‘A kitten?’ Elsa said, astounded.
‘He was saving Sherlock then,’ Robert said, and the elderly doctor even managed a chuckle. ‘Sherlock won’t mind sacrificing his pride for the greater good.’
‘I’ll even take care of Sherlock while you’re away,’ Marc offered. ‘Or Sherlock might take care of me.’
But Elsa wasn’t smiling. ‘Grandpa, you know I can’t leave. We can’t ask this of Marc.’
‘Let’s get this down to basics,’ Marc demanded. ‘Robert, do you want your granddaughter to come with you?’ He fixed Robert with a look that demanded honesty. And the elderly doctor looked from him to Elsa and back again.
He’d know the odds. An underlying heart attack had probably caused the tamponade, and the damage wasn’t yet diagnosed. He was still in peril and he knew it.
‘I do,’ he whispered, and Elsa’s face twisted in fear and uncertainty.
‘And Elsa, do you want your grandpa to go alone?’
‘Of course not. But...’
‘Then you have no choice,’ Marc said gently.
‘I know. But oh, Grandpa...’
‘Now don’t you make this into a big deal just because I said I need you,’ Robert managed. He managed a smile, fighting to recover his pride. ‘Love, you know I hate hospital coffee. I’ll... I’ll need someone to bring me a decent cup a couple of times a day.’
‘So there you are,’ Marc told her. ‘You have two weeks of being personal barista for your grandfather, while a one-legged doctor takes over all your duties on the island. You might need to organise someone else to walk Sherlock, but for the rest... All sorted.’
‘Marc...’
‘Enough.’ He put his hand out and cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, suddenly stern.
‘As your grandpa says, don’t make a fuss,’ he said softly. ‘Just do what you need to do. I suspect your grandpa’s coffee needs won’t be too extensive. You might even have time to see a bit of Sydney at the same time. You might even have time to have fun.’
* * *
Elsa disappeared to pack and probably to do a bit of panicking on the side.
Marc returned to his nice, quiet hospital bed and did a bit of panicking himself. What had he let himself in for? He’d offered to be the island doctor for up to two weeks. A family doctor.
He hadn’t done any family medicine since a placement during internship. He remembered minor illnesses, minor injuries, stress, depression, teen pregnancies, the problems of the elderly with multiple health problems. He remembered being hit by an elderly patient because he couldn’t justify signing a form saying the old guy could retain his car licence.
‘You need to learn to care,’ the family doctor he’d been working beside had told him. ‘If you genuinely care for your patients, then everything else will follow. Empathy is everything—emotional connection.’
The experience had confirmed Marc’s decision to specialise in heart surgery. He’d been raised to be emotionally distant. The idea of providing an emotional connection to his patients seemed impossible.
Elsa had the ability, he thought, remembering the faces of those who’d received her extraordinary gifts. She had it in spades. Which was why she was a family doctor and he wasn’t.
Except now he was, for two weeks.
No one could expect emotional connection in two weeks, he told himself. He’d offered because it was the least he could do—after all, Elsa had saved his life. This would repay a debt. He could see patients in need and then walk away.
And then the door opened, tentatively. It was Maggie. Despite their initial conflict over the Dorothy the Dinosaur tablet, she’d helped care for him, she’d assisted in Robert’s surgery with efficiency and he was aware that she was an excellent nurse.
‘Are you ready to start work?’ she asked.
‘What, now?’
‘Bradley Norfolk’s just fallen off his Christmas trampoline,’ she told him. ‘It looks like a greenstick arm fracture. Are you up for it?’ She eyed him, lying on his pillows, his bedding pulled up to his chin. ‘You look like a new intern,’ she said bluntly, and she grinned. ‘Scared rigid.’
Maybe it was time to pull himself together. He pushed back his covers, sat up and swung his bad leg off the bed.
‘We’re setting you up with a permanent wheelchair,’ she told him. ‘With leg support so your leg’s out straight.’
‘I can manage without a wheelchair.’
‘Elsa’s orders. She says she doesn’t want any more pressure on that arm, and if you’re balancing then you’re at risk.’
His first reaction was to reject the wheelchair out of hand—he needed to act like a doctor, not a patient. But his shoulder was still painful. Elsa’s suggestion was sensible.
He needed to be sensible.
‘For today and maybe for tomorrow,’ he told Maggie. ‘By then I should be able to manage with sticks.’ Even that revolted him.
‘Very wise,’ Maggie said, and her smile widened. ‘You know, the islanders have learned it’s much easier to do what Doc Elsa says. She’s pretty much always right. If you’re standing in for her you have pretty big shoes to fill.’
‘Just lucky my foot’s already swollen then,’ he said grimly. ‘Maggie, I’m going to need more clothes.’
‘Elsa’s already given orders,’ she told him. ‘We’re on it.’
‘Then Maggie...’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s time for Elsa to stop giving the orders,’ he told her. ‘From now on, you’re stuck with me.’
* * *
The evacuation crew oozed medical competence. The doctor in charge listened to Elsa’s stuttered explanation, spoke briefly to Robert—and then did a hand-over with Marc.
Marc was in his wheelchair, but his medical competence matched the medic in charge. They exchanged notes, films, cardiographs. Elsa was on the sidelines, holding Robert’s hand.
Robert was the patient. Elsa was family.
‘Takes a bit of getting used to,’ Robert growled. He was on the transfer trolley, waiting to be lifted into the plane.
‘Yeah.’
‘He’ll do good by us. The island’s in good hands.’ He was trying to reassure her. For heaven’s sake...
‘I’m sure he will,’ she managed, and as she listened to the clipped professional handover between the two men she knew she was right. ‘Except...’
‘Except Dotty Morrison might have to forgo her placebo pills for a while,’ Robert said with a forced chuckle, and Elsa thought of the pills she’d been prescribing for the old lady affected by Alzheimer’s for the last few months and grimaced.
‘I haven’t even told him about that.’
‘Told me what?’ Finishing his handover, Marc had wheeled himself across to join them.
‘Dotty Morrison,’ Elsa told him, thinking of all the other things she hadn’t told him. ‘She has Alzheimer’s and high blood pressure. She’s struggling to stay at home and her medication’s the biggest hurdle—she takes it too often or not at all, but she hates the thought of not being in charge. So now I give her placebos, telling her to take one every morning, one every night. Her daughter comes around twice a day with her ‘extra’ pills—the real ones—which she tells her are multivitamins. Dotty takes them to humour her, but she knows the ones I prescribe and she gets from the pharmacist are the important ones. She takes them whenever she thinks it might be morning or night and everyone’s happy.’
‘And they’re what? Sugar pills?’
‘Sugar pills?’ Elsa asked incredulously. ‘No such thing. I give her a nice formal script that says “Disaccharide C12H22O11, twice daily”.’
‘Which is sugar.’
‘If you’re going to be pedantic, then yes,’ she said with asperity, ‘but don’t you dare tell Dotty. I tell her it’s to improve cerebral function—she
likes that because she knows she forgets things. She takes her script along to the pharmacy, Doug puts her pills in a bottle with her name on and everyone’s happy. Except she tends to go through her bottle about once a week and sometimes more, and she loses her repeat scripts so I expect you’ll see her soon. Marc, there’s so much I haven’t told you.’
‘He’ll be all right, girl,’ Robert said, gripping Marc’s hand as the crew prepared to lift him into the plane. ‘If he’s got his cardiology ticket he must have the brains to prescribe sugar pills and he can always phone you. Thank you, son,’ he said and then he was lifted up and away.
The medic crew boarded the plane, busying themselves, fitting Robert with the equipment, the oxygen, the stabilisers he’d need for the journey. Marc and Elsa were finally left alone.
‘I don’t... I can’t think what to say,’ Elsa told him.
‘Don’t say anything. You’re not going out of contact. If someone presents at the surgery demanding medication for their leprosy or whatever, I have your number.’
‘I can’t thank you...’
‘And I can’t thank you. So let’s not.’
‘Marc...’
‘Just relax. Robert’s in good hands. He’ll be fine. You might even have a chance of a holiday yourself.’
‘If he doesn’t need me, I can come home.’
‘He will need you. Hospital’s a lonely place with no family.’ Before she could stop him he’d pushed himself to his feet. Instinctively she reached forward to steady him, but afterwards she couldn’t remember whether he’d gripped her hands before she’d gripped his.
Regardless, she gripped and he held, or vice versa.
He was her patient. No, he wasn’t her patient now. He was the doctor who’d saved her grandfather’s life.
He was Marc.
The three images were blurring. Boundaries weren’t being crossed, they were dissolving.
‘Your grandpa will be fine,’ he said, strongly now. ‘I’ve phoned my boss—he’s head of cardiology at Sydney Central. He’s promised to take on Robert’s care himself and there’s no one better. This guy here...’ he motioned into the plane, to the medic in charge ‘...he’s the best as well. The only extra Robert needs is family, and in you he has gold. Take care of yourself, Elsa. Come back with a patched-up grandpa but come back rested yourself. I can’t think of anyone who deserves a break more.’
‘Marc...’
‘Just go,’ he said softly, but his grip on her hands tightened. ‘But I’ll be in touch and thinking of you every step of the way.’
She looked up at him, feeling dazed. Too much was happening, too fast.
He was holding her. For support, she told herself frantically but as her gaze met his she knew it was no such thing. His eyes were dark, fathomless, compelling. There was a faint smile, a question—an answer? She couldn’t look away.
The question? It was being asked of her and all she had to do was respond. Which was what she did. Almost of their own volition her feet tilted so she was on tiptoe. So lips could meet.
And kiss.
Warmth, heat, strength.
Or maybe it was the opposite of strength. Maybe it was loss of control, for how could she be in control when she was being kissed like this?
Twice in one day. Twice! But this was different.
Behind them were Geoff and Ryan, the hospital orderlies who’d helped load Robert into the ambulance for transport to the runway and were now waiting to take Marc back to the hospital. There were a couple of airport workers round the plane—locals.
News of this kiss would be all over the island before the plane even took off.
But right now she couldn’t care less. How could she care? All that mattered was the feel of Marc holding her. He’d saved her grandpa. He was holding her steady. He was her rock.
Her rock with a broken leg. Her rock who was here for only two weeks. He was her rock who was supposed to be in St Moritz right now with his glamorous ex-girlfriend.
She had no right to kiss him, and he had no right to kiss her. But still she clung for one last, long sweet moment. It was a moment of madness, a moment that she knew must mean nothing, but she took it, she savoured it, she loved it.
And then there was an apologetic cough from behind Marc’s shoulder.
‘Sorry miss, but we need to get going,’ one of the medics called to Elsa. ‘You need to board. Don’t worry, sir, we’ll take good care of them and bring them home safe.’
Home safe... Two lovely words.
But the medic was looking at her with sympathy. He thought he was tearing her away from...her partner? Her lover?
No such thing. She didn’t want sympathy, and she didn’t...couldn’t...want complications.
‘I’m ready to go,’ she managed, struggling to sound professional, as if she hadn’t just been kissed so thoroughly she felt dizzy. ‘Thank you for your help, Dr Pierce. I’ll see you soon.’
‘I hope so,’ he said, and lifted the back of his hand to brush her cheek. It was a gesture of farewell, an acknowledgement of times shared, of forced intimacy that was now over, and there was no reason for it to make her feel even more disoriented than she already was.
But disoriented was too simple a word to describe what she was feeling. She needed to join her grandfather in the plane, but turning and walking away from Marc felt wrong.
CHAPTER TEN
‘I’VE RUN OUT of pills.’
‘Already?’ It was just as well he’d been warned. This was the first clinic on Boxing Day—‘for urgent cases only’—but Dotty Morrison had insisted she was tacked onto the end of his list.
‘I think I might have doubled up,’ the little lady said doubtfully. ‘What with Christmas and all. But an extra pill or two won’t hurt me, will it, Doctor?’
He checked. Elsa’s notes were comprehensive and, worded in case Dotty caught sight of them, carefully benign.
‘Dr McCrae wrote you a script with five repeats only last week,’ he said cautiously. ‘Have you used them all?’
‘Oh, no, Doctor. It was much longer than a week ago. The chemist says I should leave the script at the pharmacy, but they keep muddling them. I do like to keep an eye on my own medications. It’s my body, isn’t that right, Doctor? I have a responsibility to care for what goes into it.’
‘You certainly do,’ Marc said, suppressing a grin as he replaced her script.
She accepted it with grace and checked it with care. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she told him. ‘But you’re not as neat as our Dr Elsa.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not. I’m not as fast either.’ Dottie had been kept waiting three-quarters of an hour for her appointment.
‘Well, that’s because you’ve broken your leg,’ Dottie said reasonably.
It wasn’t exactly that, he thought as he bade the elderly lady goodbye. It was because family medical practice required skills Marc had pretty much forgotten. He’d just had to cope with a teenager whose acne had flared up. She was hysterical because her family was heading to Sydney to meet friends—‘and there’s this boy...’
He’d had to excuse himself ‘to take an urgent phone call’ which involved hobbling out to Reception to check current meds for acne, correct dosages, contraindications.
There’d been many ‘urgent phone calls’ this morning. But finally he was done. He had house calls scheduled for later this afternoon—either Geoff or Ryan would drive him—but he had time to put his leg up for half an hour and field a call from Elsa.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
Her voice sounded tense, distracted and he thought uh-oh.
‘He’s okay.’
Then he heard her pause and take a deep breath. ‘No. More than okay. The tamponade’s pretty much settled—they’ve stopped the draining.’ That made sense. The pericardium had to retain a little fluid to protect the heart.
‘But you were right. He’s had another heart attack. When pressed, he admitted he’d had what he thought was an event during the night while I was on the mountain with you. It passed and he didn’t want to worry me—he said he’d think about it after Christmas. Anyway, he’s in the right hands now. He’s scheduled for a quadruple bypass late this afternoon, but he’s already worrying about the need to spend time here in cardio rehab. His biggest worry is me being here rather than back on the island.’
‘And you? Are you worrying about being there rather than back on the island?’
‘Of course,’ she said simply. ‘I can’t help it. Have there been any problems?’
‘No.’
‘Not a one?’
‘My biggest hurdle so far has been finding current treatment for teenage acne,’ he admitted. ‘I had Jess Lowan here, threatening suicide or worse. It seems she’s in love with the son of family friends, and how can she face him with zits on her nose?’
‘I hope you took it seriously,’ she told him. ‘Jess is...high strung to say the least.’
‘I took it very seriously. The treatment’s changed since I was in med school but, thanks to the internet, Jess has now been hit with a barrage of treatment that should effectively nuke every zit before it has a chance to interfere with the course of young love. I just hope he’s worth it.’
‘Oh, dear. You know she’ll be in love with someone else next week.’
‘Someone who prefers his women with zits? Then Houston, we have a problem. I see no chance of reversal.’
She chuckled but it sounded strained. ‘Seriously though, Marc...’
‘Seriously, I’m doing well.’ He let himself sound serious too, still hearing the stress in her voice. ‘There’s been no pressure. I have two house calls to make this afternoon, then a simple ward round, and as long as everything stays quiet I’ll be in bed with a book by eight-thirty.’
‘When you should be drinking mulled wine with your mates in St Moritz.’
‘I’m not missing it a bit.’ And as he said it he realised it was true. The situation here was challenging—and he didn’t mind this phone call with Elsa. There’d be more of them, he knew. The thought of working as he was doing, of helping her out for two weeks...it wasn’t a penance.
Mistletoe Kiss with the Heart Doctor Page 12