How must he feel today? How would she feel if it were her? Desolate, shattered, bitter. There had to be something she could say that would help ease his grief, but any conversation she attempted was met by such a vehement rebuff that when a Miss Sheila Vernon came in shortly after ten o’clock with severe stomach pains, Hannah’s heart sank into her boots.
‘I don’t suppose you could manage on your own, could you?’ Floella grimaced when she asked her to go and get Robert. ‘I know Elliot’s all tied up with that OD, but Robert’s on such a short fuse tonight, and asking for help…’
There was no alternative, Hannah thought grimly. She couldn’t see inside Sheila Vernon’s stomach to confirm or rule out anything, so palpation was the first line of investigation, and she knew she didn’t possess the necessary skill to do it. She’d have to ask Robert for help, and if he chose to make her look ridiculous for requesting it, she’d just have to grit her teeth and bear it.
To her amazement, however, Robert neither took the opportunity to slip in a sarcastic comment about her lack of ability nor subjected her to withering scorn. In fact—if she hadn’t known better—she could almost have sworn he was pleased to help her when she admitted her problem.
‘The secret of successful palpation is never to rush,’ he explained. ‘The slower you press into the stomach, the more chance you’ll have of seeing the patient “guarding”—trying to push your hand away when you press on a particularly sensitive area—which can help pinpoint the source of the pain.’
Hannah nodded.
‘People who come into A and E with severe stomach pain always think they have appendicitis,’ he observed as he began pressing gently across Sheila Vernon’s stomach, ‘but it’s actually quite rare—less than four per cent of all cases—and Miss Vernon quite clearly doesn’t have it or we’d be scraping her off the ceiling by now.’
Floella smothered a chuckle but Hannah, he noticed, didn’t even smile.
He wasn’t surprised. After his earlier jibe at her for wasting time she was hardly likely to be feeling very charitable towards him, but how she could tolerate the slimy overtures of a man like Jerry Clark was beyond him.
Laura wouldn’t have tolerated it for a second. Laura would have drawn herself up to her full five feet nine and given Jerry one flash of her violet blue eyes, and if that hadn’t intimidated the scumbag, she’d have hit him.
‘Pulse and BP both dropping, Robert,’ Floella warned.
‘OK, get me a urine analysis, a guiac test on her stools and a liver function test, a.s.a.p.,’ he ordered.
So why on earth had Hannah put up with it? he wondered as he began palpating the lower left quadrant of Sheila Vernon’s stomach. OK, so she was only five feet two, but she’d stood up to that man who hadn’t wanted Floella treating him last week and he’d been twice the size of the puny X-ray technician.
Which could only mean that incredibly—inexplicably—she was actually attracted to the creep.
Was she insane? he wondered, risking a quick glance across at her. God in heaven, she could do so much better—deserved so much better—and the thought of her in Jerry Clark’s arms, of him holding her, touching her, making love to her…
‘How much longer are you going to be with those damn urine and guiac tests, Flo?’ he snapped, taking his anger out in the nearest available person. ‘I could have had them flown to America and processed in the time it’s taken you to do them!’
The staff nurse blinked, but her voice when she spoke was calm, even. ‘There’s no blood in the urine, and the guiac and liver function tests are normal, too.’
Without a word he strode through the cubicle curtains, indicating with a jerk of his head that Hannah should follow him.
‘You’re absolutely certain she’s not pregnant?’ he demanded the minute they were safely out of Sheila Vernon’s earshot. ‘Ectopics can cause severe abdominal pain if the foetus is hiding in the liver, or under the bowels, and if the foetus grows into a blood vessel and ruptures it…’
The results could be catastrophic. Massive internal bleeding would occur, and if it wasn’t detected in time, a patient could die.
‘The blood test was definitely negative,’ Hannah assured him.
His frown deepened. ‘At twenty-nine she’s too young for diverticulitis…inflammation of the colon…’
‘What about pelvic inflammatory disease?’ Hannah suggested. ‘Or endometriosis?’
‘It could be,’ he murmured. ‘But did you notice how swollen her stomach was, and yet she was otherwise quite slim? I think we’re looking at a ruptured ovarian cyst here, and I’d like to get the consultant down from Gynae.’
Hannah wasn’t about to argue with him. She was much too relieved to have him take charge. But there was something she wanted to say, and she waited until he’d replaced the phone to say it.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked, seeing she hadn’t moved.
She shook her head. ‘I just…I only wanted to say thanks for helping me in there.’
‘It’s what I’m paid for,’ he replied dismissively, but as he turned to go she put out her hand to stop him.
‘Perhaps it is, but…’ She came to a halt. Robert was staring down at her hand on his arm and she withdrew it self-consciously. ‘I still…I felt I ought to say thank you, and…’ She took a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘I’m very sorry about what happened to your wife.’
She had disappeared back into cubicle 2 before he could reply. Which was just as well, he decided as he stared after her because he was too busy wondering why—when he’d gazed down at her small hand on his arm—he’d been seized with the quite bewildering and totally inexplicable desire to grab hold of it and never let go.
It was crazy, ridiculous. She was just a skinny kid with a snub nose and a mop of curly short hair. A skinny kid he heartily wished he could transfer to some other department.
No, he didn’t really wish that. She might be relatively naïve and inexperienced at the moment, but in time he knew she could be a real asset to A and E.
And she wasn’t really skinny either, he was forced to admit when she reappeared at the cubicle curtains and beckoned to Kelly to join her. She was slender. Slender, but with curves in all the right places. Slender, with a tiny waist, and fine, delicately boned legs. The kind of legs which would wrap themselves around a man, holding him, while he…
‘Everything OK, boss?’ Jane asked curiously as she passed him.
Hot colour flamed across his cheeks. ‘Fine—great.’
But it wasn’t fine, and it wasn’t great. He didn’t want to find Hannah Blake attractive. He didn’t want to find any woman attractive, ever again.
And certainly not a woman who could be interested in a jerk like Jerry Clark, he thought grimly as the X-ray technician came through the swing doors with the gynaecological consultant.
‘All I can say is this had better be an ovarian cyst and not plain old indigestion, Robert,’ the consultant said with a grin. ‘I’ll have you know I was enjoying coffee with Gorgeous Gussie Granton in Paediatrics—’
‘Well, pardon me for interrupting your social life!’ Robert snapped as Hannah joined them and he saw Jerry wink across at her. ‘I was under the impression this was a hospital, not a dating agency!’
The consultant’s smile vanished in an instant. ‘Now, just a minute, Robert—’
‘I don’t have one,’ he retorted. ‘Unlike you, I have neither time for cups of coffee nor for socialising. I have work to do!’
And before the consultant could reply, he’d walked away, leaving Hannah staring after him in stunned dismay.
Oh, God, but what was he doing? He’d asked the consultant to come down—specifically requested his help—and then to walk out on him…
Awkwardly she cleared her throat, all too aware that the gynaecological consultant was fuming beside her. ‘I…We—we’re very busy tonight, sir.’
‘Are you, indeed?’ he replied tightly. ‘Well, personally I’ve never believed that bei
ng busy excused rudeness, and I can only hope your boss has acquired a set of better manners by the time I’ve finished examining his patient!’
He hadn’t, not even when it was confirmed that Sheila Vernon was, indeed, suffering from a ruptured ovarian cyst. In fact, at eleven o’clock the whole A and E team sent up a collective prayer of thanks that their shift was over.
‘I, for one, hope I don’t have to put in another shift like that in a hurry,’ Elliot observed ruefully as he accompanied Hannah out of the hospital. ‘Talk about stressful!’
‘I’d rather not remember it at all,’ Hannah sighed, noticing Robert had come out of the hospital, too, and was standing watching them, his face cold and impassive. ‘In fact, all I want to do is go home and go to bed.’
Elliot wiggled his eyebrows at her. ‘Sounds good to me. Fancy some company?’
She shook her head and laughed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Elliot.’
‘Look, why don’t I take you out for dinner?’ he pressed. ‘Cheer both of us up a bit. I know this really nice little place—’ He swore under his breath as his pager suddenly went off. ‘No, don’t go,’ he insisted. ‘Give me five minutes to find out if this is urgent, and then at the very least let me take you for coffee.’
She laughed again as he disappeared back into the hospital, but her laughter died when she saw Robert striding across the hospital forecourt towards her, his face even grimmer than before.
‘Look, whatever it is, can’t it wait until tomorrow?’ she said quickly to forestall him. ‘I’m really tired—’
‘I’m not surprised!’ he thundered back, his grey eyes ice-cold. ‘First it’s Jerry Clark, and now it’s Elliot. Frankly, I’m surprised you can find the time to treat any patients when you’re so busy organising your social life!’
She stared up at him, open-mouthed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘As well you might, but I’m not here to judge your morals—or, indeed, apparent lack of them!’
‘My lack of—’
‘My job is to ensure that A and E functions to the best of its ability. A task that is not being made any easier by a junior doctor who seems incapable of resisting the temptation to flirt with anything in trousers!’
It was the injustice of his remark that cut her to the quick. She didn’t have a social life, not after working an eight-hour shift each day then going home to study for her exams. And for him to suggest she was some sort of raving nymphomaniac…
She gripped her hands together tightly, and when she spoke every word sizzled like hot oil. ‘I don’t know why I should even dignify your comments with an answer, but for your information I think Jerry Clark is a creep.’
‘A creep whose attentions you don’t appear to find particularly distasteful!’
‘Only because I can’t afford to!’ she retorted. ‘If you were a woman doctor at St Stephen’s, you’d know that if you want your X-rays processed quickly you have to put up with Jerry’s crude innuendoes, and touching, and pawing.’
He looked truly horrified. ‘That’s sexual harassment—’
‘Too damn right it is, so think yourself lucky you don’t wear a skirt and have to endure it!’
‘Hannah—’
‘And as for your suggestion that I flirt with Elliot!’ She dug her fingernails deep into the palms of her hands and struggled to keep calm. ‘I talk to him. I laugh with him. It’s called making conversation with friends, Dr Cunningham. Something you quite obviously neither recognise nor subscribe to, so I’m not surprised you haven’t got any!’
He whitened then reddened in quick succession. Never had she seen him quite so angry, but to her dismay there wasn’t just anger in his face but pain, too. Conscience-stricken, she took a step towards him. ‘Dr Cunningham…Robert…’
He didn’t even wait to hear what she’d been about to say. He simply wheeled round and strode away, and she bit her lip when she heard Elliot’s deep groan behind her.
‘I went too far, didn’t I?’ she mumbled unhappily, turning towards him.
‘The words “a little” and “over the top” certainly spring to mind,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know what it is with you two. Five minutes together, and you’re at each other’s throats.’
He was right. She wasn’t normally so quick to anger—in fact, it was usually quite the reverse. Only her father had ever managed to rile her quite so much, and she didn’t want to think about her father, not tonight, not ever.
‘I’ve got to go, Elliot.’
‘But what about dinner—coffee?’ he protested.
‘Maybe some other night,’ she said gently, seeing his disappointment. ‘Look, I wouldn’t be good company—not for anyone.’
He nodded reluctantly, but as she began to walk away he suddenly came after her. ‘Hannah, about Robert…’
‘What about Robert?’ she demanded.
‘Apologise to him. Look, it doesn’t matter who was at fault,’ he added when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘You’ve got to work with the guy, and…well…I know it’s no excuse, but today—with it being the anniversary of his wife’s death—it must have been really hellish for him.’
Elliot was right. It didn’t excuse what Robert had said to her tonight, but it might explain it, a little.
And if she was going to apologise she might as well do it now, she decided, hitching her bag higher onto her shoulder. Wellington Place was only a couple of streets away. A quick detour on her way home and it would be done.
Or at least it would have been if she hadn’t arrived in Wellington Place to find Robert’s ground-floor flat in total darkness. Either he’d gone out, or gone to bed, and it didn’t require the brains of Einstein to figure out he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled if she woke him up simply to say she was sorry.
With a sigh she began retracing her steps, only to come to a sudden halt. From somewhere inside the flat she was sure she’d heard the sound of breaking glass. Could he be ill? Could he have collapsed? Could he be so eaten up with grief that he’d done something really stupid?
She ran back to the front door, put her finger on the doorbell and kept it there. Five minutes. She’d give him five minutes to answer, and if he didn’t—
‘Will you get your damn finger off that bloody doorbell before you wake the whole neighbourhood?’
Robert wasn’t ill, she realised with dismay as she gazed up into his furious face. He was angry. Angry at being disturbed, angry with her for being there, and then suddenly she noticed something else. Blood was trickling down from his wrist onto his shirt cuff, staining it black under the fluorescent streetlight.
‘Oh, my God, what have you done?’ she gasped in horror.
‘Done?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Your wrist…Have you any SteriStrips—antiseptic—in the house?’ she asked, pushing past him into the flat. ‘I’ll need water, towels, too. Oh, Robert, I know you’re upset—unhappy—but to do something like this…’
‘Something like what?’ he protested in obvious confusion as he followed her. ‘I simply tripped and fell when I was carrying some glasses, and some of the glass went into my wrist and arm.’
‘Then you didn’t—I mean, you weren’t trying to…’ She coloured furiously under his puzzled gaze. ‘Look, where’s your bathroom?’
‘Over there, but—’
‘You’d better take off your shirt,’ she ordered, slipping off her coat and throwing it over the chair in the hall as she led the way into the bathroom. ‘If you’ve cut your arm as well as your wrist, they’re both going to need attention. Lacerations can cause infection—’
‘Hannah—’
‘What on earth were you doing, stumbling about in the dark in the first place?’ she demanded, taking refuge in anger when what she really felt was acute embarrassment at having so clearly jumped to the wrong conclusion. ‘Saving on electricity—checking your night sight?’
‘Hannah—’
‘And as for this little lot,’ she continued, shaking her head i
n disbelief when she opened his bathroom cabinet and scanned its contents, ‘most of this—’
‘Should have been thrown out years ago. Yeah, I know.’ A rueful smile curved his lips as she turned angrily towards him, then appeared to forget what she’d been about to say. ‘There’s no need to look quite so shocked, little Hannah. The whisky’s purely for medicinal purposes.’
It wasn’t the glass of whisky in his hand that had made her bereft her of speech—though, heaven knows, he should have known better. It was the sight of his bare, broad, muscular chest. A bare, broad, muscular chest covered with an intriguing pattern of glistening dark hair. A bare, broad, muscular chest which for some inexplicable reason seemed to be doing the most amazing things to her heart rate
‘I…um…You don’t appear to have any sterile dressings,’ she spluttered, swinging back to his bathroom cabinet. ‘I…I’ll have to make do with lint and Micropore.’
‘Whatever,’ he said dismissively. ‘But could you get a move on before I freeze to death?’
He was lucky, she thought, letting out her breath in a rush. Hot flushes were her problem at the moment. Megahot flushes.
And it was crazy, ridiculous. This man was her boss. She’d worked with him for over a month and never once thought of him as a man. OK, so when he’d smiled at her that one time, she might have thought he had a very nice smile, but she’d never thought of him as A Man. And yet now…
Now she was all too aware of him. All too aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and her own skittering heartbeat.
‘Could you…?’ Her voice had come out in a squeak, and she took a firm grip on herself. ‘Could you sit down on the edge of the bath for me, please?’
He nodded absently, but a frown creased his forehead when she began cleaning his arm with some lint. ‘Forgive my appalling memory, but did I actually invite you round here tonight?’
The colour on her cheeks darkened to crimson. ‘I came to apologise. I was very rude to you earlier—’
‘Water off a duck’s back,’ he interrupted dismissively, wincing slightly as she dabbed at his wrist and arm with antiseptic. ‘If everyone I’d been rude to during the day came round to my flat to apologise, there’d be a queue stretching back to St Stephen’s.’
A Wife for Dr. Cunningham Page 5