Second Lover

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘I’ve had enough excitement to last me the year,’ Lyn agreed. Perhaps Melissa was one of those people who took some time to relax with newcomers. It was uncommon in medicine, for friendships were usually forged quickly.

  ‘When I phoned earlier I spoke to someone else,’ Lyn went on, ‘a Dr… McKinnon?’ She decided to tease Melissa a little. ‘He had a lovely voice—very friendly.’

  Now Melissa’s voice was definitely glacial. ‘Ross McKinnon, our other specialist registrar. He had to leave.’

  ‘I’m afraid Ross is spending much of his time at a neighbouring hospital,’ Henry said, entering with a tray holding a cafetiere and three cups. Lyn noticed that there was a cloth on the tray and that they were cups and saucers, not the more usual mugs. Henry obviously didn’t like slackness.

  He went on, ‘My esteemed colleague, Dr Johnson of Everton Heights Hospital, broke his leg in a skiing accident. There was no one in his own department who could safely take over his work while he convalesced, so very charitably I lent him Dr McKinnon. However, he is still my second specialist registrar.’

  ‘It was charitable of Ross to volunteer,’ Melissa put in. ‘He’s still doing most of his work here.’

  Henry beamed at Lyn. ‘A hard-working team is a happy team,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you agree?’

  ‘I like work. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Good. Now, if you would like to sit down and drink your coffee, I’ll just go through your duties this coming fortnight. I’ve got this schedule worked out…’

  There was plenty for her to do, but not too much. Lyn felt that she’d learn here. She knew that she wanted to be a paediatric neurologist, and this was the best place in the country to become one.

  ‘Now I have a clinic downstairs,’ Henry said eventually, ‘so I will leave Melissa to show you round and introduce you to the rest of the staff here. You can shadow her for the rest of the day. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.’ With a courtly bow Henry left the room.

  ‘We’ll go and say hello to the nurse in charge first,’ Melissa said. ‘She can introduce you to the nursing staff.’

  Lyn gulped the rest of her coffee, since Melissa apparently didn’t intend to wait. However, she did intend to do her job, and as they moved down the corridor Lyn was given a clear description of where everything was.

  There was a hum, and Melissa drew out her pager. She smiled as she saw the number on it. ‘This will take a minute,’ she said to Lyn. ‘Why don’t you go to the nurse in charge’s office and introduce yourself? I’ll pick you up there.’

  Lyn did as she was told. She wondered who could have phoned Melissa, to bring so great a change in mood so quickly.

  She tapped on the office door and opened it when told to go in. Then she got the second big shock of the day. She recognised that matronly figure, that coal-black bobbed hair. ‘Merry!’ she squealed.

  The nurse in charge turned, her face at first blank, then creasing into a smile. ‘Lyn, my darling,’ she cried, ‘it’s so good to see you.’

  Lyn rushed over to hug her. There was so much to say. Who would have believed that such good friends could have stayed out of touch for months?

  ‘How’s the baby?’ Lyn started by asking. ‘I heard you had a boy, but I didn’t come… I mean…’

  ‘Nathan is now five months old and my mother-in-law is looking after the baby in the day,’ Merry said. ‘Richard and I have bought a house—in fact, it’s quite near… the flat where you used to live.’

  ‘I still live there,’ Lyn said. ‘Merry, will you come round and bring the baby one evening this week? I’d love to see him.’

  ‘And I’d love to come. We both would. I would have been before but it’s just that things have been so hectic lately, having the baby, picking up this new job and also I heard that you were… working very hard.’

  ‘I like working.’

  ‘So are you all right now?

  ‘You get used to everything, Merry. And like I said, work helps. After the first couple of months…’

  Suddenly she was aware that the door had opened behind her, that Melissa had entered the room and could be listening.

  ‘Merry and I are old friends,’ she told Melissa. For the moment she didn’t care about the registrar’s apparent coolness; she knew that her work here would be much, much easier with Merry as the nurse in charge. ‘I was a medical house officer on her ward last year—she knew more than all us new little doctors, and she helped us no end. Then she left to have her baby and we lost touch.’

  ‘We all know we’re lucky in having Merry here,’ Melissa said, and Lyn realised she meant it.

  ‘Lyn’s a good worker, Melissa,’ Merry put in. ‘I know my job will be easier with her on the ward.’

  ‘You must tell me all about it later. Now, have you time to show us round the ward, Merry? Introduce Lyn to the rest of the staff?’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure. Come on, Lyn.’

  As the three of them moved out of the office Lyn caught a shrewd glance from Melissa. She wondered what the registrar had overheard, what she suspected. One thing was certain: Merry wouldn’t tell her anything.

  The neurology department consisted of two main wards holding a variety of children from neonates to nearly mature fifteen-year-olds. Everyone seemed to be kept busy—there were plenty of parents and she saw a teacher giving a bedridden girl a lesson in geography. The rooms were bright, cheerful, the walls covered with pictures, many of them home drawn. The fact that this was a hospital ward was played down.

  Lyn knew, of course, that there would be other neurological patients, especially the post-operative ones, in the intensive therapy unit. There they would be specialled: kept under twenty-four-hour surveillance by highly skilled nurses and technicians, and monitored by a variety of electronic devices.

  ‘It’s part of Henry’s policy that our patients are always referred to by their names,’ Melissa said. ‘If he hears you referring to the Bell’s palsy in bed five, then you’re in trouble. Bed five is occupied by Katie Plant, who happens to have Bell’s palsy. She’s a person, not a disease.’

  Lyn thought of other consultants she had met, and said forcefully, ‘Good, I agree.’

  Melissa was obviously efficient. She introduced Lyn to each patient, chatted for a while, and then gave Lyn a brief but adequate account of the child’s condition. The tour was too soon over.

  ‘Think you’re going to enjoy working here?’ Melissa asked at the end of the tour.

  ‘Yes,’ Lyn said with much determination. ‘I am.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Three days later Lyn was firmly settled into the job. The work was absorbing, far more specialised than it had been in the general medical and surgical wards where she had done her house officer’s job

  When she had asked him, Henry had suggested three or four textbooks she should buy, and only when she pressed him did he admit that perhaps the book he had written might help her. ‘It has gone through several editions,’ he murmured. ‘People appear to find it some use.’

  ‘I’m afraid I shall have to ask you for a week off in a few months’ time,’ Lyn told him. ‘I’ll need to revise. I’ve already started studying for the Part One of the MRCS examination. I’d like to pass it first time.’

  Henry peered at her. ‘There’s no shame in failing,’ he told her. ‘Some people take the exam dozens of times.’

  ‘A lot pass it first time. It may be arrogant, but I want to be part of that number.’

  ‘You may well be successful. I hope so. I approve of ambition if it is backed up by hard work.’

  Now, no matter how tired she was, Lyn spent at least an hour every night reading up on the work she had done in the day and studying for the exam.

  Her daily work was not too different from the work of an ordinary house officer. Much of it was not really medicine; it was organisation. She acted as the buffer between the patients, the parents, the laboratories, the theatres, the nurses, and the GP’s. There were a thousand
forms, requisitions, orders, requests to be filled in. When Henry or one of his specialist registrars came on the ward, they expected all the details of a patient, all the examinations, bloods, X-rays, scans, to be immediately to hand. It was hard work but she could see the point of it, and it was fun.

  And there was always the clerking, the taking of the details of a new patient, the examination and the formation of her own diagnosis. Of course, she would never offer her opinion unless asked; the senior doctors diagnosed. But it was fun trying.

  Amy Cross was just six weeks old. Her midwife and then her doctor had been troubled and she had been referred to Lizzie’s for examination. As usual Lyn started by trying to make the mother relax. Henry had told her early on that the golden rule of paediatric examination was that the mother was always right until she was proved wrong. ‘The mother has observed for all of a baby’s life. Her intuition is to be trusted.’

  Mrs Cross was a plainly dressed but obviously determined woman. Lyn felt that she was a good, concerned parent. ‘I’ve had two already,’ Mrs Cross said, ‘both girls, and neither of them like Amy. Ever since she was born she’s been—well, different.’

  ‘Ever since she was born? Was she like the others when she was still in the womb?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I could feel her kicking—kicking hard; I thought she was going to be a boy. And it wasn’t a hard birth. But then…’

  ‘How is she different?’ Lyn queried.

  ‘Well, the others were never still. Wriggling, crying, like babies are supposed to be. But Amy is just the opposite. She lies there and is no trouble at all, except that she’s a poor feeder. And that’s different from the other two. At first I thought I’d got a good baby at last, but then it started to worry me. I think I’d rather be disturbed a bit. And her head. I know baby’s heads are supposed to be big, but…’

  ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ Lyn said.

  She knew the minute she saw baby Amy. The head was enlarged—almost the same circumference as the chest. When she looked at the skull she saw the dilated veins, shiny skin, and bulging fontanelle. The separate bones of the skull should be knitting by now, but baby Amy’s weren’t. Carefully Lyn picked up the baby. Amy’s eyes opened and Lyn saw what she had suspected: the sunset sign. Amy couldn’t look upwards.

  ‘She’s got water on the brain, hasn’t she, Doctor?’ Mrs Cross’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but Lyn could detect the terror behind it.

  It was always difficult, trying to decide what to say to questions like this. The latest received opinion was that parents were entitled to know everything. However, some of them didn’t want to know.

  Choosing her words carefully, Lyn said, ‘The signs do suggest that Amy has hydrocephalus—what you call water on the brain. We won’t know for certain until we’ve sent her for a scan but I should tell you that the diagnosis is likely to be positive.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’

  Once again she had to be careful. ‘We can treat the hydrocephalus. What the surgeon will do is probably put in a shunt—that’s a thin tube that will drain the excessive fluid out of the cranial cavity and lead it into the jugular vein.’

  ‘And then she’ll be all right?’

  ‘Well, the tube will have to be replaced as Amy gets older and bigger, when she’s eighteen months old and perhaps a couple of times after that. But it’s not a big operation.’

  ‘So everything will be all right?’

  Lyn thought Mrs Cross had had enough bad news for one day. About one third of children with hydrocephalus managed to live normal, happy lives. Some died, some were mentally impaired. ‘We’ll just have to see,’ she said, ‘but there is cause for hope.’

  Mrs Cross started to weep, silently, recognising that Lyn was sparing her. ‘Let me fetch you a coffee,’ Lyn said.

  Merry was in her room when Lyn walked in. ‘I don’t like it when I have to tell a mother that her child probably has hydrocephalus,’ she said angrily.

  ‘You’d have liked it even less a few years ago,’ Merry said calmly. ‘Then you would have said that the child had hydrocephalus and was certain to die. She’s not certain to die now.’

  Lyn stood silent for a minute. Then she went and hugged her friend. ‘You’re good for me, Merry,’ she said.

  She was in the doctors’ room, busily writing up her notes, when the door opened behind her. ‘And this must be Dr Lyn Webster, chaser of stolen babies,’ she heard a voice say.

  She recognised the voice at once, and it sounded even better than it had on the phone. That odd caressing tone was even more obvious. It wasn’t a deep voice, but it was gentle and she felt that she’d pay more attention to a whisper from this man than to a shout from someone else.

  She turned, desperately hoping that the rest of the man would live up to the voice, that he wouldn’t be a disappointment.

  He wasn’t.

  His eyes were blue, a deep, dark, intense blue. They fixed on her as if he knew what she was thinking, as if they could penetrate her very soul. And as he looked at her his eyes widened, in shock. He too didn’t know what was happening, just as she didn’t. She felt spellbound by the blueness of those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes.

  This had never happened to her before! Both were silent. The little doctors’ room with its table, magazines, and easy chairs, seemed distant, as if the two of them were in a different dimension. All they could do was look at each other.

  It was Lyn who spoke first. She managed to mutter something about being Dr Webster, he must be Dr McKinnon. He didn’t reply. She was glad; she wasn’t ready for a conversation yet.

  She looked at the rest of him. He was big, shaggy, and comfortable. Apart from the glorious eyes his face was pleasant, not too striking. His dark hair was a little longer than fashionable, his mouth wide and generous, showing good, even teeth. Somehow the face suggested he was everyone’s friend, and she guessed that children would warm to him.

  He was a sizeable man, with broad shoulders and big hands, but his size wasn’t threatening. He was leaning comfortably against the wall, dressed casually in dark clothes. Just a pleasant-looking man, but those eyes…

  What woman wouldn’t kill for eyes like that? She’d had nothing to do with men since… since then. Suddenly she was brought up short, shocked, and a little frightened at the intensity of her own feelings. This wasn’t her! With a desperate effort she collected herself.

  ‘Your help was…’ There was something wrong with her voice; it was too high. She stopped, coughed, tried again. ‘Your help was much appreciated when I phoned,’ she said. ‘I was unsure, and even today I realise I could have been making a complete fool of myself.’

  He seemed happy to think about this. ‘You did what was exactly right. You suspected, but checked first. I wish all doctors would follow those two simple rules.’

  Like her he was trying to find refuge in normality. Or did he not feel what had leaped between them, like some unearthed bolt of electricity? She couldn’t believe it; she knew he had felt it. But for the moment they would play the game of being two new colleagues, getting to know each other, being suitably polite.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ he asked. ‘Are you enjoying the work?’

  ‘Very much so. There’s a lot to learn. It’s taking time but I’m enjoying learning.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’ Their conversation was stilted, but she didn’t care.

  ‘Anyway, I thought you were at Everton Heights Hospital, filling in for someone.’ She was trying desperately to keep what she said normal, pretending that nothing had happened.

  ‘I am. But I have a little flat here at the hospital where I live, and last night Melissa rang me with a query about Alice Tennant, one of her patients. I thought I’d drop in and have a look.’

  ‘Alice Tennant,’ Lyn said. ‘Cheerful little girl, seven years old, got Guillain-Barre syndrome.’

  Ross looked at her with renewed respect. ‘You’ve only been in here three days and you know the patients. T
hat’s good. Tell me about this syndrome.’

  ‘Inflammation of nerves, probably viral in origin,’ Lyn said promptly. ‘Alice started with just muscular pains in her thighs, the pains spread and then she started to get weaker. That’s when she was referred to us. Now she’s getting weaker, cranial nerve paralysis is setting in and she’s having difficulty swallowing. I know Melissa thinks that the paralysis will get worse and now it’s affecting her breathing…’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d arrived, Ross. One of the nurses told me you were on the ward.’

  Melissa had entered, cool as ever. Lyn wondered if Ross had picked up on the tiny touch of sharpness in her voice. Then there was the make-up, applied with rather more than the usual care, and the dress which was far too expensive for a hospital ward.

  ‘Just arrived. I was saying hello to our new recruit before coming to find you.’

  ‘D’you want to see Alice? Lyn looked at her this morning but I’ll get Merry and you can examine her yourself.’ Melissa was determined to be businesslike.

  Ross shook his head. ‘No point in making Alice suffer unnecessarily. We’ll hear what Lyn has to say; she’s here to learn. Then we’ll have a quick case conference. By the way, Melissa, are the legs still stiff?’

  ‘I can certainly still feel them.’ Obviously Melissa was pleased by the question. She turned to Lyn and said, ‘Ross and I went away walking for the weekend—this man is a maniac for walking up mountains. London parks aren’t good enough for him. Did you ever meet such people?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lyn. ‘I’ve met such people.’

  But Melissa wasn’t paying attention. ‘What did we climb, Ross? That spikey thing? Tryffan?’

  ‘Tryffan,’ said Ross, getting the soft Welsh pronunciation exactly right.

  ‘It’s a good walk,’ said Lyn, forgetting for the moment. ‘Did you get up onto the Glyders, or go straight down again?’

  Too late she realised she’d betrayed herself. There was Melissa’s cold glance, and awakening interest in Ross’s eyes. ‘Are you a mountain walker?’ he asked.