried fruitlessly to grasp it. Nothing.

Frustration swept over him. His face broke the surface of the water and he gasped for air, trying to fill his lungs. Beneath the waves he shucked one foot against the other. It was a move he did every night in the comfort of his penthouse flat while sitting on the sofa, but struggling to stay afloat it was so much more awkward. Finally he felt a release as the five-hundred-euro hand-made leather shoes floated down into the murky depths. Now he would find the boy.

He dived beneath the waves again, reaching out, trying to circle the area beneath him. This time he felt something bump against his hand and he grabbed tightly before kicking his burning legs to the surface. The two of them burst above the waves, the teenager’s flailing legs and arms landing a panicked punch on the side of Gabriel’s head.

He flinched. His brain switching into gear. The woman at the quayside had shouted in English.

‘Stay still,’ he hissed at the boy. The sun was temporarily blinding him as the water streamed down his face.

He could see the jetty. Figures shouted towards him but he couldn’t hear a word. The current was strong here and he could hardly believe how quickly they’d moved away from the quay.

The glistening hull of the luxury cruise ship seemed so far away. He’d been standing before it only a few minutes earlier.

He put both hands around the boy’s chest and pulled him backwards against his own chest, trying to swim for both of them in his version of the classic lifesaving manoeuvre.

But the boy couldn’t stop panicking. The waves were fierce, the water still sweeping over the top of them, causing the boy to writhe in Gabriel’s arms as he struggled for breath. A shadow loomed behind them.

His arms were aching as he fought to keep their heads above the water. How on earth was he going to get them back to the quay? Again he could hear the boy coughing and spluttering, choking on the waves that kept crashing over their heads.

He’d never done a sea rescue before. Last time he’d seen one he’d been watching TV. It had all looked so much easier then. Didn’t the lifeguards on TV always put people on their backs and pull them towards shore? It didn’t seem to be working for him. And they had that strange red plastic thing to help them. Where were the lifebelts here? Shouldn’t every port have them?

What on earth was he doing? This was madness. Being a cruise ship doctor was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to kill you the first day on the job.

The irony of this wasn’t lost on him. He’d known this job was a bad idea right from the start. A cruise ship doctor was hardly the ideal role for a paediatrician.

But family came first.

And this had been the first job he’d been able to find at short notice. Close enough to Venice to be here when needed but far enough away not to attract any unwanted media attention.

His father’s health was slowly but surely deteriorating. And the call to the family business—the one he’d never wanted to be part of—was getting louder and louder. Being a fourteen-hour flight away was no longer feasible. Then again, finding a position locally in his specialist field hadn’t been feasible, either.

Timing was everything. If he’d applied for a paediatric post six months previously, with his background and experience he could almost have guaranteed his success. But all the desirable posts had been filled and it would be another six months before slots were available again.

This was a compromise. Only the compromise wasn’t meant to kill him.

He saw a small boat in the distance. It seemed to be moving very slowly, creeping around the huge hull of the cruise ship as if it was crawling towards them like a tortoise. Every muscle in his body was starting to burn. His arms were like blocks of lead. The figures on the jetty were still shouting towards them and the shadow appeared again.

Gabriel struggled to turn his head as the brick wall loomed above them. All at once the danger became apparent. The sweeping current was taking them straight towards it and with Gabriel’s hands caught tightly around the teenager’s chest there was no opportunity to lift his hands and protect his head.

So much for being here to support his family.

And then everything went black.

Francesca was bored. Bored witless. Her mother’s favourite British expression.

She smiled and nodded as someone walked past, shifting uncomfortably in the dress uniform. This was the one part of her job she hated. All the staff hated it. So much so, they drew straws each time the captain insisted one of the medical staff stand near the check-in desks in the terminal.

Standing in front of a pull-up banner of the Silver Whisper was not her idea of fun. The captain thought it made the medical staff look ‘accessible’. She was going to have to talk to him about that.

She watched the passengers wandering in and looking in awe at the side view of the ship. As soon as they appeared the crew entertainment staff were all over them, thrusting brochures of trips the cruise ran at every port they stopped at. Francesca sighed and looked at her watch. This was going to be long day.

She glanced over her shoulder. None of the other senior staff were around. Who would notice if she slipped out for a few minutes? A smile danced across her lips. She crossed the terminal building in long strides, slipping out through a side door that took her down to the dock where the ship was moored.

The dock was jammed with suitcases and sweating crewmen struggling to load them on board. Her brain automatically switched into work mode—ticking off in her head who hadn’t attended for their required medicals. She was going to have to crack the whip with the crew. Huge delivery crates of food were being wheeled up one of the gangways. It was amazing the amount of fresh food that was loaded at every port.

She wandered along the walkway, nodding greetings at several of the familiar crewmen, relishing the feel of the sun on her skin. Today, as every day, she’d applied sunscreen. But her Mediterranean skin rarely burned and the slightest touch of sun just seemed to enhance her glow.

This was the life. Working on a cruise ship had sounded like a dream at the time and a good sideways move. A chance to use all the skills she’d learned working in Coronary Care and A and E, along with the ability to use her advanced nurse practitioner status, and all in a relatively calm and safe environment.

But the long hours and constant nights on call were starting to wear her down. Thankfully she had a good supportive team to work with. A team that was slowly but surely helping her rebuild her confidence. The ship was a safe place to try and learn to trust her nursing instincts again. She’d once thought those instincts were good, but personal experience had taught her differently. It was time to start over and the ship seemed a good—if a little boring—place to start.

At the end of the day this was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement while she waited for her work visa for Australia to come through. But there had been delay after delay, with two months turning into three and then four. It seemed as if she’d been waiting for ever for the chance to spread her wings and go further afield. A chance to escape the memories of home.

‘Nurse! Nurse!’

She turned swiftly towards the shout. It was at the end of the dock where a small crowd was gathered, pointing and looking out towards the sea. Francesca started running towards the shouts—one of the crew had obviously recognised her.

She could feel the adrenaline start to course through her veins. When had been the last time she’d dealt with an emergency? Would she be able to deal with one again? She’d started her staffing in a coronary care unit where cardiac arrests had been a daily occurrence. Then she’d moved to A and E to increase her skills. Expect the unexpected. That’s what the sister she’d worked with had told her.

And she’d been right. From toddlers with a variety of household objects stuffed up their noses to RTA victims, she’d never known what would come through the door. Up until now she’d enjoyed the relative calm of the cruise ship. It could be a little mundane at times, dispensing seasickness tablets, dealing with upset stomachs and advising on sunburn. Maybe things were about to liven up?

She reached the edge of the dock and followed the pointing fingers to the two figures in the water. One looked like a child. She felt her stomach sink. The last thing she wanted was an injured child. A motorboat was approaching them and not before time. She winced as she watched the strong waves barrel them both into the port wall. Even though it was hundreds of yards away she could almost hear the crack.

The boat was almost on top of them and she watched as they dragged the child on board then struggled to reach the man, who had slipped beneath the waves. One crewman jumped into the water to help. Her heart thudded in her chest. Were they going to find him? The child was older than she’d first thought—probably a teenager—but the man?

Yes! They’d found him.

Oh, no. He was dressed from top to toe in white—an officer’s uniform—and they were dragging his lifeless body out of the waves.

She started pushing the others aside. ‘Let me through.’ The boat was heading towards them. She turned to one of the crewmen, ‘Go on board to the medical centre. Tell Dr Marsh I need some help. Tell them to bring a trolley and some resus equipment.’ The crewman nodded and ran off.

Francesca noticed a woman sobbing near her and elbowed her way through the crowd. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘My son Ryan. He was running along the walkway and he slipped. I got such a fright.’ She gestured around about her. ‘I couldn’t find anything to throw to him. I couldn’t find any lifebelts. And he can barely swim. Only a few lengths in a pool.’ She shook her head furiously. ‘Never in the sea.’

Francesca nodded, trying to take in all she’d heard. ‘Who’s the man?’ she asked gingerly, dreading the answer she was about to hear.

The woman shook her head again. ‘I’ve no idea. He appeared out of nowhere and dived straight in. Ryan was swept away so quickly, then he disappeared under the waves.’ She was starting to sound frantic again. ‘That man had to dive a few times before he finally found him.’ The woman turned to face Francesca, her voice trembling. ‘But what if he hadn’t? What if he hadn’t found my son…?’ Her voice drifted off and her legs were starting to shake.

Francesca put a firm arm around her shoulders. ‘Just hold on for a few minutes longer. Your son will probably be in shock when the boat reaches us. The sun may be shining but the water out there is pretty cold. How old is he?’

‘He’s thirteen.’

Francesca’s brain was rapidly calculating the drugs she might need for an adolescent. It was always tricky to calculate for kids—everything was generally based on their weight as children came in all different shapes and sizes. And from her experience, at a time of emergency the last thing a parent remembered was their child’s weight. It didn’t matter. It was worth a try.

‘Do you know how much Ryan weighs?’

The woman shook her head. Just as she’d suspected. If necessary, she’d have to make an educated guess when she saw him. Hopefully by then the rest of the team would have arrived.

Please don’t let her have to resuscitate a child. She’d done it a few times in A and E and had been haunted by every occasion.

The motorboat was getting closer. Francesca recognised a few crewmen who must have commandeered some poor unsuspecting local’s boat. Fear crept through her. The teenager was sitting at one side, a blanket flung around his shoulders, his face pale and water dripping from his hair. But the officer lay unmoving in the bottom of the boat—never a good sign. One of the other crewmen was leaning over him, so she couldn’t see clearly what was going on.

The boat bobbed alongside them and she leapt over the gap to the other craft. She took a few seconds to check Ryan over. He was conscious, he was breathing and his pulse was strong. How he looked was another matter entirely. ‘Get him onshore and get one of the medical team to assess him,’ she instructed, before pushing the others out of her way to get to the man.

She glanced at his face and noted the three gold stripes on his shoulders. Not only an officer—but a senior officer. The uniform was familiar but the face wasn’t. Maybe he wasn’t one of theirs?

She was on autopilot now, the adrenaline bringing back all the things she’d thought she’d forgotten. She knelt by him, putting her head down next to his, her eyes level with his chest looking for the rise and fall that was distinctly lacking. Her fingers went to the side of his neck, checking for a carotid pulse. Nothing. She tipped his head back and had a quick check of his airway. Clear.

She didn’t hesitate. She could do this in her sleep. On some occasions she almost had done this in her sleep. Some skills were never forgotten.

She took two deep breaths, forming a tight seal around his mouth with her own, and breathed into him, watching for the rise of his chest. She pulled at the white jacket, ripping down the front, and gold buttons pinged off and scattered around the bottom of the boat, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath. She wasn’t going to waste time trying to remove it. The firm muscles of his chest were clearly outlined and she had all the definition she needed.

She positioned her hands on his chest and started cardiac massage, counting in her head as she went. She was frantically trying to remember everything she could about drowning victims—an area she had little experience in. It seemed almost absurd when she was working on a cruise ship—but most passengers never came into contact with the sea. Didn’t they have quite a good chance of survival if they were found quickly enough? She knew that there had been newspaper stories about children with hypothermia being pulled from frozen lakes and resuscitated successfully. But although this man’s skin was cold, he wasn’t hypothermic. There wasn’t going to be any amazing news story here.

She kept going, conscious of voices behind her and shouted instructions. There was a thud as the boat rocked and a pair of black shiny shoes landed next to her. Her heart gave a sigh of relief. David Marsh was here to help her but she didn’t stop what she was doing, leaning over and giving two long breaths again.

‘Throw me over a defib and a bag and mask,’ came the shout next to her.

Francesca kept going, the muscles in her arms straining as she started cardiac massage again. David was more than capable of organising everything around them.

She was counting again in her head. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… Come on. She willed him to show some sign of recovery.

The handsome Italian features weren’t lost on her. The dark brown hair, long eyelashes, strong chin, wide-framed body and muscled limbs. This man could be very impressive—if he was standing up.

David was pulling up the T-shirt that had been underneath his officer’s jacket. ‘I don’t recognise him.’ He squinted. ‘Who on earth is he?’

She shook her head, ‘I have no idea. Somehow I think I would have remembered this one.’

He slapped the pads on the muscular brown chest that Francesca was desperately trying not to notice and turned to switch on the machine. Then, before her eyes, the lean stomach muscles twitched. ‘Wait!’ she shouted.

She held her breath for a few seconds and then he did it again. Twitched. And then coughed and spluttered everywhere. The Venetian water erupted from his lungs all over the deck around them and she hurried to help him on his side.

The monitor kicked into life, picking up his heart rate. His breathing was laboured and shallow. David read her thoughts and handed her over a cylinder of oxygen with a mask as he slipped a pulse oximeter on the man’s finger.

Francesca bent over the man, blocking out the bright sunlight and shading his face from the nosy bystanders. She spoke in a low, calm voice. ‘I’m holding an oxygen mask next to your face to help your breathing,’ she said, praying he would understand because right now she had no idea if he spoke English. He opened his eyes. They were brown. Deep dark brown.

Wow.

But she must think purely as a professional. She must ignore everything about the Italian hunk they’d just pulled from the water. All the little things that would normally have sent shivers skittering down her spine.

She pulled her penlight from her pocket. This man probably had a head injury. She’d seen him being bounced off the port wall. She lifted his groggy eyelids and shone the light first in one eye and then the other. He gave the smallest flinch.

Pupils equal and reactive. She turned to David. ‘We need to start proper neuro obs on this guy.’

He nodded. ‘What happened?’

‘He went in to rescue the boy. Once he’d got him the current carried them to the port wall and he was knocked unconscious. I think he was under the water for just over a minute.’ Her hand reached around to the back of his head. His dark brown hair was wet but she could feel some abrasions at the back of his head. She pulled her hand back—blood.

‘Can you give me something to patch this before we move him, please, David?’

David nodded and handed her some latex gloves and a dressing pad. ‘Stretcher will be here in a minute. We’ll get him onto the trolley and see if we can find some ID.’

Francesca hadn’t lifted her head. He was still groggy. In all the TV shows she’d ever watched, victims of a near-drowning seemed to get up almost as soon as they were revived and walk off down the beach into the sunset. Usually hand in hand with their rescuer.

The thought of walking off into the sunset with this guy was definitely appealing. Like something out a fairy-tale. If only he would come round.

As a child she’d always loved the childhood fairy-tales Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White and Little Red Riding Hood. Her father had read them to her over and over again. Those were some of her fondest memories of him.

She leaned in a little closer to the man. If she really wanted to do a set of neurological observations on this guy then she needed to try and elicit some kind of response from him, a response to a painful stimulus.

‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,’ she whispered.