A Wife Worth Waiting For

by Maggie Kingsley

  ‘Just a minute,’ Alex interrupted, her green eyes flashing fire. ‘Just one cotton-picking, damn minute. I have not “jumped” since I was a junior doctor and some officious, overbearing consultant who thought he was God expected me to, and here’s a news flash for you, Dr Scott. I will not “jump” for you. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘Alex, I don’t think Hugh meant—’

  ‘Oh, yes, he did,’ she interrupted as Malcolm stared helplessly at her. ‘That is exactly what he meant, and I’ve had enough of it. Enough of being patronised, being talked down to, and generally regarded as something the cat dragged in.’ She bent down and retrieved her bag, her colour high, her breathing uneven. ‘I am going out now on my morning visits, and when I come back I want a full and grovelling apology from Dr Scott or I’m walking.’

  She slammed the door so hard on her way out that it actually rattled, and Hugh waited for Malcolm to say something but he didn’t. His partner simply folded his arms across his chest, and stared silently at him.

  ‘OK—Go on—say it,’ Hugh declared at last.

  ‘That you’re an arrogant, insufferable son-of-a-bitch? I think that’s pretty well self-evident, don’t you?’ Malcolm exclaimed. ‘Get off her back, Hugh.’

  ‘I’m not on her back.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth, you haven’t been off it since the day she arrived,’ Malcolm retorted. ‘Alex is a good doctor, Hugh. Whether you like it or not, whether you like her or not, she’s a good doctor.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Look, if you’re truly worried about her professional capabilities, why don’t you phone the agency, ask to speak to some of the doctors she’s worked for?’ Malcolm said, and when Hugh didn’t meet his gaze he nodded slowly. ‘You’ve already done that, haven’t you?’

  Hugh had and, without exception, all the GPs he’d talked to had been lavish in their praise.

  ‘Excellent medical skills,’ they’d said. ‘A true original who really shakes your practice up.’

  Nobody had wanted her to leave. All of them had wanted her to stay on, but she’d refused them all.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense, Malcolm,’ he exclaimed. ‘If she’s as good as everyone says she is, why does she keep moving from post to post instead of accepting one of the partnerships she’s been offered?’

  ‘Itchy feet—good for the short term but easily bored?’ Malcolm shook his head. ‘It’s not me you should be asking that question, but Alex.’

  Hugh’s lips thinned. ‘We don’t exactly talk.’

  ‘I know, and you should.’ Malcolm stood up. ‘I like her, Hugh.’

  ‘Well, good for you.’

  Malcolm opened his mouth, then shook his head.

  ‘I have to go. Sister Mackay will be expecting me at the old folks’ home, and I’m already half an hour late, but you’d better get yourself a personality transplant, and fast, Hugh, or Alex won’t be the only one who’s walking.’

  And Malcolm just didn’t understand, Hugh thought, as he threw down his pen after his partner left. It was all very well for him to say Alex Lorimer was a good doctor, but he was hardly sitting in her consulting room, watching her.

  All those other doctors wouldn’t have said she was good, if she wasn’t, his mind argued back, and he let out a muttered exclamation.

  Look at how she dressed for work. If she wasn’t wearing jeans and a sweatshirt in the surgery, she was in her leathers when she was out on the road, and it was sloppy, unprofessional.

  Thirty-nine going on sixty.

  OK, all right. Maybe her clothes were unimportant, and he wasn’t so much slipping into middle age as racing to embrace it, but she didn’t take the profession seriously enough. All the laughter he kept hearing coming from her consulting room…

  Thirty-nine going on sixty, Hugh.

  OK, so maybe he was getting old before his time, but who the hell did she think she was, waltzing in here on her Ducati 1000, making everybody like her, arguing with him all the time? She was the one at fault, not him.

  Except she wasn’t, he thought, as he stared, unseeing, at his consulting-room wall. This had nothing to do with the way Alex dressed, or the laughter that always seemed to follow her around. It wasn’t about her, it was about him. His grief and his inability to deal with it.

  It was the pointlessness of Jenny’s death that hurt the most. A small patch of ice on the road. A patch of ice that might not have been there if she’d been just that little bit later going out on her morning visits and the sun had come out. A small patch of ice he might have avoided if he’d taken the visits instead of her.

  Why had she needed to die? Time and time again he had asked himself that question, and there was never an answer.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Hugh,’ Chrissie said, looking pale and tense as she opened his consulting-room door. ‘Sgt Tulloch’s just phoned to say a van’s overturned on the A838. One casualty—Ewan Allen. Bill’s closed the road, and he’s called out the air ambulance and fire brigade.’

  Hugh swore under his breath as he reached for their portable defibrillator, oxygen cylinder and trauma bag. If the police sergeant had called out the air ambulance then it wasn’t good.

  ‘Phone Malcolm at St Catherine’s,’ he said as he headed for the door. ‘Tell him to meet me at the accident.’

  Chrissie said something in reply, but he didn’t catch what it was. All he was thinking, as he got into his car, was he’d bet a pound to a penny Ewan Allen had been speeding. The twenty-year-old seemed to regard himself as invincible, and on this occasion Hugh could only hope he was right.

  He hoped it even more when he arrived at the scene and saw the crushed wreckage of Ewan’s van wedged at a grotesque angle between two trees.

  ‘From the skid marks on the road, I’d say he was driving too fast and had to break sharply to avoid hitting a deer,’ Sgt Tulloch declared as Hugh carefully picked his way towards him through the broken glass and pieces of metal strewn across the road. ‘The van seems to have somersaulted a couple of times before it smashed into those trees.’

  ‘Nasty,’ Hugh murmured, and the policeman nodded.

  ‘It gets nastier, I’m afraid. The driver’s door is wedged tight against one of the trees, the passenger door is completely crushed in, and part of the roof is bent. There’s no way we’re going to get him out of there without cutting equipment, and to even get to him you’re going to have to climb into the van through the back doors.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Hugh replied, but when he wriggled into the van to make his initial examination he very quickly realised that it was going to be downright impossible for him to do anything but secure a cervical collar around Ewan Allen’s neck.

  The only person who would be able to give the youngster any kind of meaningful medical attention was somebody a whole lot smaller than he was.

  ‘Dr MacIntyre might have more luck,’ Sgt Tulloch said when Hugh had eased himself back out of the van and explained his difficulty. ‘He’s a couple of inches shorter than you, isn’t he?’

  Yes, but Malcolm was also at least ten kilos heavier, Hugh thought grimly, but one of them was somehow going to have to get close enough to Ewan to treat him.

  ‘Any word of when the air ambulance will get here?’ he asked, and the policeman grimaced.

  ‘We’re not winning on that one either, Doc. Apparently there’s thick fog in the central Highlands so they’re coming up by the coast which means they can’t give us an ETA.’ The policeman turned as they both heard the sound of approaching vehicles. ‘At least that sounds like the fire crew and Dr MacIntyre.’

  It was certainly the fire crew, but it wasn’t Malcolm.

  ‘I know I’m the last person you want to see,’ Alex said defensively as she got off her bike and walked towards him, ‘but Chrissie called me because I was closer.’ She sucked in her breath as she stared at Ewan Allen’s van. ‘Holy mackerel.’

  ‘Too right,’ Hugh said, brushing shards of broken glass from his jacket. ‘We’ve one casual
ty. Ewan Allen, aged twenty.’

  ‘Any relation to the Neil Allen that Malcolm was talking about earlier?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s one of his brothers. There’s eight Allen boys in all, ranging in age from six to thirty, and wherever they go trouble is sure to follow.’

  ‘It looks as though Ewan met trouble head on this morning,’ Alex observed, and Hugh nodded.

  ‘It’s even worse than it looks,’ he said. ‘He’s wedged in tight in the van, and all I can see of him is his head and upper body. I’ve got a cervical collar round his neck, but he can’t talk because he’s so short of breath. I’m guessing he has a thoracic injury, which means he needs to be nasally intubated, but there’s not enough space in the van for me to do it.’

  ‘I’m a lot smaller than you are,’ Alex pointed out. ‘I could do it if you can squeeze in behind me, and pass me everything I need.’

  It made sense, but that didn’t mean Hugh had to like it, and Jock Sutherland, the head of the fire crew, liked it even less.

  ‘I’d be a lot happier if you’d both wait until we drain the van’s fuel tank,’ he declared. ‘It’s clearly shot, and if this thing blows when you’re both inside there using oxygen…’

  ‘We’ll meet our maker rather sooner than we would have wished,’ Alex finished for him. ‘But we can’t wait. Ewan needs help now.’

  The head of the fire crew looked at Hugh, and Hugh gazed indecisively back.

  There had been nights after Jenny was killed when he’d longed to die. Nights when he’d never wanted to face another dawn, but he didn’t want anything happening to Alex. She might be lippy and irritating, but she had her whole future ahead of her.

  ‘Look, I know you don’t think much of me,’ Alex said, clearly misinterpreting his frown, ‘but it’s me or it’s no one, isn’t it? And the longer we wait, the less chance Ewan has of surviving this.’

  ‘I wasn’t wondering whether you could do it, but whether you should,’ Hugh said quickly, and she threw him an I don’t believe you look.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘So, do I go in or not?’

  It was dangerous, so very dangerous, but Hugh knew they had no other choice.

  ‘OK,’ he said, and Jock Sutherland shook his head.

  ‘I think you’re both insane, but it’s your call, Docs. We’ll start draining the fuel tank while you’re in there, but for God’s sake don’t strike any matches.’

  Or make any sudden movements, Hugh added for him mentally as Alex began inching her way into the van towards the driver’s seat, and he followed, dragging the portable oxygen cylinder and trauma kit with him, and the van creaked ominously.

  ‘Can you get close enough to him to nasally intubate him?’ he asked as Alex half turned onto her back.

  ‘It’s tight, but I’ll manage,’ she replied. ‘Ewan, my name’s Alex—Alex Lorimer—and I’m a doctor,’ she said as the young man suddenly moaned. ‘No, don’t try to turn your head,’ she added quickly, as Ewan attempted to do just that. ‘I’m going to put a tube up your nose to help you breathe. It will be a bit uncomfortable going in, but it will help, OK?’

  Ewan nodded, and carefully Alex began to insert the tube up his nose, pushing it only when the young man took in a ragged breath.

  ‘Is it in?’ Hugh asked when Alex rolled back onto her stomach, and she nodded.

  ‘Can you pass me an IV line?’

  He did as she asked. ‘Injury assessment?’

  ‘His right arm looks to be fractured in a couple of places, and he’s definitely got some unstable rib fractures. I can’t get to his back, or the rest of him to check, but I’m guessing pretty major pelvic damage, plus probable damage to his legs.’

  ‘BP, and respiratory rate?’

  ‘BP 90 over 30, respiratory rate 40,’ Alex replied, then glanced over her shoulder, her large green eyes contrite, as Hugh let out a muttered oath. ‘I’m sorry—did I just kick you in the ribs?’

  She had, but considering what he’d said to her this morning he was amazed she should feel the need to apologise. He doubted if he would have done and, as he stared back at her, he suddenly realised something else.

  She didn’t need to be here, risking her life for a young man she didn’t know. OK, so she was a doctor, and had taken an oath never to turn her back on suffering, but she could have told Chrissie to get Malcolm. After two weeks of relentless needling from him, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had, but she’d come. Come even though he’d questioned her competence, come even though he had—as she’d so rightly pointed out—treated her like something the cat had dragged in.

  It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Jenny. It wasn’t her fault she was very much alive and Jenny wasn’t. He’d been determined right from the start not to see any good in her, only that her presence in Jenny’s consulting room was an affront to his grief, a denial of Jenny’s very existence, and he had been wrong, so very wrong.

  ‘Dr Scott…?’

  She was looking at him in confusion, and with embarrassment he realised she must have been waiting for him to answer.

  ‘Forget about me,’ he said brusquely. ‘How’s Ewan doing?’

  ‘He’s obviously in a lot of pain. I know the OR staff won’t be happy, but I think we should give him morphine.’

  ‘So do I,’ Hugh replied, ‘but titrate it in a little at a time.’

  ‘Will do.’ For a moment she worked on Ewan, then she glanced over her shoulder again and lowered her voice. ‘Our portable oxygen tank isn’t going to last very long. How soon do you think it will be before the air ambulance gets here?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he muttered back. ‘They’re coming by the coast because of fog in the central Highlands, so it could be quick, or…’

  She bit her lip. ‘I hope it’s quick.’

  So did Hugh as the head of the fire crew called to him.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he told Alex.

  ‘Take your time,’ she said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Spunky new locum you’ve got there,’ Jock Sutherland declared when Hugh had clambered back out of the van.

  She was. She was also a very good doctor. Hugh had been able to see her hands when she’d inserted the nasal intubation tube and the IV line, and the skill with which she’d dealt with both had been impressive. So, too, was the calm, matter-of-fact way she kept speaking to Ewan. If she was scared to death in that van—and she had every right to be she wasn’t showing any sign of it, and when Hugh thought of how unremittingly rude he’d been towards her since she’d arrived…

  Unconsciously, he shook his head. Malcolm was right. He owed her an apology—a big one.

  ‘We’ve drained the tank,’ Jock Sutherland continued, ‘and we’re now going to cut and prise off the passenger side of the van. We’ll be as careful as we can but I have to warn you, the van’s going to shudder like crazy.’

  It did.

  ‘Maybe we should add ear plugs to our trauma kits,’ Alex said, with a shaky laugh, as she wedged herself tighter against Ewan to try to keep him immobile as the van shook and groaned around them.

  There was dirt and oil on her face, but underneath it Hugh could see she looked even paler than usual.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She faked a smile. ‘Just stiff from the way I’m lying.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ he insisted. ‘There’s a lot of broken glass—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, then shook her head as he blinked. ‘Sorry. Mega-overreaction. I just…I don’t like people fussing over me.’

  She obviously didn’t, but then he didn’t much like it either, he thought, remembering the way Malcolm had tried to comfort him after Jenny’s death, and how very rude he’d been in return.

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be much longer now,’ he said encouragingly, and Alex smiled again, this time a real one.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said.

  To Hugh’s relief, it didn’t take long for the fire crew to get the side off t
he van and the minute it was gone he clambered in. Carefully, he and Alex began easing Ewan’s hips and torso out from under the demolished dashboard, keeping his back in as much of an alignment as possible, then Hugh swore.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Alex asked.

  ‘He’s not moving. I don’t know why, but I can’t shift him.’

  The fire chief squinted round Hugh, and swore even more volubly.

  ‘It’s his foot, Doc. His foot’s twisted right round the brake pedal, and it’s stuck tight.’

  Alex’s gaze met Hugh’s, and he knew what she was thinking. Unless they could loosen Ewan’s foot they would have to amputate it because he couldn’t stay in the van any longer. Already they could already see his injuries were far more extensive than Alex had previously thought. His pelvis was definitely fractured, but his abdomen was tense and distended, both of his femurs were broken, and his ankle had an open, angulated fracture.

  ‘I…I suppose if it has to be done,’ Alex said uncertainly, and Hugh reached down and felt Ewan’s foot.

  It was ice cold. It would probably have to be amputated in the hospital anyway, but he had to give Ewan this one chance. Had to.

  ‘Jock, have you a set of the jaws of life?’ he said, and the fire chief nodded and disappeared.

  ‘What’s the jaws of life?’ Alex asked, clearly puzzled.

  ‘It’s a hydraulic tool that looks a bit like an enormous pair of scissors,’ Hugh explained. ‘With luck, Jock might be able to clamp the jaws round the top of the brake pedal, and if he pulls on the pedal, and I pull on Ewan’s foot, we might be able to get him free.’

  Alex nodded, but Jock Sutherland didn’t when he came back and Hugh explained his idea.

  ‘Hell, Doc, do you realise I could take off a couple of your fingers doing that?’ he protested.

  ‘Just do it, OK?’ Hugh said, and the fire chief started to argue again, then took one look at Hugh’s face and shrugged.

  ‘Your fingers, Doc.’

  Fingers he would most certainly need if he wanted to remain a doctor, Hugh realised as Jock stretched past him with the jaws of life, but there was no time for second thoughts. The fire chief hadn’t suggested an alternative, so it was this or nothing.