She shrugged. ‘Whatever’s on the radio. Something I can hum along to.’
‘If you want to change the music, help yourself.’
Jeremy had teased her about singing out of key: no way was she going to sing along in the car beside a man she barely knew. A man she was finding more and more attractive, the more time she spent with him. Today Orlando was wearing casual clothes—pale linen trousers and a white T-shirt—and yet he looked utterly gorgeous. Even more so than he had in a formal suit—because casual meant touchable.
And he’d just been holding her hand.
She gripped the edges of her sunhat to keep herself from temptation.
‘I’m glad you don’t have long hair,’ Orlando said.
Not what the rest of the world had said when she’d gone from hair that was almost waist-length to an urchin cut. ‘Oh?’
‘Because it’s beautiful outside,’ he said. ‘Beautiful enough to have the top down—but if your hair were long and loose, that wouldn’t be much fun for you.’
‘Is that a hint?’
‘Would you mind? I know it’s hot, but we’re not that far from Pompeii so you shouldn’t get a headache from the sun. Though I would advise you to remove your hat.’
She did as he suggested. ‘Prego.’
He pressed a button: moments later, the hood was down and folded away. Automatic. Impressive. ‘Now you’re showing off,’ she said. He laughed. ‘It’s called “having fun”.’
When they reached Pompeii, Orlando put the hood back up, and took two bottles of water from the glove compartment.
‘You need to keep properly hydrated in this climate,’ he said.
‘Thanks. I didn’t think about that.’
He shrugged. ‘At least you remembered a hat and sunglasses. That’s more than many people would.’
‘And as you drove us here,’ she told him when they joined the queue for tickets, ‘I’m paying the entrance fee.’
‘No. This was my idea. And in my world women don’t pay on a date.’
‘This isn’t a date,’ she reminded him. ‘We’re here as friends. I pay for the tickets, or no deal.’
He laughed. ‘You’re independent and impossible. And I want the pleasure of showing you Pompeii, so what choice do I have?’ He held his hand out for her to shake. ‘OK, it’s a deal. Provided you let me buy you a gelati.’
She shook his hand, and her palm tingled at the contact. ‘Deal,’ she said, hearing the huskiness in her own voice and hoping that Orlando hadn’t noticed.
When she’d paid for their tickets, they wandered through into the old town. There were beautiful frescoes and mosaic floors everywhere. ‘It’s gorgeous. You wouldn’t think this place was over two thousand years old,’ she said, full of wonder.
‘Nearer three,’ Orlando said, ‘as it was first occupied in the eighth century BC. Some of the ruined buildings were actually ruins before the eruption.’
‘Incredible.’ Though there was something that made her uncomfortable. ‘Those bodies on the floor … where did they come from?’
‘They’re plaster casts,’ he told her. ‘The ash from the volcano fell and buried the people and animals, then hardened round them. The bodies decomposed and left a space behind in the ash. In the nineteenth century, the archaeologist Giuseppi Fiorelli had the idea of pumping plaster in to the cavities so we could see what was under the ash.’
‘That’s a bit ghoulish,’ Eleanor said. ‘I mean, these were people—we’re witnessing how they suffered, their last agonies. It’s a bit … well, not very nice, don’t you think?’
He gave her a perceptive look. ‘Is that why you became an emergency doctor? To stop people hurting?’
She nodded. ‘Neither of my parents were medics. Dad was a history teacher and Mum taught music.’
‘Your father would have enjoyed it here, then.’
‘Loved it,’ she confirmed. ‘He used to research local history for fun and would spend hours in the archives. He did some research in the National Archives at Kew while I was training in London. I remember he met me from lectures and we had dinner together.’ The memories were good, but they still made tears clog her throat—because they made her realise how much she missed her parents.
‘You were close to your parents?’ Orlando asked.
She nodded. ‘Very. I miss them.’ She shook herself. ‘How about you? Are your parents medics?’
He shrugged. ‘My mother is in property.’
He didn’t say anything about his father, she noticed, and there were lines of tension around his mouth. Clearly she’d just prodded a very sore point. Maybe, she thought, his father had died when Orlando had been young.
On impulse, she took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Mi dispiace, Orlando. I was being nosy. I’m sorry if I’ve said something that brought back sad memories.’
‘Non importa. It doesn’t matter.’
But he laced his fingers through hers and didn’t let her hand go. Oddly, it felt right. If someone had said to her a week ago that she’d been strolling hand in hand with a gorgeous Italian between Vesuvius and the sea, she would’ve laughed—but it was happening.
She’d learned that making plans—as she had with Jeremy—didn’t work for her. So from now she was going to do the opposite: take things as they came. Enjoy life as she experienced it.
And sauntering through Pompeii with Orlando was fantastic. Especially as he seemed to know everything about the site—pointed out little things that she wouldn’t have noticed and which she couldn’t remember seeing in the guide book she’d started reading the previous evening.
The streets were rough; she stumbled slightly on a paving slab, and Orlando steadied her against him. ‘OK?’ he asked.
Very OK. Holding hands with Orlando—even though she knew that it didn’t mean anything—sent a warm glow through her. Something about his strength, his steadiness. Orlando de Luca was the kind of man who’d never let you down. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Good.’ He didn’t let go of her hand. ‘The roads used to flood here, so they made special pedestrian crossings of raised stones to make it easier for people to cross the road. Look, there’s one here.’
‘How do you know so much about the place?’ she asked.
‘I did some work on here.’
‘What sort of work?’ A tour guide in the summer holidays when he was a student, perhaps?
His answer surprised her. ‘I wrote a couple of articles about the medicine of Pompeii. This place has fascinated me right from when I was a tiny child and came here with my nanny.’
Not with his mother, she noticed. ‘Did you ever think about becoming an archaeologist?’
He nodded. ‘But, like you, I wanted to make people better. I had to make the choice between studying medicine and studying archaeology. I think I made the right choice: this way I get the best of both worlds, with a job I love and a place to escape.’ ‘Have your papers been trans—?’
Eleanor didn’t get the chance to finish asking her question, because they heard a cry and saw a man in front of them stagger and lean against the wall, clutching his stomach with one hand and gripping the wall with the other.
‘C’è un problema?’ Orlando asked.
‘Not … speak … Italian,’ the man gasped. ‘American.’
Orlando switched to English. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Feel dizzy. Sick. Stomach hurts.’ The man dragged in a breath. ‘Can’t see properly.’
‘Do you have any pain anywhere, apart from your stomach?’ Eleanor asked.
‘My head,’ he croaked.
Eleanor checked his pulse: it was racing and thumping. His forehead was hot, even allowing for the weather—and it was dry rather than sweaty.
She exchanged a glance with Orlando.
He mouthed, ‘Heatstroke?’
It wasn’t something she saw much of in England—except in a rare heatwave—but the symptoms certainly seemed like it. They needed to get the man out of the sun and start to cool him
down—now. Gently, she took the tourist’s arm. ‘We’re both doctors. Let’s get you into the shade so we can have a look at you.’ She led him into a cool, quiet area where he could sit down.
‘Are you on your own or with a group of people?’ Orlando asked.
‘MedAm tours,’ he said. ‘I lost my party. Stopped to look at something. They’d gone.’
‘I’ll go and find your guide,’ Orlando said. ‘And get a medical kit. I didn’t put mine in the car today but the office here should have something.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket—clean, folded and uncrumpled—and handed it to Eleanor, along with his bottle of water. ‘Eleanor’s an emergency doctor, so I’m leaving you in good hands,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get help for you.’
‘What’s your name?’ Eleanor asked.
‘Jed Baynes.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Jed. I’m Eleanor Forrest.’
“I’m not drunk,’ Jed said to Eleanor when Orlando had left. ‘Don’t even drink. But my head hurts. Like a killer hangover.’
She noticed he wasn’t wearing a hat. And he didn’t appear to be carrying any water with him. ‘Have you been in the sun long?’ she asked.
‘No, just since first thing this morning.’
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly half past twelve, so he’d probably been out in the sun for at least three hours. And right now it was the hottest part of the day. ‘No hat?’
‘Forgot it. Wanted to see the ruins.’ He grimaced. ‘Didn’t think.’
‘Have you stopped for a drink?’
‘No.’
And in this heat he’d be dehydrated even before he felt thirsty. Not good. ‘OK. I think you’ve just been in the sun too long. You need some water.’ She unscrewed the lid from her water bottle, wiped the neck with Orlando’s handkerchief and handed it to Jed. ‘Take a sip. Not lots of gulps, or you’ll bring it back up again—just take it nice and slowly. One sip at a time.’ She opened Orlando’s water and dampened the handkerchief with it, then gently dabbed it across Jed’s face. ‘We need to cool you down a bit,’ she said softly. At least he was wearing loose shorts and a shirt, so his clothing wasn’t going to make things worse. ‘Have you ever had anything like this before?’
‘No.’
‘When Dr de Luca’s back, hopefully he’ll have a thermometer with him. I think you’ve got a temperature—and we might need to get you to hospital to help you cool down.’
‘I don’t want to make a fuss!’
‘It’s no trouble,’ she reassured him, and dampened the handkerchief again. A quick glance showed her that Jed’s pupils weren’t dilated, so hopefully they’d caught him before his condition spiralled out of control.
Within a few minutes Orlando had returned with a medical kit. ‘They’re getting in touch with the tour leader on his mobile phone. I told them exactly where to find us.’ He handed Eleanor the thermometer.
‘Would you mind just popping this under your tongue for me?’ Eleanor wiped the thermometer, then handed it to Jed. As soon as it beeped, she checked the electronic reading. ‘Your temperature’s very high—almost forty-one.’
Orlando said in low tones, ‘If you’ve been cooling him down since I left you, then I’m really not happy. It’s still way too high. He could end up having a fit.’ He sat down on the other side of Jed and took his hand. ‘Are you taking any medication?’
‘My blood pressure’s a bit high,’ Jed said. ‘I’m on tablets for it.’
‘Diuretics—water tablets?’ Orlando asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘And you’ve been taking them regularly?’ ‘Just like the doctor ordered.’
‘That’s really good, Jed,’ Eleanor said, ‘but the tablets you’ve been taking are a type that makes you more susceptible to heatstroke.’
‘So we’d be much happier if we get you to hospital and get you checked over—your blood pressure needs checking, too. I’ll call the ambulance now,’ Orlando said.
Jed looked embarrassed. ‘I’ll be all right. Just need to sit in the shade. I don’t want to make a fuss.’
Eleanor stroked his hand. ‘You’re not making a fuss—but you’re not used to this kind of heat. Being English, neither am I. If you don’t sit down now and cool down properly, you could end up being very ill indeed. You might even collapse and fall unconscious—and that would make even more of a fuss, wouldn’t it?’
Orlando spoke rapid Italian into his mobile phone. Eleanor caught the words ‘febbre’, ‘mal di testa’ and ‘il colpo di sole’ and guessed that Orlando was giving a list of Jed’s symptoms and diagnosis.
Jed’s hand tightened around Eleanor’s. ‘But I can’t go to hospital. I don’t speak Italian. I won’t know what they’re saying.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And they won’t understand me.’
Orlando exchanged a glance with Eleanor as he ended his call. ‘Don’t worry, Jed. We’ll come with you. I’ll translate,’ he said.
Jed frowned. ‘But I’m spoiling your honeymoon.’
Eleanor blinked. ‘Um, we’re not married.’
Jed flushed. ‘I’m sorry. The way you look at each other … I thought you were …’
‘Confusion’s all part of heatstroke,’ Orlando said to Eleanor in low tones.
True. But they had been holding hands when they’d first gone to Jed’s rescue. And Eleanor knew exactly what Jed meant: she and Orlando had been looking at each other like that since the moment they’d met on the plane.
Hot.
Wanting. Like lovers. Except they weren’t.
Yet. The word shimmered into her mind. The attraction was there. Mutual. They were both single. Would they.?
‘The ambulance will be here in about ten minutes,’ Orlando said. ‘You go in the ambulance with Jed, Eleanor. I’ll follow in my car.’
‘You speak Italian?’ Jed asked her hopefully.
‘A little.’ Not enough to translate for him in the ambulance. ‘Surely it’d make more sense for you to go in the ambulance and translate?’ she asked Orlando.
Orlando shook his head. ‘You don’t know the way to the hospital—and I’d hate you to get lost.’
She laughed. ‘Listen to him, Jed. He’s got this flash Italian sports car. Sounds to me like he doesn’t want me to drive it.’
Orlando snorted. ‘In that case, when we’ve got Jed settled at the hospital, you can drive us home.’
Eleanor backtracked fast. ‘I was teasing.’
‘No, it was a definite challenge. Don’t you think, Jed?’
Jed tried to smile, but he was clearly in pain. Eleanor encouraged him to take small sips of water. ‘Not long now, honey.’
‘Cos’è?’ A man came hurrying towards them. ‘Mr Baynes? What’s happened?’
Orlando explained quickly while Eleanor continued trying to cool Jed down; by the time Orlando had finished explaining, the paramedics had arrived. He went through the handover, then said to Eleanor, ‘I’ve given them a patient history. I told them you’re an English emergency specialist who doesn’t speak much Italian, but you will know what they are doing and will help to explain to Jed.’
‘I will get in touch with your family, Mr Baynes, and tell them what’s happening,’ the tour leader said, ‘and then I will get someone to take over from me and I will join you at the hospital.’
Eleanor persuaded Jed to allow the paramedics to carry him to the ambulance—it would be quicker and avoid him rushing and making the heatstroke worse. But Orlando’s grim prediction came true in the ambulance when Jed went into convulsions.
The paramedics immediately gave him diazepam, to control the fitting, and an oxygen mask.
‘At the moment your body’s too hot and it’s making you have a fit,’ she explained to Jed, holding his hand. ‘They’ve given you some drugs to stop you having a fit. And the oxygen’s to help you breathe more easily.’ Diazepam could depress respiration, but Jed was worried enough: he didn’t need something else to panic about.
‘When yo
u get to hospital, they’ll cool you down properly,’ she explained. ‘They’ll probably spray you with tepid water and blow fans over you.’ Immersion in cool water wasn’t an option in this case, as he’d already had a fit and the potential resuscitation problems made it unworkable. ‘They might put cool packs in your armpits, over your neck and scalp, and in your groin area.’
Jed looked askance and lifted the mask from his face. ‘My groin?’
‘Put this back because you need the oxygen right now,’ she said quietly, helping him settle the mask back in place. ‘The packs will help to cool you more quickly. It’s standard treatment, so try not to worry. They might give you some more drugs to stop you having another fit or feeling sick, and they’ll take some blood so they can check the chemicals in your blood are all as they should be and give you something to help if they’re not.’
When they got to the emergency department, Orlando was already there.
‘You drive like a maniac,’ she said. ‘I think we should bet on him to win the next Grand Prix, Jed.’
Orlando just laughed. ‘How are you feeling, Jed?’ he asked.
‘Terrible.’
‘You’ll be feeling much better soon,’ Orlando promised.
Orlando translated everything that the medics were doing for Jed’s benefit, and by the time the MedAm tour leader arrived, Jed’s condition had stabilised enough for them to be happy to leave him with the tour leader.
‘You take care. And enjoy the rest of your holiday,’ Orlando said, patting Jed’s shoulder.
Jed nodded. ‘Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for the way you looked after me.’
Orlando shrugged. ‘We’re doctors. This is what we do. Just have good memories of my country—that will be enough for me.’
Eleanor followed Orlando into the car park. He leaned against his car door and took the keys from his pocket. ‘So. I drive like a maniac, do I?’
She rubbed a hand against her face. ‘No, just a bit faster than I’m used to.’
‘A maniac, you said.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Right. Let’s see what you can do.’ He tossed the keys towards her.
She caught them automatically—and then froze. ‘Orlando, I can’t do this. I’m not insured.’
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 22