The Italian's Touch (Promotional Presents)

by Carol Marinelli

  Looking up at his anxious face, Fleur let out a gurgle of laughter. ‘No, it’s not you. Just these revolting biscuits. There’s so much sugar and colouring in them I’ll probably be up all night. I can’t believe I just ate one, let alone offered them to a guest.’

  Their laughter broke the tension and they chatted easily for the next half-hour or so about work, the hospital, Mario’s family in Rome. She found him fascinating, a wonderful story-teller, his not quite perfect English making for the odd hilarious mistake, his expressive hands gesturing as he wildly exaggerated. Only when he stood up to go, when he said goodnight and made his way to the front door did the tension return. Turning, he took her shoulders in his hands and moved his face towards her, kissing her first on her right cheek and then on her left. Fleur stood there dumbly, not offering her cheeks as she knew she should, the casual European gesture taking on an entirely new meaning. His rough cheeks against her soft skin, his warm lips so achingly close. She was reading far too much into it, of course. He kissed everyone like that—she’d seen it for herself.

  It hit her then. Her earlier clumsiness and forgetfulness had nothing to do with the afternoon wine—it was something rather more basic and natural than that.

  ‘Thank you, Fleur, for a wonderful day.’ One hand was still on her shoulder as his other hand tenderly made its way to her chin and gently tilted it so her eyes met his. As his face moved towards her she was as terrified and frozen as she’d been on that first day in Resus, except this time there was no question of her running. His lips moved towards her and found hers easily, kissing her full on her softly parted lips, and though it was short and sweet it could definitely not be interpreted as merely a friendly kiss, however loosely one defined the boundaries. ‘Goodnight, Fleur,’ he murmured softly.

  Unable to speak—even ‘goodnight’ would have been like a tongue-twister—all Fleur could manage was a rather weak wave as Mario made his way to his car and drove off into the still, dark night.

  It wasn’t until she’d poured herself a rather large brandy and made her way out onto the decking that Fleur let herself breathe again. Well, that was probably stretching the medical possibility, she reasoned as she took a warming sip, but it certainly felt that way. The moon reflecting on the bay and the gently lapping sound of the waves didn’t work their usual calming magic this time. Putting her hand to her cheeks, still burning from where he’d kissed her, Fleur’s fingers moved to her lips. Closing her eyes for a moment, she relived the feeling of his mouth on hers, the scent of him close to her, his hands on her shoulders.

  Of all the possibilities that going back to work had conjured up, of all the problems and emotions she’d known she might face, falling in love hadn’t been one she’d considered.

  ‘You don’t love him,’ Fleur said emphatically, out loud. ‘You hardly know him. You’re simply attracted to him.’

  She stared out at the inky ocean as if defying it to contradict her, but the waves just carried on rolling in, the stars carried on twinkling and the world simply carried right on moving along, seemingly impervious to her plight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AS MARIO had predicted, their ‘date’ had raised not a single eyebrow. Well, except for Kathy, but, then, she could have found someone to gossip with in the mortuary, Fleur reasoned. The department was obviously used to Mario’s social antics, which was another reason for Fleur to keep her feelings firmly in check. It had been a simple kiss and no more. She was reading far too much into it.

  Work improved steadily. Whether it was Mario that had instigated the change she couldn’t be sure, but no longer were the patronising pats on the shoulder and ‘there, theres’ so evident. In fact, first thing on Monday morning she was summoned to Danny’s office.

  ‘We’ve been thinking…’ he started.

  ‘We?’ Fleur questioned.

  ‘Well, the bosses and I,’ Danny replied, referring to the consultants and senior registrars. ‘It’s pointless trying to protect you in Obs and Section B. You know as well as I do that patients in A and E can deteriorate anywhere— even the most trivial wound can be masking something far more sinister. Hilda Green was a prime example. She’s doing well, by the way. I rang Neuro and apparently she’s being transferred to a rehabilitation hospital today. She’s just got some residual right-sided weakness which they’re hoping will resolve with aggressive physiotherapy.’ He watched as Fleur smiled.

  ‘I thought that might cheer you up.’

  She didn’t want to steal Danny’s thunder by telling him that she knew already. When she’d dropped off Alex’s urine sample yesterday Fleur had made a detour to the neuro ward to check for herself on Hilda’s progress. Though the woman’s speech had been slightly slurred, Fleur had been delighted to find her sitting out of bed, knitting. Not, of course, in the rapid fashion of the week before, but there was definitely a pink beanie in the making. If anyone was going to work hard at their recovery, Hilda was the woman for the job. Slowly but surely she would get there.

  ‘Anyway,’ Danny continued, ‘what we thought, with your approval naturally, was that we’d throw you in at the deep end.’ He looked at Fleur’s stunned expression. ‘With a lot of support, of course.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you want me to work in Resus?’ Her lips were white as she comprehended the enormity of what Danny was suggesting.

  ‘Look, Fleur, you’re an A and E nurse through and through. No matter where you are in the department, given the nature of the job, if you want to be a patient’s primary care-giver and follow them through, at some point Resus is where you’re going to end up. Now, I’ll be the first to admit I thought it would be too much for you, that the softly-softly approach was the way to go, but Mario was…’ Fleur waited as Danny found the right words ‘…most insistent that my initial approach was the wrong one. He thought, I mean we thought that if you spent a couple of weeks exclusively in Resus it might be the best way of getting you back into the swing of things.’

  So Mario had been the instigator. A surge of anger welled in Fleur. How insensitive was Mario? Even after she’d poured her heart out to him he obviously couldn’t understand what she’d been through.

  But deep down, and though it scared her to admit it at first, Fleur knew that this time the advice being offered was the right advice. In her two weeks back at work, it hadn’t only been Hilda who’d taken a sudden turn for the worse. Little Amy Feathers, a tiny three-year-old with a sore throat, had suddenly started convulsing. A young girl with an asthma attack had rapidly worsened on her. And despite Fleur’s relief at leaving them at the Resus door, it had also been tempered with frustration, a longing to follow her patients through, to be with them. It wasn’t a feeling that could easily be defined, just the instincts of an emergency nurse—or a would-be emergency nurse once she overcame this final obstacle.

  ‘When?’ she said finally after the longest time. ‘When do you want me to start in there?’

  Danny gave her a relieved smile as he picked up his pager from the desk, but before he could answer a sharp rapping at the door interrupted them. Without waiting for Danny’s response, Mario popped his head around the door. ‘Danny, there’s a chest pain coming in and there’s no nurse down for Resus.’

  Danny turned from Mario to Fleur. ‘What do you say, Fleur? There’s no time like the present.’

  Looking at Mario’s confused expression, Fleur tossed him an angry look. He may have been right to step in and effectively force her to face her demons, but there was no way he was getting off too lightly. ‘I’ll explain that particular proverb to you later, Mario. Thanks a bunch.’

  * * *

  Fleur managed a reassuring smile at her patient as the paramedics wheeled him in. ‘Russel Parker, forty-five years of age, with sudden onset of central chest pain, radiating down his left arm. Past history of hypertension, hyperlipidaemia and a heavy smoker.’ All this was said as they expertly aligned the ambulance stretcher with the resus bed. With Fleur and Danny’s help, the
paramedics lifted the rather obese man over as they reeled off the treatment they had instigated at the scene.

  After thanking the paramedics, Fleur addressed her patient. ‘Mr Parker, my name is Fleur Hadley. I’m the nurse who’s going to be looking after you this morning, along with my colleague, Danny Miller. I’m just going to get you into a gown and attach you to our monitor while Mr Ruffini here, our emergency consultant, asks you some questions.’

  The cardiac monitor Mr Parker was attached to was state of the art and new to Fleur. Under Danny’s guidance Fleur was able to record the patient’s blood pressure, oxygen saturation and print off a twelve-lead ECG, all at the touch of a few buttons.

  ‘If you ask it nicely, it even makes a cup of tea,’ Danny joked.

  Mr Parker’s ECG showed ST elevation which confirmed there was some acute cardiac event under way, but rather more ominous were several runs of rapid irregular heartbeats. Fleur noticed Mario’s concerned glance at the monitor. ‘Sister, would you mind paging Dr Lupen, the cardiology registrar? I might ask him to come down straight away. And could I have 5 mg of morphine.’

  ‘Certainly.’ She turned to Danny. ‘You get the morphine while I page Dr Lupen.’ Morphine was a controlled drug and required two staff members to check it, but Fleur knew without question that Mario would be happy to check the drugs with Danny if it meant his patient would be seen promptly by the specialist. Dr Lupen answered quickly and as Mario was examining Mr Parker’s chest, Fleur briefly ran through the patient’s history as she waited for Mario to come over.

  ‘It’s OK. Don’t tear Mario away—just let him know I’m on my way down.’ Dr Lupen, though friendly, usually only came down to Emergency on the direct request of a fellow doctor. However, the fact Mario was concerned was seemingly enough to merit Dr Lupen’s appearance. Surprised at the ease of the referral, she replaced the receiver—more proof when none was needed that Mario commanded respect from everyone.

  ‘Did you get him on the phone for me?’ Mario asked as he pulled his stethoscope out of his ears.

  ‘I explained the situation and he said he’d be down directly.’

  He gave a murmur of thanks and returned his attention to the patient who was already starting to relax now the intravenous morphine was taking effect. ‘So you are an ex-smoker, Mr Parker?’ Fleur was just about to interrupt but held her tongue as Mr Parker shook his head.

  ‘No, Doctor, I still smoke—unfortunately.’

  But it soon became apparent that Mario hadn’t misheard or misread the notes. ‘No, Mr Parker. As of today you are an ex-smoker.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there, Doctor. I’ve had a heart attack, haven’t I? I will be all right, though, won’t I?’ The fear was evident in his voice and again Mario didn’t misread the signs. Fleur watched as Mario took his patient’s hands, surprised by the gesture and even more taken back when Mr Parker, a tough Aussie in every sense of the word gripped it tightly.

  ‘You are having a heart attack, Mr Parker, and I won’t play games and tell you that there’s nothing to worry about—that won’t do either of us any good. But I can assure you that we have an excellent cardiac unit in this hospital, and Dr Lupen, the cardiology registrar who will see you shortly, is second to none. We will do our best to get you well and give you another chance. Then, my friend, it is up to you what you do with this chance. You understand what I am saying, yes?’

  Mr Parker nodded, relaxing back on the pillows behind him, and Fleur again found herself in awe of Mario. His ability to simultaneously soothe the patient while delivering bad news was amazing, and not only that—he’d sown the seeds for educating Mr Parker, an essential part of cardiac rehabilitation.

  The morning flew by. Busy? Yes. Exciting? Sometimes, but without any real major incident to test Fleur’s nerves. Pleased with herself for coping, she knew deep down her moment of truth hadn’t yet come. She felt as if she were riding on the dodgems, bumping around but getting there, with no real dangers apparent. Fleur also knew that her time could come at any moment, that the dodgem ride could quickly turn into a Formula 1 Grand Prix. As long as she was down for Resus, the lights could go on at any given moment and the real test of her skills would start. But when the chequered flag was waved, Fleur wondered, would she still be standing?

  After changing into jeans and a T-shirt, she made her way through the department.

  ‘One moment, Fleur.’ Mario put down the telephone he was on and ran a couple of steps to catch up to her. ‘I am finished here also, and I need to speak with you. Perhaps I could walk you to the car?’

  ‘Sure.’ Painfully aware of her rather faded jeans compared to his snappy suit, she slowed down and they walked along. ‘How come you’re finishing up now?’

  Mario rolled his eyes. ‘This afternoon I am child-sitting. It is Teresa and Marco’s wedding anniversary and they are off to some luxury hotel. I can’t moan really, it was my gift to them.’ He took his notebook out of his pocket. ‘I have to pick up Ricky at three-fifteen, swimming at four-thirty, homework, dinner and then do his reader with him, all before bed at eight! I think work would be a lot easier somehow.’

  ‘And you needed to talk with me?’

  ‘That was the path lab on the telephone, about Alex’s urine sample.’

  Fleur stopped in her tracks and swung round to face him. ‘He’s got an infection, or… He’s not diabetic, is he?’ A multitude of scenarios raced through her mind.

  ‘No, Fleur, he’s not diabetic, but he does appear to have a low-grade infection of his urine.’

  Fleur let out a small wail of horror. ‘But he must have had it for a couple of weeks. He might have some renal damage. I should—’

  Mario’s hands rested on her shoulders. He didn’t shake her exactly but the weight of his touch stopped her gibbering. ‘Stop,’ he said firmly. ‘First you need to collect a fresh specimen so they can confirm the findings, and as soon as you have done that we will hit him with a big dose of antibiotics. Next, I will make an appointment for him to see a urologist. Now, there probably is no damage, but you know yourself that urinary-tract infections in boys have to be investigated thoroughly. While you’re waiting for the urologist appointment he’ll have an ultrasound and an IVP to check his renal tract. All of which is common procedure. You must try not to worry until there’s something to worry about.’

  ‘But all this should all have been done a couple of weeks ago. I just assumed he was upset again and all this time he’s had an infection. I should have known—’

  ‘Fleur, you have to calm down.’ Mario said firmly. ‘He has a low-grade infection. Stop imagining the worse, and stop blaming yourself. It was perfectly natural to assume that his bed-wetting was because he was upset, given that you were starting work again and the problems Alex is having with friends. You have to stop trying to be his GP, counsellor, teacher and footy coach and just let yourself be his mum.’

  She looked up at him, bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. You’re running yourself ragged, trying to take the blame for everything and compensate for all that has happened. You need to see what a fantastic job you are doing and stop imagining the worse.’

  Fleur stiffened at the rather backhanded compliment. ‘I think you’re being rather premature in drawing your conclusions about me, Mario. We’ve barely known each other for more than a couple of weeks.’ His hands were still on her shoulders and Fleur was suddenly conscious of his touch, casting her eyes down she waited for the next tirade of ‘calm down’ and ‘don’t blame yourself’. It was easy for a man to dictate—they weren’t the ones saddled with the bottomless goody-bag of hormones and guilt the beaming midwife handed to you along with the baby.

  ‘Has it really only been two weeks?’ The genuine bewilderment in his voice made her look up. ‘I feel I have known you so much longer.’

  Her mind drifted back to Saturday night, standing on the balcony, and the emotions that had coursed through her then. Could so much have happened for both of them
in such a short space of time? An unflattering blush was starting to spread.

  His hands had been there far too long. Shrugging them off, Fleur swallowed hard a couple of times. His voice, his eyes, his touch—they were all doing the strangest things to her. She needed some distance, she needed to get in to her car and back to the relative safety of worrying about Alex—not be standing in the car park, blushing like some gauche teenager. ‘Yes, just two weeks,’ Fleur said rather too sharply. ‘Which in my opinion is rather too early for someone to be questioning my parenting skills.’ She had gone too far—again—but there was no way she was going to back down.

  ‘Here.’ He handed her a bag which she took without comment. ‘There’s a specimen container and a pathology slip and some antibiotics. Is Alex allergic to penicillin?’

  Fleur shook her head.

  ‘Good. I’ll arrange the investigations.’ And with a rather curt nod he turned on his extremely well-shod heel and left her.

  Damn, damn, damn. Terrified of betraying too much, she’d behaved like an ungrateful brat. Muttering furiously to herself, Fleur managed to stall the car. Of course, Mario’s sleek silver BMW had to be behind her. Grinding the gears and putting her foot down way too hard, she jerked out of the car park in a puff of smoke, absolutely refusing to look in the rear-view mirror at what would undoubtedly be his gorgeous, totally unruffled, smooth expression.

  It didn’t take long to calm down, a cup of Earl Grey and a few chocolate biscuits, in fact. Fleur knew she had to apologise to Mario for her behaviour. But at the school gates a mother trying to rope Fleur in to help with the uniform shop accosted her.

  Pleading that she’d just started work as her reason for not being able to help, Fleur cast her eyes across the playground to where Mario stood by the flagpole.

  ‘It really would only be for a couple of hours a week,’ the mother insisted.

  ‘Look, I’d honestly love to but now is just not a good time.’ The bell sounded and Fleur gratefully left before she had to plead temporary insanity and a tendency to kleptomania to get out of the most hated job on the school’s PTA list.