Second Lover

by Gill Sanderson

  ‘But you’re still upset,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Perhaps... I thought you should...’

  ‘I shall be upset if you don’t come to bed,’ she interrupted. ‘Please take off that towel.’

  He did. For a moment she had a sight of him naked, making clear his need for her. Then he slipped in beside her. He smelled of French Fern, her expensive soap, and it was strange to smell it on someone else. She felt his leg touch hers, the weight of his body pull at the duvet.

  ‘Sit up and drink your wine,’ she said. ‘I’m going to enjoy mine.’ She sat up in bed and handed him a glass.

  It was a good wine; she had bought half a dozen bottles a few days previously, wanting to have something special for the next time he should call. She had not expected anything like this though. He sat up too, and they drank sitting hip to hip as she enjoyed each rich mouthful.

  It was both intimate and companionable. There was no way she could sit up in bed and pretend to be modest, so she was not going to try to hold the duvet under her chin. From the waist up he could see her and she revelled in the joy it gave her, and the knowledge of the passion it was rousing in him.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve just a spoonful of wine left... but I don’t want to drink it out of my glass.’ Carefully he leaned over and poured just a little of the rich red liquid on the slope of each breast. She shivered at the unexpected coolness as the wine ran down to the roughness of her nipples.

  ‘I said I wanted to drink it,’ said Ross. He leaned over her, took her glass from her, and pushed her backwards. Then, delicately, he touched each tiny rivulet of wine with his tongue, and she shivered again, but this time with delight at the warmth of him. The shiver turned into a gasp as he took each now burgeoning peak into his mouth, sucking, caressing, and even biting her so gently.

  Her arms wrapped round his neck. ‘Love me,’ she murmured. ‘Love me.’

  Perhaps they were both more tired than they realised. Their love-making was more languorous than before. It was important to get to know each other, to feel each other’s body, to know once again that it was more rewarding to give pleasure than to receive it. Their final joint climax was not the peak of ecstasy that it had been before, but rather something that they knew was coming and could meet together. She held him, kissed him, and as their bodies met and shuddered she knew that this was togetherness far beyond the physical. This man was hers, just as she was his. They must always be together.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lyn was a doctor, she was used to going without sleep. But next morning she wouldn’t have stirred if Ross hadn’t tried to slide quietly out of bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she mumbled sleepily. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’

  He bent over to kiss her forehead. ‘I’m going to work. And as I told you, you’re going to take the morning off. There’ll be no problem; I’ll fill in for you.’

  ‘But I feel fine! I don’t need to take...’

  He pressed her gently back. ‘Doctor’s orders. I think you need to take things easy for a few hours more. Come in at lunchtime—by then there should be some news about Doug. Do you want to go and get into your own bed?’

  ‘No. I’ve been so happy here.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Will you come and kiss me again before you go?’

  ‘Nothing will stop me. In fact, I’m tempted to...’

  She stretched out her arms to him.

  ‘I’m going,’ he said with groan, ‘but it’s hard.’ The warm naked body next to hers slipped away.

  She was going to do as he said; she was going to stay in bed. She wasn’t exactly ill, and happily there was no bruising where Doug had slapped her. But she felt as if she needed a rest from the constant need to make decisions, about her own life as well as about her patients. Decisions were hard, painful, so she would sleep and for a while she could put them off. And she had been so happy in this hastily thrown-together bed.

  Dimly she heard him moving about her flat, the hiss of the shower, the clang of the kettle. Then he was back with her again, a mug of tea for her in his hand.

  ‘You smell of my soap again,’ she said when he leaned over her. ‘It’s rather nice.’

  ‘It’ll make me think of you through the morning,’ he said.

  When he tried to kiss her on the forehead again she grabbed him, and for a brief while pulled him onto the warmth of her body. ‘Last night was wonderful,’ she said. ‘Now you’d better go before I wake up properly. Otherwise you’ll never be off.’

  He kissed her properly then, allowing his hands to roam over her naked shoulders, her back, holding her close to him. Then he stood. ‘Not before lunchtime,’ he growled.

  ‘I’ll do as you say.’ And she would. As the door clicked shut behind him she closed her eyes again. For another two or three hours she would sleep, dreaming of the happiness that had been hers, and forgetting the world where there were bleak decisions to make.

  In the end she just couldn’t do it. She did sleep for far longer than usual, but then she had to get up. She tidied the living room, sadly putting away the sheets that had made their impromptu double bed. Then there were the books and other things that Doug had brought out. She went next door to where Ross had neatly stacked them and made a decision. They would all have to go. She would wait till Doug was recovered, offer him whatever he wanted of them, and throw away the rest. And she would not store them for him. They were going to be out of her life for good.

  When the flat was to her liking, she made herself more tea and had a bath. A bath in the morning was a small treat; usually there was only time for a quick shower.

  But once in the bath she had to face up to what she had been doing. Thinking about Doug had only been a displacement activity. She had made her decision; he was no longer a problem for her. Now she had to consider what to do about Ross. This was the vital decision she had to take. She loved him. Should she tell him she was willing to go to Peru with him? Perhaps, if you were in love, you should make sacrifices. She knew how he could make her so happy; why should she not seize on that happiness? And then she thought of the misery she had suffered—admittedly, at the hands of someone entirely different. But would she ever be able to sit contentedly at home, knowing that the man she loved was deliberately risking his life? There was no smart answer to her questions.

  She sighed, drank her tea and got out of the bath.

  ‘I’ve had a rest,’ she told him as she came onto the ward. ‘I feel a lot better but now I think I need to work.’

  He looked at her expressionlessly. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to clerk Jessica Nicholls, aged five. She’s just come in. Jessica is doing fine; she’s comforting her mother who is a nervous wreck.’

  ‘Fine.’ This wasn’t an uncommon situation. ‘I’ll get on with it at once. Er, when will you...?’

  ‘I’ve had a phone call from Malcolm. He’ll have the results of most of the tests by one o’clock, and he promised to phone me again then. Meet me for lunch at quarter past?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said, ‘but not at the pub. Can we simply go down to the canteen?’

  ‘Certainly. But it’ll make people talk. You won’t be able to hold my hand under the table.’

  ‘I will if I want to,’ she said stoutly. ‘I’ll see you down there. I’ll get you a salad or something.’

  ‘Don’t you think that I’m entitled to something a bit more substantial?’ he asked, and smiled when she blushed.

  ‘I’ll go and do my clerking,’ she said.

  She could tell that the news was good—well, at least not bad—as he walked towards her in the canteen.

  ‘Malcolm told me to take notes,’ he said as he sat opposite her, pulling out a notebook. ‘He said word of mouth wasn’t accurate enough.’

  ‘Never mind the full diagnosis,’ she said impatiently, ‘just tell me—is he going to be all right?’

  ‘Is it important to you?’

  With a tiny touch of pleasure she wondere
d if he was just slightly jealous. ‘It’s very important to me,’ she said. ‘If he’s seriously ill then I suppose I have some responsibilities towards him. He’s got no one else. But I want him well so he can get out of my life for ever.’

  ‘That’s a bit hard,’ he suggested.

  ‘Sometimes you need to be hard. Otherwise people take advantage of you. Never again! I intend...’

  Suddenly she heard what she was saying, and realised what conclusions he might draw. ‘Ross, you know I was talking about Doug and... Gavin, don’t you? I wasn’t talking about you.’

  He smiled, reached over, and rubbed her forearm. ‘I know that. And I think that you’re still a little shocked by the events of last night. But back to Doug: yes, Malcolm thinks he is probably going to be all right. Doug’s had an MRI scan and also a blood test. The blood test was interesting, because it showed a very high concentration of leucocytes.’

  ‘Leucocytes? They’re the body’s way of fighting infection. That suggests there is some inflammation somewhere, but where?’

  ‘Think,’ he suggested. No sign of any kind of abscess on the body. So?’

  ‘Something internal.’ She knew that abscesses could form almost anywhere in the body. ‘And with the strange behaviour it would probably be the brain.’

  ‘Quite right. Doug has a tropical cerebral abscess, on the right frontal lobe of the brain. That Australian doctor was right in his suspicions, but he thought Doug’s behaviour change might have been brought on by the lesions caused when he fell off that rock face. He just didn’t have the facilities to do all the tests he wanted to.’

  ‘So what will Malcolm do?’

  ‘First he’ll drill through the skull and put a drain in, to get rid of the pus. He’ll put Doug on a course of antibiotics to get rid of the infection, which might even be caused by tuberculosis. With any luck Doug will recover when the pressure is removed. If he doesn’t, then Malcolm will operate and cut out the abscess. But he thinks that when he’s finished that everything will be all right, Doug will be back to normal.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said. Just for once she was seeing medicine from the outside, and she felt so grateful for what it could do.

  Ross was still interested in Doug. ‘What d’you think he’ll do when he’s discharged?’ he asked.

  ‘Doug will be off,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where but somewhere. He’ll be embarrassed about how he treated me and he won’t want to see me again. I decided this morning to tell him that he can take any of Gavin’s things, and those he doesn’t want I’m going to throw out.’

  ‘Is that a symbolic action?

  ‘No,’ she said with certainty, ‘it’s a practical one. I need the room. Now, there’s something else we have to discuss.’

  He looked at her in mock alarm. ‘When you become businesslike you do it properly,’ he said. ‘This super-efficient Lyn is a new creature.’

  ‘No, she’s not. I’m always like this. Now concentrate! Last night you were supposed to be my guest, and I was to take you to dinner at the local wine bar. I was going to dress up a bit and we were going to have a good bottle of wine, with a pleasant meal and a chat. In general we were going to have a civilised and enjoyable evening. Instead of which we had a fight, a trip to the hospital, and fish and chips.’

  ‘I enjoyed the fish and chips. And what came afterwards.’

  ‘Don’t try to make me blush, it won’t work. Well, only a bit. Now, I felt cheated out of my evening yesterday. So may I take you to dinner this evening?’

  ‘I’ll be at your flat at eight.’

  Perhaps it was the contrast with the troubles of the night before. But for some reason everything seemed perfect with their evening. She wore the red dress she had put out ready. In it she felt both smart and attractive, and she noted the glances from women as well as men as she walked into the wine bar.

  Ross had arrived carrying a bunch of lilies and she loved the long stalks, the fragile blooms. They had walked down, to be given a secluded corner banquette. The food and drink had been superlative, and the thick Rioja had been the right wine to drink with their tender steaks. The service had been unobtrusive but effective.

  ‘Altogether, a wonderful meal,’ Ross said as the waiter put a pot of coffee before them.

  ‘Not finished yet,’ she countered. ‘We’ll have something with this. Brandy or something a bit sweet?’ They settled for Glayva, the Scotch liqueur.

  ‘You’ve got an expression on your face that’s making me wary,’ he said as he settled himself comfortably in the banquette. ‘You look as if you’re going to make a speech, but you’re not quite sure how to start. I hope it’s going to be something nice.’

  She was shocked that she was so transparent. But then, this man now knew her better than anyone she’d ever met. He could feel her moods, react to them. They were so close!

  ‘I think it’s something nice,’ she said, ‘but it’s only half formed and I’m still not sure what I mean or how to say it.’

  He said nothing, but leaned over as he so often did, and stroked her wrist.

  ‘It’s about us,’ she said, ’and what you told me about the job in Peru. Now, I know there’s quite a lot of time before you have to make up your mind, and all kinds of things might happen before then. And I think we need a breathing space. We’ll go on working together, seeing each other, but not making decisions.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ he agreed. ‘What I think we feel for each other—we don’t want to rush it.’

  ‘I told you that I wouldn’t go with you. Not under any circumstances. Well, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided that that was giving you an ultimatum. I don’t want to threaten you, Ross. We’ll wait and see—but I’d be far happier with you in Peru than without you in England. If you want me to go, I will.’

  He was about to speak but she overrode him. ‘And,’ she said, ‘it would be my decision. I would never say you had talked me into anything, or persuaded me to do something I didn’t want.’ She sipped her Glayva. ‘I want to stay with you always, Ross. I love you.’

  It wasn’t like Henry. Lyn had phoned him that morning, asking him to come down to the ward to check on one of his cases, Annette Dowling, a little girl whose temperature remained obstinately high. Her condition hadn’t been too serious, but Lyn had wanted an expert opinion. Henry had come three hours later, and Lyn and Merry had accompanied him as he’d looked at the little girl, pursed his lips, and written out an altered prescription. ‘With any luck this should do it,’ he said. ‘She’s been here long enough. Now I think that should do for today.’

  ‘If you have a minute I’d like you to have a look at young Harry Edmonds,’ Lyn suggested. ‘I’m just a bit worried—’

  ‘I know the case,’ Henry interrupted. ‘Unless there’s been a radical change in condition there’s no need to worry, he’ll keep till tomorrow morning.’

  Lyn was a little surprised at this. Henry was usually only too pleased to discuss a case with her. But he had been offhand with both her and Merry, polite, of course, but not appearing to pay much attention to what they were saying. Or, indeed, to his patient. Not like the ever-enthusiastic Henry at all.

  Perhaps he realised this. As Merry walked away he turned to Lyn and said, ‘I feel a little out of sorts today. The hospital manager is a decent chap, but getting extra funding out of him is harder than finding a collapsed vein. I’ve had a stressful week.’

  Henry complaining about stress? she thought. Usually he thrives on it. But she said, ‘I suppose all the other departmental heads are looking for extra money too?’

  ‘As ever.’ Henry stood with his head bent. ‘Lyn, I’ll just run over these files in the doctors’ room. I wonder if I could ask you to fetch me a cup of coffee. I do feel the need of some kind of pick-me-up.’

  Stranger and stranger. Henry had never asked anyone to fetch his coffee, not even the most junior nurse. But she was happy to oblige.

  For various reasons the little doctor
s’ room on the ward wasn’t much used. Mostly they congregated in Merry’s room, which was where the coffee was made. But if Henry wanted his coffee in the doctors’ room, he should have it. Lyn made two coffees, and took them along.

  ‘I’ve brought myself a drink as well,’ she said cheerfully as she kneed open the door. ‘But if you want to work in quiet... Henry!’

  Her voice rose to a shriek. Henry was sitting, slumped forward over the table, his right hand grasping his chest. His face was pale and clammy; she could hear his rapid breathing. And from his tortured expression it was obvious that he was in agony. But he hadn’t lost consciousness and he was still a doctor. ‘Heart, Lyn,’ he gasped. ‘It’s my heart.’

  Lyn looked back in the corridor, saw a passing junior nurse. ‘Get the nurse in charge in here now,’ she snapped. ‘This is an emergency.’

  Then she turned, took Henry’s wrist, and noted the rapid pulse. She was almost certain that Henry was right. He was suffering a coronary thrombosis—a heart attack. It was one of the commonest causes of death in older men. One of the arteries leading to the heart had become blocked, probably by a thrombus, or clot.

  The pain would be intense. Even a doctor needed comfort, encouragement, and sympathy at a time like this. Lyn put her arm round Henry, eased him back in his chair and supported his feet. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said calmly. ‘We’ll get help, we’ll get something for the pain and you’ll be fine.’

  Somehow Henry managed to joke. ‘Of course I will.’

  Merry bustled into the room. ‘I think Henry’s had a coronary,’ Lyn said quietly. ‘Can you ring down to the chest section? I know they don’t usually deal with adults, but they probably know more about it than we do.’

  Merry took the situation calmly—that was what made her such a good nurse in charge. And she knew everybody in the hospital. She lifted the telephone. ‘Matt Roberts is consultant there, he’ll be able... Hello, Sister? Alice? Oh, good. Look, we think we have an emergency coronary... no, not a patient, it’s Henry Birkinshaw, our consultant, we’re in the doctors’ room in Neurology... Who have you got handy? Great... thirty seconds.’