A Wife for Dr. Cunningham

by Maggie Kingsley

‘What is it—what’s wrong?’ Hannah asked as she joined her outside cubicle 7.

  ‘John Keir, forty two years old, came in ten minutes ago with severe chest pains, and I’m not happy.’

  Neither was Hannah after she’d examined him. John Keir’s pulse was 145, his breathing was rapid, and his skin was warm and clammy to the touch.

  ‘How long have you felt like this, Mr Keir?’ she asked.

  ‘A couple of hours,’ he gasped. ‘Maybe more. At first I thought it was simply indigestion. Some friends and I went out for a pub lunch, you see, but now it feels like I’ve got an elephant sitting on my chest.’

  ‘Do you have pain anywhere else?’ Hannah said as Jane swiftly began inserting an IV drip.

  ‘It’s down my left arm now as well,’ he replied with difficulty, ‘and in my jaw.’

  Hannah eyes met Jane’s. Mr Keir couldn’t have described the classic symptoms of a heart attack better if he’d tried.

  ‘Get me a BP and respiratory rate, Jane,’ she said, pulling the ECG monitor quickly across to the trolley.

  ‘You’ll be wanting supplementary oxygen, too?’ Jane said, reaching for the nasal cannula.

  Hannah nodded as she began affixing the ECG machine’s sticky electrodes to John Keir’s arms, legs and chest. The extra oxygen should help the man’s breathing and hopefully bring his blood pressure down. A nitroglycerine capsule under his tongue, and morphine given intravenously, should relieve his pain, but they needed to know what his heart was doing, and only the ECG machine could tell them that.

  And it did. Myocardial infarction. The horizontal lines appearing at regular intervals on the graph paper could mean only one thing—acute myocardial infarction.

  ‘Resps 130 over 90, breaths 24 a minute,’ Jane murmured, and Hannah bit her lip. This was far too serious for her to handle on her own, and she knew it.

  ‘Jane, go and see if you can find Elliot or Robert,’ she said in an undertone, ‘and I want you to page Cardiology for me, too.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Just do it, Jane,’ she insisted.

  With a backward glance of concern the sister was gone, and Hannah smiled encouragingly down at John Keir as she inserted another IV line into his arm.

  ‘You said you went out for a pub lunch,’ she commented, deliberately making conversation to calm him. ‘Somewhere nice?’

  ‘The Arches in Piccadilly,’ he replied with a wobbly smile. ‘Last time I’ll be going there, believe me. One tomato risotto with avocado, followed by lamb steaks cooked in sage butter, and I end up in hospital.’

  Hannah chuckled, understanding the effort it must have taken John Keir to make a joke at a time like this, then glanced up at the drip. It was open and running and hopefully it would soon dilate the arteries around John’s heart, helping the blood to flow more freely and making it less likely to form clots.

  Unfortunately, none of the drugs she’d given him through the IV drip could unclog any clots already present. Only tissue-plasminogen activating factor and streptokinase could do that, but even healthy people without heart problems could sometimes bleed too much when they were given those two drugs, and the thought of John Keir bleeding internally, as well as suffering from a myocardial infarction, horrified her

  She needed advice, and she needed it quickly. As though on cue, Jane suddenly came through the cubicle curtains with Robert at her side.

  ‘Drug situation?’ he declared, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

  ‘Nitroglycerine by mouth, morphine intravenously. Nitro drip with heparin and aspirin,’ Hannah replied.

  ‘TPA and streptokinase?’

  She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t sure about the dosages—’

  ‘No problem,’ he interrupted.

  With an ease she could only envy, he swiftly made the calculations and administered the two drugs. They should work quickly, and they did.

  ‘BP and pulse rate seem to be stabilising, Robert,’ Jane announced.

  ‘OK, page IC for me, Jane. Tell them we’ll be sending Mr…Mr…’

  ‘Keir—John Keir,’ Hannah supplied for him.

  ‘A Mr John Keir along after he’s been seen by the cardiology specialist. Hannah, keep an eye on the ECG monitor for arrhythmia—abnormal heartbeats.’

  She nodded. ‘Do you want—?’

  She didn’t get a chance to say any more. The alarm on the ECG machine suddenly went off and she stared at it in horror.

  Ventricular fibrillation. John Keir’s heart had gone into chaotic, uncoordinated spasm. No blood was flowing from his heart into his brain, which meant that he would soon be dead unless they did something. But to Hannah’s dismay she couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. All she could feel was panic—a terrified, mind-numbing, panic—and desperately she glanced across at Robert, willing him to do something.

  He did. He leant past her and thumped John Keir hard in the centre of his chest with his fist. Hannah’s eyes flew back to the ECG monitor. Nothing. Nothing was happening. The graph paper was still spewing out the same wild, haphazard strokes, then with a discordant beep the alarm suddenly clicked off, and John Keir’s heart rhythm jolted back to normal.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Robert smiled as John Keir gazed up at him in confusion. ‘Hitting somebody isn’t exactly the best way to win friends, but sometimes it can be very effective.’ He glanced across at Jane. ‘BP now?’

  ‘One hundred over sixty.’

  Normal, considering the circumstances.

  ‘Any sign of arrhythmia, Hannah?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she mumbled.

  Robert shot her a puzzled glance, but she didn’t see it. All she could think was that John Keir’s blood pressure was normal. He wasn’t out of the woods yet by any means, but for now, at least, he was stable again.

  ‘Where the hell is that cardiology consultant?’ Robert demanded. ‘You did say you’d paged him, didn’t you, Jane?’

  She nodded. ‘He said he was on his way.’

  ‘Don’t tell me I’ve missed all the excitement,’ the consultant said as he swung into the cubicle.

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ Robert replied dryly. ‘I think Mr Keir’s had more than enough for one afternoon.’

  So had she, Hannah thought as John Keir was wheeled off to Intensive Care. She’d had more than enough to last her a lifetime.

  A sob sprang to her lips and she crushed it down with difficulty. She’d failed. This had been her first big emergency, and she’d failed.

  ‘Are you OK, Hannah?’

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Robert gazing at her with concern, and shook her head. ‘I don’t ever want to be that frightened again as long as I live. If you hadn’t been here—done what you did—’

  ‘It comes with practice.’

  ‘He could have died,’ she continued, her eyes large brown pools of distress and defeat. ‘I just stood there—useless—frozen—’

  ‘Hannah, nobody expects a junior doctor to have the knowledge and skill of a special registrar,’ he protested.

  Perhaps not, but she’d bet money Laura wouldn’t have frozen. In fact, Laura would probably have performed open-heart surgery with a teaspoon if she’d needed to.

  ‘I’m useless,’ she murmured wretchedly. ‘Completely useless—’

  ‘Hey, you can stop that right now!’ Robert exclaimed, striding quickly across the cubicle and grasping her firmly by the shoulders. ‘Who gave that guy the nitro, heparin and aspirin? You did! Who had the sense to get help when she needed it? You did!’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Hannah, you did everything I—or indeed anyone else—could have expected in the circumstances, so why are you being so hard on yourself?’

  Because for years my father told me I’d never be good enough to be a doctor, she thought. For years I had to listen to him telling me I wasn’t bright enough, or strong enough, or talented enough.

  ‘I guess…’ Her tears were still far too near to the surface for comfort, and she swallowed h
ard. ‘I guess it’s because I’m a wimp.’

  He smiled. A gentle smile that seemed to curl down right into her toes. ‘Oh, Hannah, you’re not a wimp. You might be an idiot at times, but you’re most definitely not a wimp.’

  She gave a short, hiccuping laugh that wasn’t quite a sob. ‘Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?’

  ‘It’s meant as one.’ He nodded, and she knew he wasn’t lying.

  But as she continued to gaze up at him she suddenly realised something else. The strange, fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach was back again. That confusing, disturbing, awareness she’d experienced in his flat had returned, and she didn’t want to feel it. She desperately didn’t want to feel it.

  Awkwardly she backed away from him, all too conscious that her cheeks must be red. ‘I have to get back to work. Jane…Elliot…they’ll be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Hannah…’ Robert took a step towards her, then stopped. ‘If you ever feel the need to talk to someone, perhaps feel that things—people—are getting on top of you…’

  She wished he hadn’t said that. He’d been the last person to be on top of her, well, almost, and she didn’t want to remember that. Didn’t want to remember the way he’d kissed her, how his fingers had curled round her breasts, and how he’d pressed his long, hard length against her.

  ‘I’ll…I’ll bear that in mind,’ she floundered, backing away from him still further.

  ‘Hannah—’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Elliot said, abruptly halting as he came through the cubicle curtains. ‘I didn’t realise you were busy, Robert, but the night staff have just come on duty—’

  ‘And I’m just going,’ Hannah broke in quickly.

  ‘Hannah, wait a minute—’

  But she didn’t wait. She simply took to her heels and ran.

  Idiot. Idiot! she berated herself when she reached the staffroom and leant against the door, her heart pounding. Are you deliberately trying to make yourself look ridiculous? Deliberately trying to look a fool? Look at the situation. Yes, just look!

  Robert was married to a girl who was beautiful, and talented, and smart. Even if he wanted to get involved with somebody again, it wouldn’t be with somebody like you.

  And even if he was interested in you, you swore you’d never ever get involved with another doctor again, remember, so get a grip on yourself. Go home, have something to eat, and then you’ll be able to get this whole ridiculous situation into perspective.

  And the hot meal did help. The long, hot shower she took afterwards helped even more.

  You’ve got to start socialising, she told herself as she stepped out of the shower, slipped into her bathrobe and went through to the sitting room to collect her hairdryer. You go to work, come home, then study. No wonder you’re behaving like an idiot. If you don’t get yourself a social life pretty damn quick, you’re going to start finding creepy Jerry Clark from Radiology attractive next.

  She chuckled, switched on the dryer, then switched it off again when she heard the sound of someone knocking on her door.

  It would be Melanie Johnson from the flat above, dropping by to collect the notes she’d wanted to borrow. Melanie, who was scatty and crazy and exactly the kind of company she needed right now. With a smile she called out, ‘Come in. The door’s not locked.’

  Which would have been exactly the right thing to say if it had been Melanie, but it wasn’t. It was Robert Cunningham.

  For a second she froze, all too acutely aware that she was naked beneath her bathrobe, then with a deep blush of embarrassment she dropped the hairdryer, grabbed the belt of her robe and tightened it into a firm knot.

  ‘I thought…I thought you were Melanie,’ she said, in case he thought she made a habit of asking people into her flat when she was wearing a bathrobe. ‘Melanie Johnson,’ she added as his eyebrows rose. ‘She has the flat above me, and wanted to borrow some of my notes on blood diseases. She had flu when we had the lecture, you see, and…and…’

  And she was babbling, she realised as he gazed at her silently. Babbling a lot of nonsense that he couldn’t possibly be interested in.

  Well, what did he expect? she thought crossly. She hadn’t asked him to drop by, she hadn’t wanted him to drop by, and if he wanted scintillating conversation he’d come to the wrong place.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked as coolly as any girl dressed solely in a wet bathrobe, with bright red cheeks and soaking wet hair, could be expected to. ‘Is there some problem at the hospital?’

  ‘No problem, no,’ he replied. ‘Reception told me that a letter came for you this morning marked “personal”, and I thought it might be important.’

  In truth, he hadn’t thought anything of the kind. He’d come because he still felt guilty, because she’d seemed so depressed over John Keir, and when he’d seen the letter he’d hoped it might be from a friend who could cheer her up, but the minute he’d walked into her flat he’d known he shouldn’t have come.

  Did she have any idea how revealing her bathrobe was when it was wet? He knew, and wished he didn’t, and with a supreme effort of will he shifted his gaze to her face and kept it there.

  ‘Thanks for bringing it round,’ she murmured, taking the letter from his outstretched hand.

  She didn’t looked grateful. In fact, she looked as though he’d just handed her a ticking time bomb to hold.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ he said curiously.

  ‘Of course not,’ she replied brightly, shoving the letter into her pocket. ‘It’s just a letter from an old schoolfriend, that’s all.’

  And I’m Santa Claus, Robert thought grimly as he stared at her.

  How could he have been so stupid? It was obvious now that the letter was from a boyfriend, or a lover. Probably the same lover or boyfriend who’d brought her rushing down to London to work, and, judging from her expression, a letter was the last thing she’d expected.

  Well, when you fell in love you got hurt. Everybody knew that. Look at Elliot, divorced now for five years and still unable to form a lasting relationship. And as for himself…

  No, he didn’t want to think about himself. Didn’t want to remember how loving Laura had brought heartbreak and disaster to them both. Quickly he glanced round the sitting room, looking for a way to change the subject. ‘These flats are even worse than I remember.’

  ‘You remember?’ she repeated.

  ‘My…my wife had one of these flats before…before we got married.’ So much for trying not to remember, he thought bleakly. So much for trying to forget. Nothing would ever help him to forget. Nothing.

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, or tea?’ she said swiftly, guessing at the thoughts which must be going through his mind. ‘It would be no trouble…’

  ‘Thank you, but I have to go.’ Robert walked towards the door, then paused and turned back towards her, his face determined. ‘I never…I didn’t ever thank you properly for taking care of my arm and wrist.’

  Hannah gazed at him in dismay. She didn’t want to talk about this, not right now and preferably never. ‘It was no trouble—no trouble at all,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘I was only too happy to be there.’ Oh, she hadn’t meant that—or at least she had, but not in the way he might think. ‘What I mean is—’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he interrupted, and she wondered if her cheeks were as red as his. They certainly felt like it. ‘I just…well, I wanted to say thank you, and…’ A small muscle in the corner of his jaw tightened. ‘And to say that I hope I didn’t…That is, my behaviour—’

  ‘There’s no need to say anything,’ she declared, her voice slightly strangled. ‘In fact, I’d far rather you didn’t.’

  He nodded, but he didn’t move, made no attempt to open the door. Oh, please, just go, she thought. You’ve done what you came to do so, please, please, just go.

  ‘I’ll say goodnight, then,’ he said at last, hesitantly, almost she thought reluctantly, and this time she didn’t try to stop h
im.

  Instead, she waited until she heard the sound of his footsteps growing fainter and fainter in the corridor outside, then let out her breath in a long, slow whoosh of relief.

  She never wanted to have another conversation like that as long as she lived. He’d been so clearly deeply embarrassed, and she…! If he’d only left that stupid letter until morning—

  The letter. Quickly she pulled it out of her pocket and stared down at it.

  How had her father found out where she worked? She’d told no one, refused even to so much as give him a hint, so how had he found out? Probably by phoning every hospital in the country, looking for her, she decided bitterly. Probably by calling in every favour he was owed.

  Well, she wasn’t going to read it now. She didn’t know if she was ever going to read it. Deliberately, she threw the envelope onto the coffee-table, switched on her hairdryer and went over to the mirror, only to stare at herself in appalled horror.

  Oh, no, she could see the outline of her breasts, even her nipples, through her wet bathrobe, and if she could see them that meant Robert must have seen them, too.

  So what if he did? her mind protested. Considering the man was married to a woman whose figure would have made Marilyn Monroe envious, your two poached eggs are hardly likely to have taken his breath away.

  And they were poached eggs, she thought vexedly, turning sideways to gaze at them critically. Two small, flat, unsexy, poached eggs. If only they were bigger, fuller, higher—

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, get a grip,’ she told her reflection. ‘Even if you had breasts the size of melons, Robert Cunningham wouldn’t be interested in you, and that’s exactly how you want it to be, you know it is.’

  And as she switched on her hairdryer and began drying her hair, she tried very hard to make herself believe it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I’M AFRAID your eye is going to be very painful for quite some time,’ Hannah said as she slipped an eye patch carefully round the young man’s head. ‘The antibiotic eye drops I’ve given you should help a little, and they ought to get rid of any infection, but don’t forget to give this referral note to our receptionist on your way out, and she’ll make sure you get an appointment at our ophthalmology clinic.’