Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  ‘About three hours, as far as I can make out.’

  Good. A child needed to be nil by mouth for at least two hours before an endoscopy.

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to be able to remove it with a Foley catheter,’ Paul added. ‘So I put him on a glucose drip before I paged you.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll alert Theatre and see you downstairs in a minute,’ Sophie said.

  She checked the X-rays in ED. There was a two-step ring—clearly a battery and not a coin—in the child’s oesophagus. Exactly where she’d expected it: the cricopharyngeous sling at C6, where around seventy per cent of foreign bodies were caught.

  ‘What we’re going to do is something called an endoscopy,’ she explained to the little boy’s grandmother. ‘It’s a flexible tube with a camera on the end—it goes down your throat and lets me see what’s going on. I’ll be able to see where the battery is and take it out.’

  ‘It’s an operation?’ she asked, clearly upset.

  Sophie nodded. ‘We can do the procedure under sedation, so he’s awake when we do it, but it’s complicated in really little ones and they need much higher doses of sedation than older ones. I’d be happier doing it under a general anaesthetic.’

  ‘My daughter’s going to be so angry with me. I only turned my back for a second. I didn’t think he’d go rummaging in my bedroom drawer!’

  ‘Nobody’s blaming you,’ Sophie soothed her. ‘It’s really common in this age group. The under-twos put everything in their mouths.’

  ‘I was supposed to be looking after him while my daughter was at a job interview. I couldn’t phone her, not when she was about to go in for the interview.’

  ‘Of course not. You did the right thing, bringing him here,’ Sophie said. ‘If you’d like to wait in the relatives’ room, I’ll come in to see you as soon as we’re out of Theatre and he’s woken up.’

  ‘But she’ll ring me when she comes out. She’ll panic when I don’t answer.’

  ‘Does she have a mobile phone?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve got the number in my diary.’

  ‘Then as soon as you think she’ll be out of the interview, one of the nurses will ring her for you,’ Sophie said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  The procedure was a straightforward one, and when Sophie retrieved the battery she was relieved to see that it hadn’t started disintegrating. They’d caught it early enough so the little boy was unlikely to have any burns on the inside of his throat. There were no complications with the anaesthesia either, and she was soon able to return to the relatives’ room.

  ‘He’s absolutely fine,’ she reassured the elderly woman. ‘He can’t have any milk or solids for the next six hours, and we’ll keep him in for observation on the paediatric ward upstairs. But you can stop worrying now,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, thank God. I was so worried about him and I don’t know how I would have faced my daughter if anything had happened to him. She’ll never leave him with me again as it is.’

  ‘Once she’s got over the initial shock, I’m sure she’ll come round,’ Sophie soothed. ‘It could have happened anywhere. Don’t blame yourself.’

  She finished the rest of her morning list. To her relief, there was no sign of Charlie. He was probably in a meeting or something. Relaxed, she opened the door to the ward—and Charlie was striding down the corridor towards her.

  Her heart rate speeded up. He didn’t have that hunted look about him, the one that had made her want to comfort him last night. Instead, his face was absolutely unreadable.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘OK?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Anyone listening wouldn’t have a clue that he’d kissed her last night. That he’d loosened her hair. That the only reason they’d stopped had been because his taxi had arrived.

  He really was good at this ‘pretending nothing had happened’ bit. Or maybe that was what happened when you spent half your life in the public eye. You learned to put on an act.

  ‘Half-day?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Enjoy it. Anything I need to know about?’

  She shook her head. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  And that was it. One quick smile—one she didn’t think was quite genuine, because it didn’t reach his eyes—and he was gone.

  What had she expected? A declaration of undying love? He’d said last night that they should pretend that kiss hadn’t happened. And that was fine by her.

  Then why was her lower lip tingling? Why did she feel flat, disappointed? Why did she feel this yearning to touch him again?

  Because, Sophie Harrison, you’re stupid, she told herself sharply. It’s a complication you don’t need. Forget it.

  She was still distracted, even through lunch with her mum. And Fran picked up on it.

  ‘Sophie, you haven’t heard a single word I’ve said.’

  ‘Course I have, Mum.’

  Fran tutted and topped up their coffee mugs from the cafetière. ‘I’m your mother. I know when you’re not listening. What’s up? Work?’

  ‘Work’s fine.’

  Fran gave her a hopeful look. ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’ Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Mum, I’m too busy for a boyfriend.’

  ‘And you’re a modern woman and you don’t need anyone to look after you.’ Fran sighed. ‘I know, I know. You’ve told me enough times. But I’d like to see you settle down with someone who’ll make you happy.’

  ‘I am happy, Mum. And there’s plenty of time before I have to settle down.’

  ‘You’re thirty-two, Soph. Leave it much longer, and you’ll have a tough time if you decide to have babies.’

  ‘I’m not maternal.’

  Fran snorted. ‘Right. Which is why all the littlies can’t wait for their Aunty Sophie to turn up on a Sunday afternoon. And why you spend most of your time on the floor with them, playing games and reading stories. And why you get on the bouncy castle with them.’ She gestured to Sophie’s fridge. ‘And why you’ve got all those paintings stuck to your fridge with magnets.’

  Paintings they’d done especially for her at nursery and school. Busted. ‘All right, so I like kids.’ Sophie gave a rueful smile. ‘Mum, I just haven’t met the right man yet. I’ll know when I meet him.’

  Her smile faded as a picture formed in her mind. Blue eyes and a vulnerable mouth. Charlie. Well, he wasn’t Mr Right, he was Baron Wrong. And she’d better remember that.

  For the next week, Charlie was perfectly polite towards Sophie at work, but she could tell he’d put a barrier up. He didn’t socialise much either, though she no longer thought it was because he was a snob who didn’t want to mix with the lower classes. Not after that heartfelt admission about being hassled when he was out.

  Part of her wanted to break through his reserve, but the more sensible part of her knew it would be a bad idea. Charlie wasn’t the one who could heal the scars she kept hidden. And she had a feeling that he was covering up an emotional minefield, too. Not a good combination.

  All she had to do was remind her body of that. And then she wouldn’t get those flashbacks of the feel of his arms round her, the taste of his mouth on hers.

  She was just reminding herself of that when she walked into the staffroom and saw a stranger sitting there.

  ‘Hello. Are you lost?’ she asked.

  ‘Lost?’ the woman echoed.

  ‘This is the surgical team’s staffroom. If you were looking for the relatives’ room, I can take you there,’ Sophie offered.

  ‘Oh. No. I’m not waiting to see a patient.’

  Something about the woman seemed familiar, though Sophie had no idea who she was. Something about her voice, too. Odd. ‘Sophie Harrison,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Are you new to the team?’

  The woman’s handshake was firm, Sophie noted. Strong.

  ‘No. I’m waiting for Charlie. My brother,
’ she explained.

  ‘Oh, so you must be Vicky, the brain surgeon.’ And that explained why the woman looked familiar. Sophie could see the family resemblance now—the same blue eyes and haughty features—though in Vicky they were softened slightly.

  And right now Vicky looked surprised. ‘Charlie talked to you about me?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Look, Dr Radley—or is that Miss?’

  She waved a hand. ‘Vicky’s easier.’

  ‘Vicky. I think Charlie’s off today.’

  ‘No, he’s definitely working …’ Vicky frowned. ‘Ah. Wrong place.’

  Sophie frowned, too. ‘No, he does work here.’

  ‘But not on his days off. He’s at Harley Street,’ Vicky said.

  Harley Street? Charlie was working in Harley Street?

  Then all his talk about wanting to be like any other doctor was just a lie.

  Harley Street was full of private clinics, and Charlie was a plastic surgeon. So his claims about not being a nip-and-tuck merchant weren’t strictly true, were they? On his days off from the National Health Service, he was working in Harley Street. Earning shedloads of cash from the rich and famous, people who wanted their lips made pouty or their cleavage enhanced or their lined faces made youthful again. And in the meantime, those who couldn’t pay for operations they really needed—operations that weren’t just for vanity—just had to wait and wait and wait. ‘I see,’ Sophie said coldly.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think you do,’ Vicky said.

  ‘It’s obvious. He’s just playing at being a doctor here, and he’s doing face lifts in Harley Street to rake in the money,’ Sophie said, curling her lip in disgust.

  ‘Firstly, Charlie’s not the family playboy. That’s Seb,’ Vicky said. ‘Secondly, Charlie’s not doing face lifts.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘And it’s sort of not private work either.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘He doesn’t charge for it. He blags the cost of theatre time from people he knows—they give it to him because it means they can say that Baron Radley works at their clinic—and he does paediatrics. Plastics work for kids whose parents can’t afford to go private, but the waiting lists are so long that the kids are having to live in misery. He specialises in burns and tendon repair.’

  Sophie blinked. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘He keeps it to himself.’ Vicky shrugged. ‘Can you imagine what the press would make of it? Headlines everywhere, and they’d hail him as a hero. Which he is—but he doesn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘So why are you telling me?’ Sophie asked. It’d be so easy for her to go to the press and spill the beans, if she chose. Celebrity Life would love a scoop like this. Why had Vicky handed her the ammunition?

  ‘If you don’t know,’ Vicky said, ‘there’s not much point in me explaining.’

  Colour whooshed into Sophie’s face. Had Charlie talked to his sister about her? But she’d already learned that Charlie was a private man. And he was good at putting on a ‘nothing ever happened’ act. Look at the way he’d been towards her since that kiss.

  ‘You didn’t really come here to see Charlie. You came to check me out,’ Sophie accused, her eyes narrowing.

  Vicky shrugged. ‘He’s my brother. Someone has to look out for him.’

  Sophie lifted her chin. ‘Two things. Firstly, I might not be from your class, but I’m not a gold-digger. I don’t give a toss about money or class. Secondly, Charlie is my colleague, and that’s all.’

  ‘My brother’s very good at putting up smoke screens,’ Vicky said thoughtfully. ‘Seb and I are about the only ones who can see through them.’

  ‘There’s nothing going on between us.’

  ‘No?’ Vicky raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No.’

  Vicky grinned. ‘I think I’m going to like you. We’re on the same side.’

  ‘What side?’

  ‘Charlie’s,’ Vicky said simply. ‘See you around.’

  And before Sophie had the chance to say anything else, Vicky left the staffroom.

  Sophie made herself some extra-strong coffee. This was surreal. And when she next saw Charlie Radley, he had some explaining to do.

  Not that Sophie had the chance to discuss it with Charlie the next time she saw him. It was Saturday night and they were both on a late.

  He rapped on her office door and when she called, ‘Come in,’ he opened the door and put his head round it. ‘Sophie? I know you’ve got a ward round due, but I need your help.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There aren’t any female doctors in ED tonight. And I’ve got a case where I definitely need a female doctor with me.’ He bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry to ask you. It’s not going to be pleasant.’

  Sophie’s stomach lurched. She knew what he was going to say. ‘It’s a …’ She couldn’t push the word out. Not that word. ‘An assault.’ A sexual one.

  He nodded bleakly. ‘Come with me to ED?’

  ‘We’re surgeons.’ Sophie gulped. ‘You’re a plastic surgeon. Does that mean.?’

  ‘He had a knife.’ Charlie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. But ED tells me the cuts are to her face and neck.’

  At least a knife hadn’t been involved when she—

  Now was not the time to remember that. She pulled herself together. They had a patient downstairs who needed a lot of understanding and help. ‘Is the police surgeon down there?’

  ‘The only one they have is male. And the gynae lot are all male tonight, too. So we need a female chaperone. Unless …?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll do the examination and take the samples. If she wants me to.’

  Charlie took her hand for a second and squeezed it. ‘Thanks. I know it’s asking a lot.’

  Yeah. But you don’t know just how much you’re asking, Sophie thought. She’d dealt with assault cases since specialising in surgery, but she hadn’t dealt with a rape. She hadn’t had to face this.

  She had a choice. She could walk away. But that would mean leaving the victim with no choice—and Sophie thought the woman had already been through enough. Why make it worse for her? Sophie was a professional. A doctor. She’d done some work with police surgeons, and knew how the system worked.

  Learn to take the emotion out of it.

  Charlie’s words echoed in her mind.

  He was right. And she’d blocked it for years. She could block it again tonight. She could do this.

  The young woman in the private ED room was still shaking when Sophie and Charlie walked in. Her face and throat were covered in blood from knife cuts, her clothes were ripped and Sophie could see grazes over the girl’s skin.

  ‘I’m Charlie Radley, plastic surgeon, and this is my colleague, Sophie Harrison. Would it be all right if Sophie examines you?’

  ‘I just want to wash myself clean.’ The woman’s voice trembled.

  ‘Of course you do. What’s your name?’ Charlie asked gently.

  ‘Lois.’

  ‘Lois, it’s your choice. You don’t have to be examined. But if you do let us examine you and take some samples, it can help stop this happening to someone else. No woman should ever have to go through this.’

  ‘He cut me.’ The words were barely a whisper.

  ‘And I can help you, make sure the scars are as minimal as possible,’ Charlie said quietly.

  ‘He—he kicked me. Here.’ She put a shaking hand out towards her back.

  ‘That’s why I’d like to examine you,’ Sophie said. ‘To make sure you don’t have any internal injuries.’

  A tear trickled down Lois’s face. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong. I was only dancing. With my mates. And he—he.’

  ‘It’s OK. You’re being very brave,’ Sophie said. ‘I know it’s hard.’ God, she knew how hard it was to say what someone had tried to do to you. Not knowing if they were going to believe you, blame you, say it was your fault. Hoping they’d understand. But then you looked up and saw the disgust and loathing in their eyes.

  She
took Lois’s hand. ‘But it’s important that we stop him. That he doesn’t get the chance to do this to anyone else.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I know. And we’re going to help you, Lois, if you’ll let us,’ she said gently. ‘I know the only thing you want to do right now is scrub all the traces of him off you. I promise you can do that. But if you let me take samples first, we’ve got a better chance of stopping him. Nobody’s going to push you into doing anything you don’t want. But if you let me take the samples, you’re leaving all your choices open. Don’t let him take your choices away, too.’

  Eventually, Lois gave her written consent and allowed them to go through the procedure. She stepped onto brown paper behind a screen, removed her clothes and put them on the paper, then put a gown on and allowed Sophie to examine her. Sophie’s documentation was meticulous; the policewoman took down the statements and photographed the knife injuries. As Charlie had said, they were to the face and upper body. There was also bruising on Lois’s back, and Sophie noted the possibility of renal injury. She wouldn’t know for sure without intravenous urography and urine tests to check for haematuria, or the presence of blood in the urine.

  Gently, Sophie took vaginal and oral swabs, and asked Lois for a urine specimen so she could do a pregnancy test as well as check for the presence of blood in her urine—just in case Lois had been pregnant without knowing it before the attack. Then she cleaned up Lois’s face and neck.

  ‘I’m going to clean your wounds a little more thoroughly,’ Charlie said. ‘Not that Sophie hasn’t done a good job, but if there’s the slightest bit of dirt in the wounds you’ll end up with tattooing on your skin. I’m afraid it doesn’t look very nice—and you might worry that I’m going to make everything much worse, using a wire scrubber to clean your face—but I promise you this is the best thing to do. Then I’ll stitch the cuts,’ Charlie said. ‘The edges are straight, not irregular, so the scarring won’t be as bad as you think. Early on, the scars will look red and they’ll be hard around the edges, but they’ll soften and fade over time, so eventually they’ll be paler than your surrounding skin. In a year we’ll have a better idea about whether we need to do more surgery to improve their appearance or whether I need to do something called dermabrasion—which means taking off the top layer of the skin.’