‘We’re in luck,’ she muttered to Lyn. ‘Matt Roberts himself is on his way up.’
She looked at Henry with an expert’s eye. ‘Thank goodness he hasn’t arrested. But we could always manage mouth to mouth and cardiac massage if necessary.’
It wasn’t unusual after a coronary thrombosis for the heart to stop entirely. However, prompt action could keep the patient alive.
The door banged open, and in came the white-coated figure of Matt Roberts. ‘Causing trouble again, Henry? Let’s have a look at you.’ He bent over Henry’s resting figure, then turned and looked at Lyn questioningly.
‘He was working until five minutes ago,’ Lyn said, ‘though he did say that he didn’t feel too good. I went to fetch him a coffee and when I came back he was like this. I haven’t examined him or offered any treatment.’
‘Good.’ There was a rattle outside the door, and someone tapped. ‘That’ll be my trolley,’ Matt said. ‘I’ve found a full-sized one. I’ve got a side ward he can go into temporarily—I want him where I can stabilise him.’
The trolley was pushed in by a burly male nurse, and he helped Matt lift Henry onto it. ‘Down to my ward and we’ll get you some morphine and oxygen,’ Matt said gently to Henry. ‘You’ll feel a lot easier then. Later on we’ll sort out some thrombolytic drugs.’ Henry apparently tried to whisper something, and Matt leaned over to listen.
‘Don’t worry, Henry. The department will be fine without you, the work’ll be done. I’ll get someone to fetch in one of your SRs.’
He looked questioningly at Lyn. ‘I think Ross McKinnon is in his room,’ she said, ‘but I know both SRs will want to be informed.’
‘Leave it to you then. Come on, Henry. You’re going for a ride.’ The door banged open again, and the trolley was carefully manoeuvred out.
‘Please,’ Lyn called out desperately after them, ‘will you let us...?’
‘We’ll call as soon as there’s any news. Don’t worry; this is serious but not dangerous yet.’ The trolley was hastened down the corridor.
‘You’ve had a shock,’ Merry said practically. ‘For that matter, so have I. It’s always hard for a doctor when it’s someone you know. Come on, we’ll sit down ourselves for ten minutes. We deserve it.’
‘I’ll phone Ross first,’ Lyn said. Merry was right. She felt sick, and upset.
This was a side of Ross that she had never seen before.
He was efficient. First he came to the ward to see if there was anything that needed his attention urgently. Then he phoned the hospital manager and said that they would need additional senior staff for a while, could they arrange a prompt meeting with Matt Roberts? He would contact Melissa and should he fetch Henry’s wife? Martyn Lennard came down and visited the ward, then disappeared in search of Ross.
Shortly afterwards Melissa phoned the ward, she was on her way into hospital to see Henry, but would Lyn page her if she was needed urgently? ‘We can’t lose Henry,’ she said. ‘I... we need him. He’s always been there for me. I’m going to phone my dad.’
Lyn was rather surprised. Melissa had always seemed calm, self-contained, and rather cool. But her voice on the phone was decidedly shaky. Melissa was very upset.
‘He’s going to be all right,’ Lyn said. ‘Matt Roberts got to him very quickly. He phoned up after half an hour and said Henry was stabilised and more comfortable, that there was no immediate danger.’
‘What about long term?’ Melissa asked.
Lyn had no answer. Both of them knew how dangerous a heart attack could be to a man of Henry’s age.
There was still the general work of the ward to be done, and at the end of the afternoon Ross came in to see her. She followed him into the doctors’ office and hugged him when they were alone inside. She thought he needed to be hugged as much as she did. Usually his face was calm, amiable, but now it showed obvious lines of stress.
‘Been a hard afternoon,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Henry.’
‘Matt Roberts did a super job stabilising him, but this is a paediatric hospital. An ambulance has taken Henry to a hospital for adults, Melissa’s father has come in and taken charge of him. So far the prognosis is good. But I wish it hadn’t happened.’
‘Why Henry?’ Lyn asked wearily. ‘He doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t eat or drink too much, he isn’t overweight, and he plays golf regularly. What more could he do? It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘It isn’t fair. But Henry did two things wrong. Firstly he worked far too hard—he was under pressure. And secondly he had parents who both died of a heart attack. Another fifteen years and we might know which genes are responsible for the condition. But not yet.’
‘When can I see him?’
‘I suggest tomorrow afternoon some time. His wife’s with him now, but he’s pretty groggy. I doubt he’ll even know it’s you.’
Ross stood, then, to her surprise, leaned over and kissed her. ‘I’m acting consultant for a while,’ he said, ‘and there’s plenty of work. Perhaps I won’t see as much of you as I’d wish. But I want you to know that when I’m not working I’m thinking of you. Often I even think of you when I am working.’
‘That’s lovely to know,’ she told him.
She did visit Henry the next day. He recognised her, she knew, but he said little. She sat with him for a while, chatted about work on the ward, and then left. As she walked down the corridor she saw the theatre-greens clad figure of Sir Sidney bounding towards her. ‘Lyn! Good to see you.’
‘Sir Sidney. Good to see you too. You’re looking after my boss.’
‘Of course I am; we medical men have to stick together. Now, look, I’m in a hurry as usual, but there’s something you need to know. If you can, bring a bit of pressure to bear. I don’t like saying this but Henry must not go back to working as he was. I’m telling his friends and colleagues because I know what Henry’s like. Persuade him and keep in touch!’ And Sir Sidney was off.
She had guessed this would be the case, but to hear it said so authoritatively by Sir Sidney rather upset her. Henry loved his work, and would hate to lose it.
Four days later Ross rang her. Because of his increased workload they had not had chance to meet again, but he phoned her for a chat every night and she loved it. This was something different. ‘Henry wants to see us both tonight,’ he said. ‘Says it’s important. Can you meet me at the hospital about eight?’
‘Easily. He is all right?’
Ross chuckled. ‘All too much all right. He asked for some hospital files to be brought in so he could check them. Sir Sidney had to forbid it. Now, after we’ve met Henry can we forget everything we’ve got to do and go for a meal?’
‘Would you like another take-away? More fish and chips in my flat?’ She might as well be brazen. ‘You could stay the night if you wanted.’
‘That I would love. See you at eight then.’
She replaced the receiver, smiling faintly. That was forward, she thought to herself approvingly.
Henry was much better. He was sitting up in bed, a sweater visible rather than pyjamas, with books stacked on his cabinet. His face was alert but Lyn thought she could detect signs of the ordeal he had been through. There were new lines by his eyes, perhaps a downturn to his mouth, but his voice was as firm as ever.
‘It’s good to see you both,’ he said. ‘Sir Sidney has been in to tell me that I must not try to run my department from this hospital bed, but just for once I’m going to defy him.’
He looked round at the little side ward and said quietly, ‘I think every doctor should spend some time as a patient. It gives you a new perspective on things.’
Lyn realised then just what a shock he had received.
‘However...’ Henry’s voice was stronger ‘...Sir Sidney, as usual, has been more than forthright. He tells me that there is damage to the muscles of the heart, that if I try to resume work he guarantees I’ll be dead within a year.’
To hear it put so bluntly shocked Lyn. But she knew it was certa
inly right.
‘I have heard it said that men under sentence of death speak truly,’ Henry went on. ‘I am not under sentence of death, but I have thought about what I am going to say. Ross, I can no longer be Consultant Neurosurgeon to St Elizabeth’s. Who is going to take my place? There are not too many senior paediatric neurosurgeons available, and, of them all, you are the best. Ross, if you don’t take up this place you will be failing in what you know to be your duty.’
Lyn gulped. She had never heard Henry talk this way before.
Neither apparently had Ross. ‘Henry, this is emotional blackmail,’ he said.
‘Blackmail, certainly. But not emotional. You know as well as I do the neurosurgeons who will apply for my job. Can you name me one person who would be as good as you? I expect you to be honest.’
Fascinated, Lyn watched Ross’s face. She could almost detect the thoughts that swirled through his mind, the power of Henry’s argument, the list of possible candidates considered and then rejected, perhaps some disappointment. Then, ‘You know I was thinking of going to Peru for a couple of years,’ he said.
‘I do. Medically, you will be more use here. If you stay with us we will use money given to the department by Sheikh bin Hameed to offer a scholarship to a Peruvian from the hospital to come and train to be a doctor. Ultimately, a full-time doctor would be more use to them than you would be for just two years.’
‘More blackmail!’
‘Certainly. In my own way I am a very unscrupulous man.’ Henry looked entirely satisfied with himself. ‘Now I know this is all most unfair, but I would like you to think about what I have said. Incidentally, Martyn Lennard knows about this and agrees with me.’
Once again Lyn studied Ross’s face. She hadn’t had time fully to take in all that had been said, but she was desperate to hear what he would say.
For a while he said nothing. Both Lyn and Henry watched him, and Lyn thought Henry slumped a little in the bed. Then, ‘You can sleep easy, Henry,’ Ross said. ‘I’ll apply for the position when it comes vacant, and, if I get it, I hope I’ll be as successful, and as cunning as you. I’m thinking of settling down anyway.’
‘You could always spend a couple of months in Peru when you’ve got established,’ Henry said. ‘Now, I’m feeling a bit tired. Call on me again?’
The London streets were crowded as they walked out of the hospital gates. ‘I think you need a drink,’ Lyn said. ‘You’ve had something of a shock.’
‘I agree. That looks a quiet pub over there.’
She sat him in a quiet corner and fetched two double malt whiskies.
‘You’ve told Henry that you won’t go abroad,’ she said, ‘and I know how much you wanted to. Are you doing this partly for me?’
He grinned, wryly. ‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘I know what Henry says is right. Without being too egotistic, I am the best man for the job. It would be wrong of me to take skills abroad that can never be used there.’
He sipped his whisky. ‘But there again, I meant it when I said I was thinking of settling down. I’m fed up with my cramped room, with meals wherever I can find them, with living out of a suitcase. I want a house in the suburbs, a wife to come home to and two-point-four children. I’ll be more than happy with that.’ He paused, then said, ‘I love you, Lyn; will you marry me?’
‘Of course I will,’ she said.
EPILOGUE
SHE was happy of course, ecstatically happy. But just because he had asked her to marry him that didn’t mean all their problems were at an end. They sat silently in the pub for a while, content to do nothing but hold hands. Then she took him back to her flat.
On the way they bought fish and chips again, but before they did he stopped at a supermarket and bought a bottle of champagne. ‘You must drink white wine with fish,’ he told her gravely. And then, shortly afterwards, they sat naked together on the bed she had made again on the carpet. They drank the last glass of champagne by candlelight.
She was sitting with her back to him, leaning against his chest, feeling his hand stroking her hair, her shoulders. ‘What do we do next?’ she asked.
‘There’s plenty to do. As soon as possible I want to go to see your parents; they should know first. Then we’ll tell everybody else, and I suppose we should put an announcement in the papers. There’s an engagement ring to buy, letters to write, decisions we’ve got to make. When d’you want to get married, Lyn?
‘Tomorrow. When do you want to get married?’
‘As soon as possible. But we can’t manage tomorrow; it’ll have to be the weekend.’ He sipped his wine, pressed a still damp kiss on the back of her neck. ‘There’s Christmas coming and then the New Year. I wonder if...?’
‘Ross, this is going to take an awful lot of managing. Shall we just live together?’
He knew she didn’t mean it. ‘You want the full works, don’t you: white dress, church, marquee in the garden, lots of friends? Can we get married in your parents’ village? I’d really like that.’
She thought he’d read her mind. ‘That’s just what I want! You know I was engaged before. Well, Gavin talked about two friends and a registry office, or somewhere on a mountaintop. I don’t want that; I want...’
She stopped, listening to what she was saying. ‘Sorry! I shouldn’t have said that. And we have to decide these things between us.’
‘Well, I agree with you entirely. And I don’t want you to stop talking about Gavin; he was part of your life.’
‘You’re a kind man,’ she said. ‘I’m so lucky you love me. Now let’s go to bed.’
‘To sleep?’ he asked.
For a while the department took all their attention.
Christmas, New Year came and went, busy as ever. They just would not let Henry work, no matter how he said he felt better. And only when Ross tried to take over Henry’s work did they realise just how much he had been doing. They needed help. And there were very few fully qualified neurological pediatricians in the country.
Then they had a stroke of luck. Lyn and Ross were studying the week’s schedules when suddenly, unexpectedly, Martyn Lennard appeared in the doctors’ room. He was accompanied by a vast man—easily six foot six in height, with shoulders and arms to match, and a smile as big as his body. Lyn guessed he’d be in his early fifties.
‘May I present Mr Theo Harzman?’ Martyn said. ‘From the Trekker Children’s Hospital, Capetown, where he is consultant in Neurology.’
Lyn and Ross looked up. ‘I’ve read articles by you,’ said Ross. ‘You’re very good on malnutrition and its neurological effects.’
‘It is one of my interests, yes. And I’ve read articles by you too, Dr McKinnon. I’d like to work with you for a while. To work here.’
‘Mr Harzman is in London for the next four or five months,’ explained Martyn, ‘and he came asking if we needed an extra pair of hands.’
‘Boring family business,’ informed Mr Harzman. ‘Wills and estates and so on; I’ve just got to be here. But it won’t take much of my time and I like to keep busy. If you can find me something to do for, say, four days a week—then I’ll start next Monday.’
‘I’ve been on the phone, checking contracts, insurance, references, and whatever,’ Martyn said, ‘and everything is fine. Dr McKinnon, it’s up to you if you’d like a private word with Mr Harzman.’
‘I think I’ll take him to the canteen for lunch,’ said Ross. ‘I’ll ring you in about an hour. Mr Harzman, you sound like the answer to our prayers.’
Theo Harzman made all the difference. He was a brilliant doctor and the children loved him. And, with their load considerably lightened, Ross and Lyn could think about getting married again. Eventually.
Some time before Lyn had applied to take Part One of her MRCS examinations in February. Henry had encouraged her to apply early and arranged a week’s study leave immediately before the exam. When Henry had been taken ill, she had decided not to take the exam. There were plenty of other chances. But now Ross wanted her t
o go for it. ‘I know only a small proportion pass first time,’ he said. ‘But you owe it to yourself to try. And I think you stand a good chance.’
‘But what about getting married?’
‘I still think it’s a good idea. After the exam. No We’ll go and see the rector at the parish church.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
The rector remembered Lyn very well from Sunday school and would be delighted to marry them. He took down a thick book, and leafed through, looking at the Saturdays. ‘I can’t manage it before the second week of April,’ he said. ‘Will that do? There is no—ah—reason why you have to get married in a hurry?’
‘The second week in April will be fine,’ Lyn said.
It suited her parents, too. They put off a planned trip to the Sahara until the end of that month.
Ross used the management skills he was developing as next head of department to organise the event. Her parents were good too. ‘Not much difference between a jungle trip and a wedding,’ he father said cheerfully. ‘They’re both only exercises in logistics. You leave it all to us, and concentrate on the exam.’
Lyn took the exam, and thought perhaps she’d done all right. A week later she took a taxi down to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where the Royal College of Surgeons had its headquarters. There was a list of names on a noticeboard, with a scrum of people looking at it. She eased her way to the front. There was her name. She had passed! Next morning her elation died rather. She received a letter from Borneo and she recognised the handwriting. It was Doug’s. She didn’t open it at once but took it into work with her. She’d look at it with her fiancé.
Malcolm Saville, the surgeon who had taken Doug’s case, had kept them in touch with his progress. The operation had been a complete success, and Doug was cured.
Unfortunately he felt very low, very sorry about the way he had behaved. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea if you came to see him,’ Malcolm had said. ‘He’s still feeling very guilty.’
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