The Consultant's Italian Knight

by Maggie Kingsley

  It did, Kate thought, as she stared down at the man and tried not to shudder, but, dear lord, he was a mess. His hair had melted to his head, his face and tongue were grotesquely swollen and he had no eyebrows left at all.

  ‘Terri, cut off the remainder of his clothes and insert a Foley catheter before his penis closes up completely,’ she said as the sister joined them. ‘Mario, keep a watch on his oxygen levels, renew his Haemaccel drip or he’ll go into shock for sure, and get me a BP and pulse. We’ll also need blood samples for cross-matching.’

  ‘IV of titrated morphine, too?’ Terri added as she reached for the scissors, and Kate nodded.

  If the rest of the homeless man’s injuries were as bad as his face then all they could do was to try to stabilise his condition. It would be the burns unit who would have the job of repairing the damage to his skin but first they had to make sure he lived long enough to be transferred there.

  ‘Do you have a BP and pulse reading yet?’ she asked after Mario had held a Doppler probe over the man’s carotid area because there wasn’t enough skin left on the man’s wrist or throat to get a reading.

  ‘BP 90 over 70, cardiac output down thirty per cent,’ he replied. ‘Pulse 130 and rising.’

  It wasn’t good, it wasn’t good at all, and when Terri had removed all of the man’s clothing Kate had to bite down hard on her lip to prevent uttering an exclamation of horror. If she’d thought the injuries to his face and head were bad, it was as nothing compared to his body. His arms and legs were blackened like burnt sticks and so, too, were his buttocks and chest.

  ‘Thank God he’s unconscious,’ Terri murmured, and Kate agreed with her.

  When skin burned it shrank just like a sausage skin did after you’d put it onto a barbecue, but the difference between a sausage skin and human skin was that when human skin shrank the muscle beneath the skin became compressed, cutting off the blood supply. If the muscles didn’t get blood they would die, which meant there was only one thing Kate could do.

  ‘Scalpel,’ she said, and Mario’s eyes met hers.

  Had he hated doing this as much as she did when he was a doctor? she wondered. Maybe he hadn’t. A lot of doctors performed the procedure without a second’s thought, but it always made her feel slightly sick even though she knew she had to free the tissue as quickly as possible and this was the only way to do it.

  Squaring her shoulders, she took the scalpel from Mario’s outstretched hand, and quickly began making long thin cuts across the homeless man’s chest, arms, and hands. Almost immediately, the muscles began popping through the slashes showing that their blood supply was moving again, and that they at least would live.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to eat another barbecued sausage again,’ Mario murmured as he watched the muscles appear, and Kate managed a shaky laugh.

  ‘I haven’t eaten one since the first time I did this procedure,’ she admitted.

  ‘BP still falling,’ Terry declared, ‘and look at his catheter.’

  It was filling with dark urine which meant that the homeless man had either a stomach or bowel blockage due to smoke inhalation, and unless that was treated quickly he would die.

  ‘Page OR and tell them we’ve got an urgent one,’ Kate said.

  Within seconds the homeless man was being wheeled towards the operating theatre and, as Terri set off to assist Paul, Kate wearily peeled off her latex gloves and tossed them into the bin.

  ‘It’s not looking good for him, is it?’ Mario said.

  ‘With those burns, and a blockage…’ Kate shook her head. ‘If he makes it, it will be a miracle but then the OR people often do perform miracles.’

  ‘I always liked them when I was a doctor,’ Mario observed. ‘Not big on humour, and woe betide you if you went into their operating theatre without scrubs, but they were a great bunch of guys.’

  ‘Guys?’ Kate repeated, shooting him a pointed sidelong glance, and he grinned.

  ‘There weren’t any female OR consultants in my time.’

  ‘Still aren’t many even now,’ Kate said, and Mario stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, then cleared his throat.

  ‘When I was a doctor, what I hated most was people being sick. I could take any amount of blood or sputum, even the most horrific of burns, but if someone was sick I suddenly discovered a very pressing need to check their X-rays.’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’ she said uncomfortably. ‘That I hate burns cases?’

  ‘Only to me,’ he said, his lips curving into a gentle smile, ‘but then I reckon I’m getting to know what’s going on in your mind pretty well.’

  She hoped he wasn’t, because what she wanted most right now was to walk straight into his arms, and be held by him. To forget just for one moment that she was the A and E consultant, and to simply be a woman who needed to be hugged and comforted.

  ‘Kate…?’

  His eyes were fixed on her and she heard the sound of a distant siren.

  ‘I think it’s going to be one of those nights,’ she said.

  It was.

  By eleven o’clock the treatment room looked like a war zone, and by midnight as though a bloodbath had occurred. They’d had four MVAs in quick succession, and they’d lost them all.

  Four young drivers who were never going to see their twenty-first birthdays. Four young men who ought to have just been starting out in life, but this was as far along in life as they were going to get.

  ‘It’s time to go home, Kate,’ Mario said, coming to stand beside her as the night staff began to arrive and she leant against the treatment room wall, her eyes closed with exhaustion, her shoulders slumped.

  ‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘I just have to do something first.’

  ‘Kate—’

  ‘I only want to phone the burns unit,’ she interrupted, seeing his forehead furrow. ‘To find out how the homeless man is doing.’

  ‘OK, but make it fast,’ he replied. ‘You look all in.’

  She felt it, too, when the burns unit confirmed what she had already suspected. That the homeless man hadn’t made it to them, but had died on the operating table.

  ‘You can’t win them all, Kate,’ Mario said as he accompanied her out of the hospital towards his car, and she gazed heavenwards impotently.

  ‘I know, but sometimes it’s just so unnecessary!’ she exclaimed. ‘Take those young men. If they had just been wearing seat belts, had been driving a little slower, not been drinking before they got into their cars, they’d all have been up in Men’s Surgical right now instead of in the morgue. Why can’t people learn? What will it take before they realise that a car is a death trap if you get into it drunk, or drive it too fast without a seat belt?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mario replied as he opened the car door for her, but when she slipped into the passenger seat he said, ‘Look, why don’t I take care of dinner tonight?’

  A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘From the man who normally lives on takeaways, this should be good. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘How about chicken biryani, or pizza?’

  ‘You know how to cook those?’ she said, impressed, and his lips curved.

  ‘No, but I do know the best takeaway in Aberdeen. Come on, Kate,’ he added as she shook her head at him. ‘Think of the plusses. We get great food, and no washing-up. Not even the knives and forks because they throw in those little plastic ones for free.’

  It sounded stodgy, and fattening, and terrific.

  ‘OK, make mine a pizza,’ she said. ‘Pepperoni, with noodles on the side.’

  ‘You want noodles with pizza?’ he said, his expression showing what he thought of that combination, and she nodded.

  ‘Yes, I want noodles.’

  ‘OK. Whatever you want tonight, you get.’

  She wished that was true when he stopped at the takeaway and she sat in the car, watching the raindrops slide slowly down the car windscreen. She wished even more that he could produce a magic wand and wav
e away the hollow, empty feeling she felt inside her this evening, but he couldn’t. Nobody could. Not when she couldn’t forget the four young men who would never see another dawn, and the homeless man—especially the homeless man—who had died on the operating table without anybody knowing his name.

  ‘What say we just pull the coffee table over to the sofa, and eat there?’ Mario asked when they got back to her flat. ‘Forget about the kitchen table for tonight?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ she replied, dropping her handbag on the sideboard and slipping off her shoes.

  ‘I bought some wine, too,’ he continued as he disappeared into the kitchen, and she heard the clink of glasses. ‘I didn’t know what kind you liked so I bought both red and white.’

  ‘White would be great,’ she said, sitting down on the sofa and closing her eyes.

  Lord, but she was tired, so tired. She felt as though she could sleep for a week, but she knew the minute she went to bed she would start reliving the events of the evening, and when morning came she’d be lucky if she’d managed to grab even half an hour of sleep.

  ‘Your wine and food, my lady,’ Mario declared, and she opened her eyes to see he’d pulled the coffee table over to the sofa, opened the styrofoam containers, and poured them each a glass of wine. ‘Eat, drink and enjoy.’

  ‘It certainly smells good,’ she said, sitting up and breaking off a piece of the pizza. ‘Tastes good, too,’ she added as she put the piece in her mouth and savoured it.

  ‘I told you I knew the best takeaway in Aberdeen.’

  ‘So you did.’

  He sat down beside her, and fixed her with a penetrating stare. ‘OK, when you’re as quiet as this I know something’s wrong, so give.’

  ‘I’m just tired,’ she said and he put down his pizza.

  ‘Kate, I’ve seen you put in a sixteen-hour day, and still be running on all cylinders,’ he declared. ‘Talk to me. Tell me.’

  She took a forkful of noodles. ‘Hey, now these really are good.’

  ‘Quit stalling, Kennedy,’ he said, his voice mock stern. ‘Tell me what’s bothering you.’

  ‘It’s…’ She bit her lip. ‘That homeless man, Mario. It’s not just that he was so horrifically burned, and I hate burns, it’s…Why do some people end up in the back of an alley, or on a park bench, homeless and unloved, with nobody to mourn them?’

  ‘According to the experts, each and every one of us is only three pay cheques away from the gutter,’ he observed, and she shook her head as she sipped her wine.

  ‘I know that’s what they say, but do you think there’s ever a moment when we do something, or something is done to us, and that thing—whatever it is—suddenly changes our future for ever and instead of having families, and friends, and homes, we end up with a life of misery and loneliness?’

  ‘The road not taken, you mean,’ he murmured, ‘or perhaps the road we choose to take without fully realising where it will lead?’

  ‘Something like that.’ She nodded, and his expression saddened.

  ‘Yes, I think there can be such a moment. I wish I didn’t believe it, but I do.’

  He was speaking from personal experience, she knew he was, and she wished she dared ask what had happened but his closed face didn’t encourage her to probe.

  ‘How do you cope in your work?’ she said tentatively instead. ‘You must have seen some pretty horrendous things during your time with the police force. How do you deal with it, live with it?’

  ‘The same way you do,’ he said, swallowing some of his pizza then letting his head fall back next to hers against the back of the sofa. ‘By developing a certain detachment from the emotional aspects of a case. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on doing my job properly. This isn’t to say, of course, that there aren’t some cases that get to me more than others.’

  Like kids, and teenagers, she thought.

  ‘You’re not just trying to prove you’re as good as the cop who came up through the ranks, are you?’ she said. ‘You honestly want to make the world a better place.’

  ‘So do you,’ he declared. ‘Being a consultant isn’t an ego trip for you. You care about your patients, want the best for them, and if that means standing on people’s toes you’ll do it.’

  ‘In other words, I’m bossy,’ she said, and he frowned at her.

  ‘Haven’t we had this conversation before? Yes, you have strong opinions, but you’re also honest and caring, and straight as a die, Kate, so don’t ever change. You’re great just the way you are, and the world needs people like you.’

  And that, she suddenly realised as she stared back at him, was why she liked him so much. He didn’t want her to change. He didn’t want her to compromise what she believed in, to make adjustments, to be less driven, or even less bossy than she knew she could be. He liked her just the way she was, faults and all.

  But he was going to leave. When his investigation was over, or if he discovered he couldn’t make a case out of what happened to Duncan Hamilton, he would leave, and she’d never see him again, and she didn’t want to never see him again.

  ‘Would you ever consider going back into medicine?’ she said quickly. ‘My department needs somebody like you.’ I need you. You make me laugh, you make me feel good about myself, and I don’t want you to go. ‘If you updated your skills—’

  ‘I love what I do now, Kate,’ he interrupted. ‘For you, medicine is the best job in the world, but for me, it’s the police force. Actually, when I think about it,’ he continued with a slight frown as he took another bite of his pizza, ‘our jobs aren’t that dissimilar. And you’re not eating,’ he added. ‘I go to all the trouble of buying you that insult to Italian cuisine, so the least you can do is eat it.’

  ‘I’m eating—I’m eating!’ she exclaimed, forking some of the noodles into her mouth. ‘How are our jobs similar?’

  ‘You want to cure individuals, I want to cure society. We’re both crusaders.’ A grin tugged at his lips. ‘I’m just incredibly relieved I don’t have to wear the cape and tights.’

  ‘You’re relieved?’ she exclaimed. ‘I bet you’d look like an Italian god in a cape and tights, whereas I’d look like a munchkin.’ He let out a snort of laughter, then coughed as a piece of his pizza went down the wrong way, and she slapped him on the back. ‘Hey, don’t choke on me. I’m off duty, remember, and I’m not really up for the kiss of life tonight.’

  ‘No?’ he said, his eyes meeting hers, and her own breath caught and lodged in her throat.

  Don’t read any more into that than there actually is, she told herself, feeling her heart begin to race. Don’t make a fool of yourself by saying something dumb the way you always seem to when he’s around, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mario said quickly, a rich tide of colour staining his cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, and I apologise. I’m supposed to be here to protect you, not to take advantage of you.’

  He looked embarrassed, and uncomfortable, and she knew she ought to smile, and nod, and say something casual and flippant, but she didn’t want to be casual, flippant. She wanted him. She wanted him so much it was a physical ache.

  ‘Mario, what if…?’ She could feel her cheeks beginning to redden, hear her voice shaking slightly, and took a steadying breath. Dammit, Kate, just say it, and to hell with the consequences. ‘What if I said I wanted you to take advantage of me?’

  His eyes shot to hers and she saw something dark and hot stir in them then it was gone.

  ‘If you said that I’d say you needed your head examined,’ he declared, his mouth tight, as he reached for his glass of wine.

  ‘Well, in that case, you’d better book me an appointment tomorrow with the hospital psychiatrist,’ she said softly, ‘because I do want you, Mario Volante. I think I’ve wanted you from the very first moment we met.’

  His hand stilled over his glass of wine, and he turned to face her, his expression bleak.

  ‘Kate,
you don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘So, I’m stupid now—is that it?’ she said, and he shook his head impatiently.

  ‘Of course you’re not, but, I don’t do commitment, Kate, I don’t do long term. My wife…’ His lips twisted. ‘Do you know how long Sue and I were married? Eighteen months. Just eighteen months and I’m amazed she stayed with me that long.’

  ‘You mean you cheated on her?’ she said, not wanting to believe it, but needing to know.

  He closed his eyes, and his voice when he spoke was desolate.

  ‘Yes, I cheated on her but not in the way you think. I cheated because I married her knowing I didn’t love her, knowing I still loved somebody else.’

  ‘The…the somebody else,’ Kate said awkwardly. ‘Was it—is it—the girl in the photograph—the photograph you carry in your wallet?’

  He nodded. ‘Her name was Antonia, and she died two years before Sue and I met.’

  And you still love her, Kate thought with an unaccountable stab of pain, or why else do you still keep her photograph in your wallet?

  ‘Then why did you marry Sue?’ she asked with more edge than she’d intended. ‘Surely it was a cruel thing to do, to marry somebody you knew you didn’t love?’

  ‘Don’t you think I haven’t told myself that over and over again since we divorced?’ he said harshly. ‘But I thought—hoped—that I might grow to love her. She was so kind, you see, so generous, and I…’ He swallowed. ‘I was hurting pretty badly at the time, and I wanted—I really did want—it to work, but it didn’t.’

  She stared into his deep blue eyes, saw the pain and heartache there, but she also saw a raw need, a need she felt herself, and she reached out and clasped his hands in hers.

  ‘Mario, I don’t care what you did in the past!’ she exclaimed, willing him to believe her, ‘and I’m not asking you for any sort of commitment. I just want you. Even if it’s only for tonight, I want you.’

  ‘You say that now,’ he murmured, ‘but what about when you wake up with me tomorrow and realise you’ve made a terrible mistake? And it would be a mistake, Kate,’ he added, his face bleak, ‘because I can’t offer you anything. The caring part of me, the loving part, died with Antonia.’