The Pregnant Police Surgeon

by Abigail Gordon

  He was ready to shake hands and depart but had one last thing to say.

  ‘I want to see this cardiac fellow today if possible. Tomorrow at the latest.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Blair promised with the unexpected vote of confidence still ringing in his ears. ‘I’ll phone your home as soon as I’ve sorted something out.’

  ‘So, what was wrong with the mighty one?’ Imogen asked when the clinic was over.

  ‘I detected a heart murmur. Possibly a valve not functioning as it should,’ Blair told her. ‘I’ve promised to make an immediate appointment for him to see a cardiologist.’

  She sighed. ‘Dad won’t like having anything wrong with him. He thinks he’s invincible. Do you know, he would rather read the crime statistics than a good book? I can’t possibly visualise what he’ll be like with the baby. He’ll probably want me to teach the child the Highway Code before introducing it to nursery rhymes.’

  She was laughing but Blair felt it was strained. Imogen was concerned about her father and that was how it should be. He only hoped that Rossiter would feel the same when the time came for her to give birth.

  As if reading his thoughts, she was eyeing him defiantly, challenging him to say them out loud, but as he had no intention of doing so it was left to her to break the silence.

  But when he looked up the defiance had gone and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Everything is such a mess,’ she sobbed. ‘Me in this situation. My dad, who has never had a thing wrong with him in his life, maybe needing heart surgery, and you in the clutches of that nosy blonde!’

  If she hadn’t been so upset he would have wanted to laugh.

  ‘Come here,’ he said gently. ‘Let me wipe away the tears. And while I’m doing so let me put you straight about my strength of character. I am not in anybody’s “clutches”. The other day you referred to letting me off the hook and now I’m in Briony’s clutches. What sort of a jellyfish do you think I am, my raven-haired witch? You need to have patience where you and I are concerned and spend less time jumping to conclusions.

  ‘As to the “mess” you’re in with regard to the baby, it’s only a “mess” if you let it become one. And your father isn’t at death’s door exactly. I shall keep a close watch on him. I’ve had patients with his problem before. So have you and they’ve usually made a good recovery once the valve has been sorted out. I saw a patient the other day who’s had a metal heart valve for over thirty years and apart from it doing a bit of rocking and rolling sometimes its still going strong, so you see…’

  ‘I know,’ she sniffled contritely. ‘You are always the voice of reason while I seem to be waffling along in a muddle that’s all blacks and greys.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ he said briskly. ‘You’re bright and beautiful…brave and funny…’

  ‘Don’t!’ she cried. ‘You know you don’t really think that. But thanks just the same…Dr Nesbitt.’ And with the smile that had ensnared him from the first moment of meeting she pressed her lips to his cheek.

  He could smell her perfume. The touch of her mouth against his stubble was as light as thistledown and twice as disturbing. He turned his head, saw the message in her eyes, and incredibly laughter was replacing tears.

  As he observed her questioningly she gurgled, ‘If you’re going to kiss me, you’ll either have to lean over the bump or do it from the side.’

  He found himself joining in her laughter, and as passion was overuled by mirth they let the light-hearted moment take over until Andrew came in to see what all the noise was about.

  When Blair had gone back to his own sanctum and the elderly third member of the practice had left early to get in a round of golf, Imogen prepared to face the late afternoon surgery with a lighter heart than before.

  Blair had been right in everything he’d said. Where was her usual drive and optimism these days? she wondered. Did all pregnant women feel in the doldrums during the last few weeks, or was she different because of her situation?

  You ought to be grateful that you’ve got family and a rock like Blair to hold onto, she told herself. What about the teenagers who are pregnant with no one to turn to? Whose boyfriends and families don’t want to know and the kids are left to fend for themselves?

  She’d had them sitting across the desk from her. Seen them come and go and done what she could for them, while fretting because she couldn’t do more.

  The following day Imogen was due to go to the city’s main hospital for an examination by the obstetrician. She’d seen him twice before without any problems presenting themselves and was expecting today to be the same.

  It was.

  ‘The baby’s heartbeat is strong. Its position perfect for a natural birth and your blood pressure is fine,’ the elderly consultant told her when the examination was over. ‘Do you have any questions or problems that you’d like to discuss with me?’

  She was feeling more buoyant today and told him with a smile, ‘None that you could help me with. Such as persuading the man I’m in love with to love me, too. Or telling my father, the chief constable, to slow down.’

  He smiled back.

  ‘Sorry. Not on my agenda. Your man friend must be crazy…and I’ve heard that Brian Rossiter is a workaholic.’

  Outside the hospital a few minutes later she stood on the pavement considering whether to go back to the apartment to eat or have something while she was in the city centre.

  The traffic was noisy and everywhere was crowded. A quiet lunch at home was a more appealing prospect than pushing her way through the crowds, she decided.

  Two young mothers were standing a few feet away, gossiping animatedly. They both had babies in prams. One of them also had a toddler around her feet, grizzling to be on the move.

  Suddenly the child broke free and came racing along the pavement towards Imogen, with the mother in pursuit. As he drew alongside Imogen put out her hand to stop him but he veered sideways and straight into the road.

  In that second all she could think of was that she was the nearest. The noise of the traffic was suddenly filled with menace and as a bus loomed up from nowhere with a taxi alongside it she threw herself after the child and, grabbing his arm, flung him back onto the pavement.

  There wasn’t time to leap to safety herself. In her ungainly state she overbalanced and in the terrifying moment of impact she prayed that in the saving of someone else’s child she wasn’t going to lose her own.

  The late surgery was due to start and Imogen wasn’t back. Blair was beginning to feel vaguely uneasy. Had there been some problem at the hospital? he’d wondered. But when he phoned the clinic that she’d attended he was told that she’d been fine and had left some time ago.

  Maybe she’d been having another attack of the doldrums and had gone back to the apartment to have a bite and unwind. That was his next surmise after letting another hour go by, but there was no answering voice when he rang.

  It was an incoming call that had the answer. He picked up the phone to find her father at the other end of the line, and when he heard the chief constable’s voice Blair thought, What does he want now? He’d already been on to him earlier with details of the cardiac appointment and now here he was again.

  But what Brian had to say wiped every other thought from his mind.

  ‘Imogen’s been hurt…seriously!’ he said without preamble. ‘She’s in A and E. We’re here with her, Celia and I. They’re trying to save the child but not giving us much hope for either of them.’

  Blair looked down at his knuckles. His hand looked like a bleached white claw, so tightly was he gripping the phone.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said as his blood ran cold with dread.

  How? Blair was asking himself frantically as he drove to the hospital. How had Imogen got hurt? He should have asked her father, but there’d been something in Rossiter’s voice that had made him feel there was no time to waste.

  Had she been attacked? Had a fall? Crashed her car? He would know
soon enough. The way of it wasn’t all that important. It was how badly hurt she was that mattered. The hospital staff were trying to save them, Brian had said, but weren’t offering much hope.

  He stopped the car outside the hospital with a screech of brakes and ran like the wind through the grounds to where the sign ACCIDENT AND EMERGENCY stood out in bold blue letters.

  The chief constable and his wife were in the waiting room, sitting silently staring into space, and Blair caught his breath. Was he too late? He prayed not.

  Celia saw him and touched her husband’s arm. When he turned round Blair hardly recognised him, even though he’d seen him only the previous day. He looked old and defeated and Blair thought illogically that if Imogen could see her father now she would know for all time how much he cared.

  ‘How is she?’ Blair asked raggedly.

  ‘Holding on,’ Celia told him with an anxious glance at her husband. ‘But they couldn’t save the baby, Blair. They delivered it by Caesarean but it was already dead.’

  He sank down onto the nearest chair.

  ‘What happened, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Imogen went into the road after a toddler that had escaped from his mother and dashed into the traffic stream outside the hospital. She managed to hurl the child to safety, but wasn’t quick enough to save herself. A taxi hit her full on.’

  ‘What’s the damage?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘Fractures, stomach and head injuries. The only good thing about the whole sorry business is that it happened outside this place and she was being treated within minutes.’

  ‘Does Imogen know that she’s lost the baby?’

  Her father spoke for the first time.

  ‘No. She’s still in Theatre.’

  ‘I have to see her,’ Blair said desperately.

  ‘She’s going to be in there for hours,’ Brian said. ‘They wouldn’t let us anywhere near.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ Blair promised, and went striding off down the corridor in the direction of the operating theatre.

  Imogen was out of Theatre and had been transferred to Intensive Care. She hadn’t regained consciousness since the accident so mercifully was unaware of the birth—and death—of her baby or the surgery that had been performed in an effort to save her life.

  ‘We’ve done a good job on the fractures,’ the surgeon who’d operated had told them a few moments ago, ‘but the head injury is a different matter. She has a fracture of the skull, which as you are probably aware can cause bone fragments to be pushed inwards. So far there are no haematomas present, which is reassuring, but we won’t know the full extent of the damage until she comes round.

  ‘It was touch and go for a while when Dr Rossiter was first brought in. She suffered cardiac arrest, but we managed to shock her back to life and then got on with the job of putting her back together.’

  I don’t believe I’m hearing this, Blair thought as he looked at Imogen’s swollen face. They could have lost her. They still might. And Imogen had lost her baby. How was she going to cope with that if she didn’t follow it into eternity?

  ‘What was the child?’ he asked the surgeon.

  ‘A girl…with lots of dark hair like her mother. She didn’t stand a chance. Dr Rossiter was hit head on.’

  Brian groaned. Turning to Blair, Celia said anxiously, ‘I feel I should take my husband home. He’s on the verge of collapse. Can we leave you here to watch over Imogen? We can soon be back if there is any change.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m not intending to leave her side. I’ll phone the practice and tell them what’s happened. Andrew Travis, my partner, will have to hold the fort for the time being.’

  When they’d gone he looked down at Imogen’s still form. Her head was bandaged. One of her arms was in plaster and both her legs. There’d been a fracture of the pelvis, too, but that wasn’t immediately visible.

  Her injuries were numerous and a cause for great concern, but he knew if she ever regained consciousness they would pale into insignificance when she realised that her womb was empty.

  Andrew rang late in the evening to express his concern and to suggest that they advertise for a locum with all speed.

  ‘Yes, do that,’ Brian agreed abruptly.

  It was as if the practice was a million miles away. The only realities were Imogen lying motionless beside him, the swift-footed intensive care staff flitting in and out and the trappings of lifesaving equipment all around them.

  Was this how it was going to end? he thought wretchedly. His dark enchantress snatched away from him before he’d told her what was in his heart. He was a fool to have wasted all the precious weeks and months since they’d met that night in the police station.

  But from the moment that she’d told him she was pregnant he’d been haunted by the thought of her carrying another man’s child. He could have loved it, accepted it as his own, but there had always been the concern in him that when she saw him with the baby she would remember that it wasn’t his.

  So he had steeled himself to wait…to be patient…until such time as she was ready to venture into the uncharted sea of marriage to a man who wasn’t her child’s father.

  And where had it got him? Nowhere, if he lost her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS two o’clock in the morning when Imogen opened her eyes. Hunched by the bed for what had seemed like an eternity of fraught vigilance, Blair felt the balm of sweet relief wash over him.

  For the first few seconds she gazed around her blankly. There was no recognition in the beautiful hazel eyes that he’d seen sparkle with both laughter and tears. They were blank and red-rimmed in the pallor of her face.

  He said her name softly and without moving her head she transferred her glance to him. He watched as she fought her way through the numb haze that she’d awakened to, and as bleak reality surfaced he reached out to take her uninjured hand in his.

  She pushed it weakly away and felt the flat plateau that was now her stomach. Her face twisted.

  ‘Where’s my baby, Blair?’ she asked through dry lips.

  ‘They couldn’t save her,’ he said gently. ‘They did their best but she was already dead when they delivered her.’

  ‘So it was a girl.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but first I’m going to ring for the nurse. You’re in Intensive Care. They’ve been in and out for hours checking on you and will want to assess you now that you’re back with us.’

  He had expected tears but there weren’t any. She was dry-eyed as she croaked. ‘I killed her! It’s my fault! I don’t care if I live or die. I shouldn’t have done what I did.’

  ‘You only did what anyone else would have done,’ he told her firmly. ‘And you’re going to live, for all our sakes—yours, mine, your father’s and Celia’s. She’s taken him home because he was in such a state.’

  Imogen wasn’t listening. Her thoughts were in some far-away place that only she could see. She was shutting him out, he thought painfully. Withdrawing into a world that had no place for him.

  As the nurses came hurrying in he stepped back into the shadows with the feeling that was where he’d been relegated to. Yet why? She was going to need him in the days ahead. It would be weeks before she was well enough to go home with all the injuries she’d sustained and with a Caesarean section on top of them.

  ‘The consultant will be back to see Dr Rossiter shortly,’ the sister in charge told him. ‘In the meantime, she needs rest.’

  Blair gave a wry smile.

  ‘In other words, you’d like me to go.’

  ‘Just for a little while.’

  ‘Imogen wants to see the baby,’ he told her, ‘and I think it’s important that she does. To say goodbye for one thing, and to help her adjust to the extremely sudden loss of it. What do you advise in her present state?’

  ‘That she is allowed to see it as soon as possible, but not yet. She
’s not up to it. When we delivered the little one there were no obvious injuries. It was just as if she was sleeping, so there would be no distress for her regarding that, but for any mother in this situation it is a heart-rending moment.

  ‘When we think she can cope with seeing the baby we will bring her to her, and later we can discuss funeral arrangements if she so wishes.’

  They’d been having the discussion in low voices away from the bed, but now Blair returned to Imogen’s side and, taking her limp hand in his, told her, ‘The consultant is coming shortly and they’ve asked me to leave for a little while. Needless to say, it won’t be for long. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say. I promised to ring your father and Celia the moment there was any news so I’ll do that on my way home. And, Imogen…’

  He paused. She was gazing up at the ceiling and he wondered if she’d heard a word he’d said. But what he had to say next brought her eyes back to him, as he’d thought it might.

  ‘They’re going to bring the baby to you soon. Have you chosen a name for her?’

  ‘Mmm. Joy.’

  He looked down at the polished floor of the ward and almost groaned out loud. Joy! Had there ever been a more joyless event than this?

  ‘Lovely,’ he told her gently, but when he raised his head it was to find that she’d closed her eyes and he was shut out once more.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ a hovering nurse told him. ‘Dr Rossiter’s still in deep shock. She will be more like herself as the healing process progresses.’

  He sighed.

  The nurse was talking about the body. His concerns were about the mind.

  When she’d opened her eyes at the bottom of the black pit that she’d kept trying to claw her way out of, Imogen had known that something dreadful had happened.

  It had felt right that Blair’s had been the first face she’d seen on awakening. She couldn’t have borne it if it had been anyone else’s. But the moment she’d touched the flatness where the baby had been she’d wanted to crawl back into the darkness and never come out again.