‘Deal?’ he prompted, obviously wanting to have the matter settled before he released her, and with the panting paramedic trying to maintain chest compressions on the patient while it was pushed towards them, that meant immediately.
‘Deal,’ she agreed, her reluctance warring with the excitement that suddenly surged through her as she left him to his task, unsurprised to see that he’d switched instantaneously into the consummate professional, his mind totally focused on the shattered body in front of him as he listened to the paramedic giving his report on their patient’s injuries.
Amy vaguely worried that she would find it hard to keep her mind on her own work with this evening’s outing in prospect, but within seconds of their bargain, before she’d even reached the dreaded board or checked on the lab results she’d ordered, she was being waylaid in the corridor and all her instincts switched into doctor mode.
‘Are you a doctor?’ pleaded a young woman with a small child in her arms. ‘Please, tell me you’re a doctor!’
For just a moment Amy was tempted to brush her off and to insist that the young woman should take the sleeping child back to wait her turn—there was a reason why triage was performed—but there was something about the child’s awkward position in her mother’s arms and the expression of panic in the widely dilated eyes that made her stop.
‘Yes. I’m Dr Willmott. Has someone seen you?’
‘Please, I won’t take up much of your time…just a moment or two…’ she interrupted hurriedly. ‘It’s just so I can be sure…’ The child in her arms gave a fretful whimper and the strangely high-pitched sound of it sent a little shiver up the back of Amy’s neck.
‘This is my daughter, Amelie, and I’m Lorraine,’ she began hurriedly. ‘She wasn’t well when she woke up this morning so I phoned our GP to ask him to visit, but the receptionist said he wouldn’t waste his time coming out for a child with a cold and insisted I take her to the practice.’ She gasped for breath, her words getting faster and faster and her voice getting higher, her fear clearly growing with her story.
Amy’s instincts were telling her that it was worth listening. It was time to get the child out of the corridor and start doing a proper examination so she started to guide the mother into the nearest vacant treatment room without interrupting her.
‘Then,’ she continued, ‘when I got there, the receptionist said he’d been called out to someone else and she said they didn’t know how long he’d be, and they wanted me to make an appointment for tomorrow afternoon, but I don’t think she can wait that long,’ she ended, almost in tears.
‘So, what do you think is the matter with her?’ Amy asked as she peered into the tiny face nestled against her mother’s shoulder, her fingers registering the ominous heat radiating off her blotchy skin but the tiny starfish hands felt cold in spite of the fact that the child was feverish.
‘Me? What do I think?’ The woman seemed stunned that Amy would even ask, giving up her precious burden without a murmur to let Amy lay her on the trolley and begin stripping her clothing away.
‘Well, you are her mother and you know her better than anyone else in the world,’ Amy said with a swift glance up into the young mother’s pale face and an encouraging smile. ‘You knew that there was something wrong with her when she woke up this morning. So, tell me what you noticed.’
‘She’s only five months old and usually she loves her food, but this morning she refused to have anything, and she’s got diarrhoea and she’s miserable and cries every time I have to change her nappy, and she didn’t even want to have a cuddle and…’
She ran out of breath but Amy didn’t really need to hear any more. She could see for herself that the child on the trolley in front of her was lying with her back unnaturally arched and her neck retracted and that, in spite of the feverish temperature of her body, her skin was pale and blotchy.
‘Is it meningitis?’
The words were whispered with dread, but they might as well have been shouted. ‘I know she hasn’t got that special rash, but I’ve got this little card—I picked it up off the counter at the chemist just after Amelie was born—and it shows you what to look for.’ She took one of the familiar little cards produced by the Meningitis Trust out of her pocket to show it to Amy.
‘There is a possibility,’ Amy admitted. ‘And it’s brilliant that you didn’t wait until tomorrow for an appointment because now we can do some tests straight away. That way, hopefully we can set your mind at rest, but either way we can start treating Amelie immediately in case it’s meningitis.’
Zach appeared as if by magic just when she was preparing to perform the lumbar puncture that would provide the sample of spinal fluid that would give them the definitive diagnosis. She drew a steadying breath while she checked that she had all the kit she needed, including a disposable spinal needle, manometer and three-way tap with three numbered sterile bottles and a fluoride bottle for the blood glucose sample to be taken before the puncture.
‘Have you done an LP on one so small?’ Zach asked quietly when she’d finished injecting the analgesic to numb the area, pitching his words low enough so they were covered by the activity in the busy department around them.
Amy shook her head, meeting the dark watchful eyes above his mask to admit candidly, ‘And I’d really rather not take the time to practise on her when she might not have time to spare.’
Zach gave a single nod and without any fanfare reversed positions with her so that she was the one holding the child in position when the time came for the all-important needle to be introduced between the tiny vertebrae.
His technique was swift and flawless and in no time the vital samples were on their way to the lab.
‘Phone Paeds and tell them she’s coming up,’ Zach said over his shoulder.
‘I’ve already spoken to them,’ Amy said. ‘Until we’ve got a diagnosis she can’t go on a ward in case it’s contagious, and they haven’t got a single room free. She’ll have to go in one of the isolation rooms off the observation ward.’
The young mother gave a keening cry, clearly following every word of their conversation. ‘Does that mean she’s dying?’
‘Not at all, Lorraine,’ Amy said, hurrying to wrap a comforting arm around the young woman who had stoically sat reassuring her little daughter throughout the procedure, even though every instinct must have been rebelling against having a needle stuck into her child’s spine. ‘It’s just a precaution until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.’
‘There are several forms of meningitis, some more contagious than others,’ Zach explained gently even as he was preparing the child for transport up to the observation ward at the other end of the department. ‘We don’t even know whether it is meningitis, yet, but just in case it is, we don’t want to risk anyone else catching it. Has she been in contact with many people in the last few days? Does she go to a crèche?’
‘No. I’m the only one, apart from a couple of minutes at the doctor’s surgery this morning. My partner’s away, working.’
‘And your family?’ Amy prompted. ‘When did they last see Amelie?’
‘They haven’t,’ she said quietly, her shoulders slumping still further. ‘They didn’t approve of Didier, and when I fell pregnant…’ She shook her head.
Amy’s hackles rose on the young woman’s behalf, and she felt an instant kinship as she silently railed at the arrogance of parents who thought they had the right to dictate who their children should fall in love with. Still, this situation was slightly different. There was a child to consider. A grandchild who, if things went badly, could even die before her grandparents saw her.
None of your business, she lectured herself sternly as she checked that the case notes were complete before they set off, ready to hand over to the observation ward staff, but she couldn’t help noticing that Lorraine had given her parents’ contact details on the initial form, neither could she stop the silent plotting that began. Things would move very quickly now, with powerful
antibiotics already dripping into Amelie’s system. Within half an hour or so the little one would be installed in an isolation room and the long, terrifying wait would begin.
‘Thank you,’ Lorraine said suddenly, pausing in her headlong rush to follow her daughter to grab Amy’s arm. ‘Thank you for listening to me, even though…’
‘You’re welcome, sweetheart,’ Amy said and gave her a swift hug. ‘Now, don’t let them get away from you or you might not find your daughter again for years. This hospital can be a confusing maze unless you know your way around.’
The young woman gave a watery chuckle and sped off after her precious child.
Zach’s ‘Well spotted!’ later in the day gave her a warm glow of satisfaction that nearly offset the guilt she felt after her meddling phone call.
She really had tried to reason herself out of doing it, but the thought that Lorraine was faced with going through something so frightening all by herself had tipped the balance between restraint and interfering.
Lorraine’s mother had sounded so similar to her own that she’d almost apologised and put the phone down before she’d started, but the memory of that helpless little baby up in isolation had stiffened her resolve and she’d introduced herself briskly.
‘Mrs Tennant? This is Dr Willmott and I work in Accident and Emergency in—’
‘Accident and Emergency?’ the woman interrupted sharply. ‘Has something happened to my husband?’
‘No, it’s not your husband. It’s your daughter. She came in this morning with her—’
‘In that case, it’s nothing to do with me,’ she cut in brusquely, her voice cold now, rather than concerned. ‘She made her choice and she’s got to live with it.’
‘So, you don’t care that your granddaughter might be dying of meningitis?’ Amy snapped back, incensed by her callousness. ‘In that case, I apologise for bothering you.’
‘Meningitis!’ The word emerged from the phone halfway between a gasp and a shriek just as Amy was about to put the handset down. ‘She’s not…? She isn’t…? How sick is she?’ she managed after several false starts.
‘We won’t know for several hours—until we get the results of the tests,’ Amy admitted. ‘But if it is meningitis…well…’ She really didn’t want to list the full range of complications that could afflict such a young baby but, on the other hand, if it helped her make a decision about supporting her daughter…
She crossed her fingers and began again. ‘Mrs Tennant, you probably know from news reports that in cases of septicaemia some children have had to have their arms and legs amputated to save their lives, and some are left with severe brain damage, so if you wanted a chance to see her while she’s…’ Amy deliberately let her voice die away, but when she heard a suppressed sob in the silence on the other end of the phone, she felt the dreadful weight of guilt descend on her again.
‘And my daughter,’ Mrs Tennant asked tentatively, almost choking on the words. ‘How is she…coping?’
‘She’s an amazing young woman and you should be proud of her,’ Amy responded bluntly, throwing caution to the wind. ‘But at the moment, especially while she’s waiting to find out what’s wrong with Amelie, I know she really needs her mother’s love to support her.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AMY was running more than half an hour late when she reached the end of her shift.
‘When have I ever been able to leave on time?’ she demanded of her steamy bathroom as she rubbed shampoo into her hair as part of the end-of-shift shower routine she’d started early on in her training, when she’d realised just how easy it would be to carry any infection home with her. It also meant that she could lose the hospital smell from her hair and skin before Zach arrived, and while she could try to fool herself that this evening’s outing was nothing more than an attempt at forging a relaxed working atmosphere between the two of them, if she was honest…
Well, if she was honest, she would have to admit that having Zach see her as a friendly colleague was a long way down her list, and if the subtle spicy-vanilla perfume of her soap and the dabs of matching essence she dotted behind her ears and in her cleavage helped him to see her as a desirable woman…
Whoa!
She hauled her thoughts to a screeching halt and examined them.
Was that what she was doing? Was that what she really wanted?
It was all very well deciding to fulfil a teenage fantasy to ride on the back of his motorbike, but surely, that was all it was. It was far too soon after losing Edward for her to even think about…She wasn’t ready to…
‘Ha! Tell that to my hormones!’ she muttered, her face heating with the realisation that her mind might not be ready but her body was another matter. In fact, where Zach was concerned…
‘Enough!’ she scolded herself, dragging a wide-toothed comb through her tangled hair. ‘You’d better get moving or you’re going to be greeting him at the door in your birthday suit, all pink and steaming from the shower.’
As it was, she’d barely managed to zip up a pair of fine black wool trousers and pull a cranberry-coloured jumper over the top when the doorbell rang, catching her barefoot and with her hair still damply draped over her shoulders.
She released the catch with fingers that shook visibly with excitement and there he was.
‘Zach! Come in,’ she invited breathlessly, her eyes busily taking in the fact that, in head-to-toe leather, he could have walked straight out of one of her favourite fantasies.
As he stepped into her well-lit hallway his pupils should have constricted, but as his eyes went over her, taking in the evidence that she’d recently emerged from the shower, she saw them dilate darkly.
Her heart gave a hopeful leap that it was proof that he was just as affected by looking her over as she was by the sight of him in his ‘bad boy’ leathers.
‘You haven’t changed much,’ she blurted, but it wasn’t quite true. He still looked every bit as lean and athletic, but his shoulders were wider now, and his thighs more heavily muscled. And she was supposed to plaster herself against that when she climbed on the bike behind him? ‘Um, is that the same jacket you used to wear to school?’ she asked feebly, half-afraid that she was going to hyperventilate in front of him if she didn’t get hold of her thoughts.
‘No.’ He grinned wryly, as though remembering the battles he’d had with their old headmaster who’d tried to ban him from wearing it, but was there a huskier edge than usual to his voice? ‘This is my old one…’ He swung forward an infinitely scruffier leather jacket that he’d been holding over his shoulder by the chain at the back of the neck and held it out towards her, suspended from one lean finger. ‘You’re going to need it if you’re not going to freeze.’ She took it from him and looked down at it, tentatively touching the scuffed surface and remembering all the times she’d wished she’d felt free to stroke this supple leather, preferably with Zach inside it.
‘You’ll also need to change into some jeans, if you’ve got any,’ he suggested. ‘The fabric’s thicker and more protective than those.’ He gestured towards her smart trousers quite dismissively and she felt a pang of pique that she’d actually spent time choosing something flattering to wear.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said tartly, and strode swiftly back into her bedroom, determined that this time she was going to ignore the way her outfit looked as long as it would keep her warm under the jacket he’d lent her.
Two minutes later she had donned a thick jumper and was zipping herself into an ancient pair of jeans—old favourites that she’d considered and discarded originally because they were the most disreputable thing she owned. A quick glance in her mirror confirmed that they were far more figure-hugging than her mother would ever have approved of, but when she shrugged her way into the leather jacket…
The doorbell rang again as she came out of her bedroom and she was still retrieving her damp hair from the neck of the jacket as she released the catch.
‘Mr Pruitt-West!’ she said
, stunned to see him standing on her doorstep with a wide, self-satisfied smile on his face. ‘What…? How…?’ She was almost speechless. He was the very last person she’d wanted to see.
‘My dear!’ He stepped forward as though to embrace her in the continental way and she stepped hastily back. Unfortunately, that gave him the opportunity to invade her hallway just far enough to prevent her shutting the door.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded sharply, shuddering with distaste at the avid expression that spread over his face when he took in what she was wearing. ‘How did you get my address?’ If someone at the hospital had given it out, there would be hell to pay.
It was almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘I asked the hospital director if he could give me your parents’ phone number,’ he explained with oily self-assurance, knowing she could hardly object to that.
Unfortunately, Amy knew exactly how that call would have gone as if she’d eavesdropped. As soon as he mentioned who he was and that he was trying to get in touch with Amy, her mother would have fallen all over herself to give him her address. The only surprise was that she hadn’t provided a personal escort.
‘So, now that I’m here,’ he continued confidently, his eyes still crawling all over the tight fit of her jeans, ‘do you want to change into something a little more up-market so I can take you out for a special meal, or would you rather stay in and—?’
‘Are you ready, babe?’ Zach interrupted from the doorway slightly behind her, his deep voice slightly muffled. She turned her head to discover that he’d donned his gleaming helmet in her absence so that his identity was completely obscured. It also served to make him look several inches taller and even more impressive. ‘Here, grab this and let’s go,’ he said, holding out the helmet he’d brought for her before turning his attention to the goggling man still standing in the open doorway. ‘Sorry, mate, but fat old guys just aren’t her thing, you know? So, if you don’t mind…?’
A Very Special Proposal Page 7