‘Is there a problem here?’ Elliot demanded, joining them without warning, his eyes flicking coldly from Jane to Richard.
Quickly Richard gave him all the information he had, but Elliot knew he was only half listening to him. Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent his eyes from drifting back to Jane. She looked so pale this morning, pale and tired and a little depressed. And there were dark shadows under her grey eyes, too, shadows he was positive hadn’t been there yesterday or he was sure he would have noticed them.
Richard didn’t look at all tired, he thought grimly. He looked bright and alert, as though somebody had recently given his confidence quite a boost. Quite how, Elliot preferred not to contemplate.
‘Do you mind if I sit in with you for this patient?’ he asked, bringing Richard’s explanation to a sudden halt. ‘No reflection on your capabilities, of course,’ he added smoothly as the junior doctor stared at him in clear dismay, ‘but it’s part of my job. Checking everything’s running smoothly.’
And it was, he told himself as Richard nodded and led the way into the cubicle, looking slightly less confident than he had before, and Jane shot him a puzzled glance. Special registrars were supposed to make sure that the junior doctors on their team were up to scratch, and if his interest was slightly more personal than it should have been, it was nobody’s business but his own.
To his chagrin, however, it didn’t take him long to discover that not only was Richard Connery quite a personable young man, he was also very good at his job.
He could neither fault the thoroughness of his examination nor the way he asked his questions. He would have liked to, but he couldn’t.
‘Would you care to take a look yourself, Dr Mathieson?’ Richard asked, turning to him as though he’d read his mind.
Elliot doubted that there was any need, but he took Richard’s seat in front of the patient and quickly shone a light into the man’s eyes to check whether both of his pupils were equally round and reacted to the light.
‘You told Dr Connery you haven’t experienced any stiffness in your neck,’ he murmured. ‘Have you felt any weakness in your arms or legs, or feelings of feverishness, like you’re coming down with the flu?’
The man shook his head, only to quite clearly wish he hadn’t, and Jane smiled at him sympathetically. The paracetamol she’d taken this morning didn’t seem to have helped her headache at all, but at least she knew why she had one. Getting a full eight hours sleep tonight would solve one of the reasons. Doing something about the way she felt about Elliot…Now, that was an entirely different matter altogether.
‘Ophthalmoscope, Jane,’ Elliot said, interrupting her thoughts, and swiftly she handed him one, only to colour slightly as he shot her a puzzled glance.
And it was no wonder he looked puzzled, she thought, completely mortified. Never had he needed to ask her for anything before. She’d always been able to anticipate his every request, but not this morning. This morning she’d let her mind wander, and it had wandered because she’d been feeling sorry for herself, and it wasn’t on. It definitely wasn’t on.
Elliot didn’t think it was either as he stared through the ophthalmoscope into the back of the middle-aged man’s eyes, searching for any signs of increased intracranial pressure which would indicate bleeding or tumour inside the head.
Efficient, on-the-ball Jane daydreaming? Richard had obviously made a big impression last night, and he couldn’t for the life of him see why. He was a pleasant enough young man, but he was just a boy, whereas Jane was a woman. A woman with luscious, generous curves. A woman with a shining fall of straight black hair and a sprinkling of golden freckles on her nose. A woman…
Who hadn’t even blinked an eye when he’d said he was going out with Gussie tonight, he suddenly remembered. In fact, she’d actually said she hoped he’d have a pleasant evening.
She should have been angry. She should have torn him off a strip. She should…
Have been jealous? Is that what’s really bugging you? The realisation that, though you’re beginning to find yourself attracted to her, she doesn’t even seem to know you’re around?
It was, he realised ruefully. God knows, he’d never thought himself a vain man, but to discover that a woman might actually prefer somebody like Richard Connery to him…It was a novel experience, and one he discovered he didn’t like at all.
Determinedly he got to his feet, led the way out of the cubicle, then turned to Richard. ‘OK, so what do you think we’ve got?’
The junior doctor took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t see any sign of facial drooping, which would indicate he’d had a minor stroke, nor was there any sign of tenderness in his ears, or round his face and head, to suggest an infection.’
‘Meningitis?’ Elliot suggested, though he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t that, but it was worth a try to see if he could catch Richard out. He didn’t.
‘Definitely not. I suppose it could be a very bad sinus infection—they can cause severe headaches—but he said he hadn’t had a cold recently.’
‘Brain tumour?’
Richard frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s a tumour, but frankly I’ve got to admit I don’t know what it is, so I’d like to send him for a CAT scan.’
Which would have been exactly what Elliot would have done if the man had been his patient. At a guess he thought it might be temporal arteritis—an inflammation of the large head arteries which, if left untreated, could cause blindness—but, like Richard, his first line of investigation now would be a CAT scan.
‘Well, did he pass the test?’ Jane asked as she accompanied Elliot down the treatment room, leaving Richard to make the arrangements for his patient.
‘The test?’ he echoed.
‘I presume that’s what you were doing,’ she observed. ‘Seeing if he was up to scratch.’
‘He seems a pretty competent doctor,’ he declared grudgingly, and to his annoyance Jane laughed.
‘Oh, come on, Elliot, you know perfectly well that he’s good. OK, so maybe he was a bit high-handed when he first arrived, but he’s learned a lot since then. I think he could be a real asset to the department. He’s keen, willing to learn, to listen…’
And presumably downright incredible in bed, he wanted to finish for her, but didn’t. ‘And would that be a personal assessment, or a professional one?’ he said tightly instead.
She stared at him, puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean that I hope your friendship with Richard isn’t clouding your judgement.’
‘Clouding my…’ Her dark eyebrows suddenly snapped down, and she looked angrier than he’d ever seen her. ‘How long have you and I worked together, Elliot? Oh, I forgot,’ she added as he cleared his throat. ‘You don’t remember, do you? Well, it’s been two years.’
‘Jane—’
‘Would you say we were friends?’
‘I’d like to think so—’
‘And do you think I would ignore any situation where I thought you might be making a mistake?’
‘No, but—’
‘Exactly, so in future stop talking through your hat!’
And before he could reply she was gone, leaving him staring after her, open-mouthed.
‘I think you asked for that, Elliot.’
He turned to see Floella gazing up at him, her dark eyes sparkling, and a rueful smile curved his lips. ‘You heard?’
‘Not everything, but enough. What in the world possessed you to tell Jane she might be behaving unprofessionally?’
For a second he hesitated, then made up his mind. ‘Flo, this friendship she has with Richard…Do you think that he and she…I mean, do you think that they…?’
Floella stared at him in total confusion for a second, then burst out laughing. ‘Jane and Richard? Never in a million years! What in the world put a crazy idea like that into your head?’
The fact that Richard spent hours in her bedroom last night, he thought, but he had no intention of telling Flo that.
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‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘I just thought…She seems to like him—’
‘Elliot, Jane likes everyone,’ Floella interrupted. ‘It’s the kind of girl she is. One of the nice ones, if you know what I mean.’
He did know. Just as he also knew that a nice girl would expect faithfulness, commitment. A nice girl would be very badly hurt if someone let her down, and a nice girl would probably be a lot safer with Richard than she’d ever be with him.
‘Flo—’
‘RTA for you, Doc!’ a paramedic called, as he and his colleague pushed a trolley through the swing doors. ‘Fractured tib for sure, slight facial lacerations, and he’s drunk.’
‘Wonderful,’ Elliot sighed, walking quickly towards them. ‘Any ID?’
‘His name’s Jonathan Worrell, and he’s a solicitor. The police found his car upside down on its roof and they reckon he skidded and simply lost control. No other vehicles involved, you see.’
‘Head, leg and chest X-rays?’ Jane asked as she joined them.
Elliot nodded. ‘Mr Worrell, can you tell me what your first name is, please—where you work—your address?’ A few mumbled, incoherent words was the only reply, and Elliot frowned. ‘Was he like this when you picked him up?’
‘Not quite so garbled,’ one of the paramedics admitted, helping Jane to transfer Mr Worrell onto the examination trolley. ‘I expect it’s the booze working its way through his system.’
‘He doesn’t look drunk,’ Jane observed when the paramedics had gone and she’d stripped off Mr Worrell’s clothing.
‘No. No, he doesn’t,’ Elliot murmured.
‘Could it be a stroke?’ she suggested, swiftly setting up an IV line and strapping the blood-pressure cuff round the solicitor’s arm. ‘Or what about drugs?’
‘Maybe—maybe not. What have we got on BP and pulse?’
‘BP 120 over 80,’ she answered as Elliot shone his ophthalmoscope into the solicitor’s eyes. ‘Pulse rapid and weak.’
Elliot’s frown deepened. ‘I wonder if it’s an extradural haemorrhage. He could have hit his head on the windscreen, fractured his skull and ruptured an artery.’
And if he had, he would be bleeding inside or around his brain, and if it wasn’t treated in time Mr Worrell could die.
‘Will I page Neurology?’ she asked.
‘We should, but…’
‘But?’ Jane prompted.
‘It doesn’t feel right, Jane. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t.’
She didn’t disagree with him as he pulled his stethoscope out of his pocket and leant over Mr Worrell. She’d seen him have these hunches before, and they had always been right.
‘What is it?’ she asked, when he suddenly straightened up with a muttered oath, then ran his fingers over the solicitor’s face and eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Stupid, that’s what I am!’ he exclaimed. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’
‘Elliot—’
‘Smell his breath, Jane.’
‘You mean, he is drunk?’
‘No, he’s not drunk. Smell his breath!’
She did. ‘Oh, Lord, it’s sweet, fruity. He’s got—’
‘Diabetic ketoacidosis. Dry skin and lips, soft eyeballs, slurred speech, looks drunk. He’s got diabetic ketoacidosis, and I almost missed it!’
‘Soluble insulin and a saline solution through an IV to prevent dehydration?’ she said, quickly snapping open the sterilised bags.
‘Repeated doses, little and often,’ he said, nodding, ‘and watch his BP in case he goes into shock.’
He didn’t. Slowly but surely the colour began to return to Mr Worrell’s cheeks and gradually his eyes fluttered open.
‘You gave us quite a fright there for a minute, sir,’ Jane said, smiling down at him.
‘W-where am I? W-what happened?’ he stammered. ‘I was on my way home, and I just seemed to black out.’
‘You’re in hospital, and you’re a very lucky man,’ Elliot replied. ‘Did you know you were a diabetic?’
‘My GP diagnosed it last month—’
‘And you’re not carrying a medical alert card or any extra insulin.’ Elliot shook his head and sighed. ‘That’s a very dangerous way to live, Mr Worrell.’
It was, but the solicitor had been lucky this time. Lucky it had been Elliot who had been treating him.
‘Your hunch was right, then, Elliot,’ Jane commented when Mr Worrell was transferred to Theatre to have his fractured tibia set.
‘I shouldn’t have needed a hunch.’ He frowned. ‘I should have known.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Jane laughed. ‘Like when someone’s brought in to us, having trashed his car, suffered lacerations to his forehead, a compound fractured tibia and a possible fractured skull, your first thought should be diabetic?’
An answering smile was drawn from his lips. ‘I guess not.’
‘I know not, you idiot!’ She laughed, and he did, too, but his laughter faded as he watched her walking down the treatment room.
It would be all too easy to fall in love with this woman. All too easy, and all too dangerous. He didn’t want to fall in love again. Falling in love brought heartbreak and pain. Oh, it might start out with joy and laughter, but it always ended in disillusionment and bitterness.
Then you should be pleased Jane’s not even remotely interested in you, his mind whispered. You should be relieved it’s Richard Connery she wants.
And he was relieved, he told himself. OK, so maybe he wasn’t pleased that she could prefer a jerk like Richard to him, but it was better that way. Simpler. Safer.
And thank God he was going round to Gussie’s flat tonight, because at least for a few hours the one person he wouldn’t be able to think about was Jane Halden.
‘Darling, I hate to point this out, but do you realise you’ve done nothing but talk about Jane and Nicole ever since you got here?’ Gussie protested, as she handed him a cup of coffee, then sat down beside him on the sofa.
‘Have I?’ Elliot frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Gussie, and I apologise. That dinner was quite superb. In fact, I couldn’t tell you the last time I had smoked salmon. The only kind of fish Nicole will eat is fish fingers.’
‘Really. Elliot—’
‘Actually, she calls them fish thumbs.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s because they’re so thick, you see,’ he added as Gussie stared at him blankly. ‘Thumbs instead of fingers?’
‘Oh. Right. Elliot—’
‘Jane’s trying to get her to eat more vegetables—cutting them into weird and wonderful shapes—but persuading kids to eat vegetables—’
‘Must be hell,’ Gussie finished for him, sliding along the couch so her breasts brushed against his arm. ‘Just as I’m also sure that we could find a whole lot more fun things to do than talk about them.’
He laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m turning into a right bore when it comes to my daughter, aren’t I? It’s just that never having had a daughter before…I wish I was as good with her as Jane is. I’m getting better, but Jane always seems to know the right things to say and do.’
‘She’s quite wonderful, a perfect treasure.’ Gussie nodded, running her fingers lightly up his arm and bringing them to rest on his shoulder.
‘I really don’t know how I’m going to manage when she leaves,’ Elliot murmured, a slight frown darkening his eyes. ‘I know she can’t stay with me for ever…’
‘God forbid.’ Gussie chuckled throatily. ‘For one thing, a ménage à trois has never appealed to me.’
His blond eyebrows snapped down. ‘There’s nothing like that between Jane and me. Jane…she’s a very nice girl.’
‘A perfect saint, in fact,’ Gussie agreed, ‘but us sinners do tend to have a lot more fun.’
‘Gussie—’
‘I thought Nicole was going to stay with your mother when she comes back from Canada?’ Gussie continued, nibbling his ear gently with her teeth. ‘You did say that, didn’t you?’
‘I did, but the trouble is I’m go
ing to really miss her when she goes,’ he replied, absently rubbing at his ear. ‘And she’s getting so fond of Jane.’
Gussie forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. ‘Darling, if you’re so worried about Nicole, would you like me to move in with you when Jane leaves? I’m sure I can organise things at work—’ She came to a halt, her brown eyes flashing, as he threw back his head and laughed. ‘What’s so funny about that?’
Just about everything, Elliot thought. Oh, if he’d wanted someone to take to the special registrar’s ball, Gussie would have been perfect, but never could he imagine her pink-cheeked and flushed, her hair scraped back from her face in a ponytail, playing an enthusiastic game of hide-and-seek with Nicole.
‘Gussie, you’re absolutely wonderful, and I adore you like mad,’ he said with a smile, ‘but a surrogate mother you’re not. Jane—’
‘Elliot, if you’re going to spend the whole night telling me how marvellous Jane Halden is, I think perhaps you’d better leave!’ Gussie snapped, then bit her lip as his eyebrows rose. ‘Darling, I’m sorry,’ she continued, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body close to his, ‘but a woman has her pride, and she really doesn’t want to hear another woman being praised all the time.’
He supposed not. Just as he wished Gussie’s perfume wasn’t quite so heavy, and that she didn’t wear quite so much make-up. Jane didn’t wear any make-up. He’d seen her often enough first thing in the morning, her eyes cloudy with sleep, her hair tousled, and then later again at work to know that. Jane…
Abruptly he got to his feet. ‘Gussie, I’m sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Go?’ she gasped. ‘But, Elliot, you haven’t had your brandy yet, or…’ She ran her tongue lightly along her lips. ‘Or anything.’
He didn’t want the ‘anything’. He knew as he left Gussie’s flat, mumbling a completely garbled apology which left her staring after him in stunned disbelief, that he didn’t want the ‘anything’ now, or at any time in the future.
‘Elliot?’
Well, that made two women he’d managed to stun in the space of an hour, Elliot thought ruefully as he walked into the sitting room, and neither of them appeared to have enjoyed the experience.
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