Sold to the Surgeon Page 3

  Hastily getting to her feet, she waved the coffee pot, asking at the same time, “Any more coffee, anyone?”

  “No thanks, not for me,” said Rupert, also standing. “I must be going. I’ve got an early start in the morning, nearly as early as you, Abigail.” He gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek as he spoke.

  Yes, seven-thirty until five in the evening,” said Abigail, sighing at the thought of the long shift of duty. “I just hope it’s not as hot as today—those new wards are like greenhouses.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” said Greg, also rising ready to leave. “I spoke to the Hospital Administrator today and told him I want blinds up by next week. The patients can’t be expected to tolerate such discomfort.”

  Penelope giggled and linked her arm through his. “I bet the Hospital Administrator bowed to your command,” she purred.

  “He did, as a matter of fact,” said Greg, “but not because I commanded, but because I pointed out the salient factors to him in a perfectly reasonable way.”

  And in such a way that he couldn’t refuse, thought Abigail, suppressing a smile. He was commanding as Penelope had said, in a deceptively quiet, relaxed sort of way—as Sister Collins had already found out to her cost!

  “Well, for my part,” said Penelope gaily, “I don’t care about the patients. I hope it’s absolutely scorching tomorrow as it’s my day off, and I want to sunbathe and get a tan.”

  “You already have a lovely tan,” observed Rupert, escorting her towards the front door of the cottage.

  “Oh, I got that in Zante at Easter,” said Penelope casually. “Daddy and I popped over for a few days. It was absolute heaven. Mummy was already there. We have this darling little villa—you really must come over some time.” Abigail didn’t hear Rupert’s murmured reply as they left the room. “You go first,” she said to Greg, “and mind your head on the beam.”

  Greg ducked just in time. “This house wasn’t built for people like me,” he observed wryly. “Thanks for warning me. The first people who lived here must have been very small.”

  “Oh, they were. Two hundred years ago people were much smaller than we are, because of poor nutrition and other factors.”

  “Yes I know,” replied Greg dryly, “I studied human development at med school.”

  Abigail flushed. She had only been trying to make polite conversation. She didn’t need him to remind her he was the doctor!

  “Yes, of course,” she replied icily.

  “Look, I didn’t mean…” he began, but Abigail wasn’t in the mood for listening, and quickly strode ahead into the tiny hall, joining Rupert and Penelope in the brick porch of the cottage.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” Rupert gave Abigail a quick peck on the cheek. Then he turned to Penelope and Greg, who had joined them by this time, and extended his hand. “Goodbye, I hope we meet you both again quite soon.”

  “Oh, so do I,” said Penelope, flashing him one of her most brilliant smiles. “We must make it a firm date.”

  “Goodbye,” said Greg, shaking Rupert’s hand, and then extending his hand to Abigail. “Goodbye until tomorrow.”

  Some inner devil of obstinacy egged Abigail on to ignore his proffered hand. “Goodbye,” she replied, contenting herself with a casual wave of the hand.

  Later that night, unable to sleep, she sat at her bedroom window; the perfume of roses drifted up from the garden, the aroma strong and heady on the warm night air. The familiar perfume washed over her, and she relaxed, closing her eyes; but immediately her mind wandered back to thoughts of Greg Lincoln. What was it about him? Why was he so disturbing? Opening her eyes suddenly, she stared out into the darkness, at the same time giving herself a mental shake. It was illogical, she hardly knew the man, so how could his mere presence possibly disturb her? Keep your imagination under control, she told herself crossly, otherwise you’ll become as paranoid as Sister Collins! Not a happy prospect, she reflected ruefully, as she finally climbed into bed and prepared for sleep. But in spite of her good intentions, Mr. Lincoln’s lean, dark face, with the lock of jet black hair that continually fell forward, was the last conscious image in her mind before she fell asleep.

  Next morning dawned hot and humid, and Abigail groaned as she staggered out of bed and showered at six a.m. It was going to be another scorcher, that was obvious, and she didn’t relish the thought of being incarcerated in the stuffy wards of the new block all day. Still, she sighed resignedly, I’m not the only one, but I do hope Sue Parkins doesn’t create too much havoc today!

  Of course, she should have known that was too much to hope for; she’d hardly had time to stow her handbag away in her locker before Sue’s plaintive, “something has gone wrong,” voice was crying, “Staff, are you there?”

  “Yes,” groaned Abigail, wondering what disaster had overtaken the student nurse so early in the morning.

  “It’s Mr. Jones—he’s too heavy.” Sue Parkins poked her curly head around the corner of the staff room door, her face scarlet with anxiety.

  Abigail laughed. “Whatever are you talking about? I know he’s a big man, but…”

  “He’s too heavy for the new bedpans, he’s flattened it!” Sue entered the locker room, and posed dramatically in the doorway, waiting for Abigail’s reaction.

  “What on earth do you mean, flattened it? He can’t have…oh no! You didn’t—you couldn’t have! Poor man!”

  Abigail sped down the corridor, towards the four-bedded room where the unfortunate Mr. Jones was ensconced, Sue Parkins scuttling anxiously along behind her.

  “But, Staff,” panted Sue, trying to keep up with Abigail, “what do you mean? Have I done something wrong?”

  “I think I know what you’ve done. Have you used these disposable bedpans before?”

  “No,” said Sue, “and I must say I didn’t think they looked very strong. I thought when I gave it to him that it looked like some sort of egg-box!”

  By this time they had arrived at Mr. Jones’ room, and parting the cubicle curtains quickly, Abigail went in, Sue following closely on her heels.

  The Mr. Jones in question was sitting up in bed, red-faced, and very embarrassed. On top of his bed was the mangled remains of a disposable bedpan. “Ah, nurse,” he said with a sigh of relief at the sight of Abigail, “do you think you could get me another one, a strong one? And please hurry—I’m getting desperate!”

  “Of course,” said Abigail matter-of-factly, quickly picking up the offending object. “We’ll get you another right away.” She motioned with her head for Sue to leave the cubicle with her, restraining an almost overwhelming urge to giggle.

  As soon as they were outside she rounded on the unfortunate Sue. “Honestly, Sue, you really are an idiot! You should have used the rigid blue plastic rim that fixes over the top.” She grabbed hold of Sue’s arm and started to propel her towards the dirty utility room. “Just thank your lucky stars it was me that happened to be around, and not Sister Collins.”

  “But I didn’t know!” wailed Sue. “Nobody told me, and I was in a hurry and I thought…”

  “That’s precisely what you did not do,” cut in Abigail, “and really, Sue, if you’re going to succeed at nursing you’ve just got to use some of the grey matter that’s lodged between your ears. Although sometimes I do seriously wonder if there is any!”

  Sue sniffed full of remorse. “I do try,” she said plaintively, “but it’s just that I panic, and I’m always in such a rush, and then everything goes wrong and…Oh, crumbs, look who’s coming!”

  Automatically Abigail thrust the mangled remains of the bed pan behind her back as Sister Collins and Greg Lincoln came towards them, down the long corridor.

  “You go ahead, get another bedpan, but for heaven’s sake put the plastic rim on it this time, and then get back to Mr. Jones before he bursts,” muttered Abigail, her mind racing ahead; she had to do something t
o keep Student Nurse Parkins from starting off yet another day with a black mark. “I’ll keep the evidence out of sight, and parry the opposition, should it prove necessary.”

  “Thanks, Staff,” breathed Sue, “you’re a brick.”

  As Sue hurried on ahead, Abigail kept walking at a steady pace, keeping her fingers mentally crossed and hoping that Sister Collins and Greg Lincoln would pass by without comment.

  “Oh, Staff,” Sister Collins’ voice, always slightly shrill, sounded even shriller that morning to Abigail’s apprehensive ears, “would you come with me to my office? There’s a new admission, and I want to go through her notes with you.”

  “Er…yes, Sister. I’ll just pop along to the dirty utility room first, I promised a patient in room fourteen that I’d get a bedpan. I’d better do that first.”

  Keeping the mangled bedpan clasped tightly behind her, Abigail adopted a crabwise walk and tried to edge past both of them; out of the corner of her eye she could see Greg Lincoln watching her with astonishment written all over his face.

  “Now, Staff,” said Sister Collins irritably. “Student Nurse Parkins can do that.”

  “But she…”Abigail stalled desperately as Sue dashed past with the bedpan for Mr. Jones, “is already dealing with another patient. I think I’d better do it myself, you know she can’t be rushed.” Without waiting for a reply, she continued her crabwise scuttle and shot past at great speed, whipping the offending bedpan round to the front the moment she was past.

  Once inside the utility room she flung the wretched article into the sluice and clamped down the heavy lid, sighing with relief as she did so; then she made her way back up the corridor towards Sister’s desk. It hadn’t been a particularly auspicious start to the day; she had been uncomfortably aware that Greg had been regarding her with puzzled amusement as she had made her excuses to Sister Collins. The notion that he probably thought her behaviour strange didn’t please her at all; she’d wanted to appear coolly efficient. But so far all she had succeeded in doing was making herself look ridiculous; and all because Nurse Parkins was a walking disaster! It was like being on the edge of Krakotoa, working with that girl, she reflected ruefully. Life was completely unpredictable, one never knew when the next catastrophe was about to happen!

  Sister Collins wasn’t at her desk at the nurse’s station, so Abigail went to her office and after briefly knocking, opened the door; promptly cannoning straight into the new consultant, who was on his way, and in a hurry.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry,” said Abigail politely, stepping to one side. “I should have knocked louder, I didn’t realise you were right by the door.” She smiled in a friendly fashion, genuinely sorry she had crashed into him.

  Her friendly smile was wasted, however, as he didn’t reply, just paused momentarily to glower at her, every fibre of his being emanating hostility. Abigail stared back in surprise. She hadn’t intentionally collided with him, and she had apologised, so surely there was no need for him to look quite so bad-tempered.

  “Shut the door, Staff,” snapped Sister Collins in a voice rasping with anger.

  Oh dear, it’s going to be one of those awful days! thought Abigail dejectedly. Sister Collins will be looking for faults, and with Sue Parkins around she won’t have much difficulty in finding them! As for Greg Lincoln, just a moment ago in the corridor he had looked quite approachable, but as he had walked out of the office it was quite obvious that his mood was as black as thunder.

  “Fifteen minutes, that’s all,” the sound of Sister Collins’ voice interrupted Abigail’s gloomy thoughts, and she dragged her wandering attention back to Sister Collins, who was looking at her expectantly, obviously anticipating a comment of some sort.

  “Fifteen minutes?” queried Abigail, wishing she had been paying more attention.

  “Fifteen minutes before Mr. Lincoln does his ward round.” Sister Collins’ brown boot-button eyes gleamed brightly with anger. “I’ve told Mr. Lincoln that none of the other ENT consultants here do a formal ward round, our ward is not run in that way. But would he listen?” She slapped a pile of patients’ notes angrily into Abigail’s hands. “Of course not. He wants to do everything the way he did it in America. He’ll be lenient today, he says, if the pathology reports aren’t back, or the patients properly prepared, but tomorrow,” she waved an irate finger at Abigail, “everything has got to be hunky-dory.”

  “Hunky-dory?” Abigail’s voice rose in disbelief. It was hardly Sister Collins’ usual turn of phrase!

  “His expression, not mine,” snapped Sister Collins bad-temperedly. She shot a glare in Abigail’s bemused direction; she was still standing holding the armful of notes. “Well, don’t just stand there. Return the notes to the patients’ clipboards, and get the ward ready for the inspection.”

  “You remember we’re one down today,” ventured Abigail, wondering if they should ask to temporarily borrow another nurse from the next ward. “Staff Nurse Orchard has a day’s leave, and we haven’t made arrangements to replace her.”

  “All the more reason then for not wasting time,” came the rapped reply.

  All the more reason for getting ourselves organised, thought Abigail rebelliously, knowing full well it would have been only too easy for the workload to be eased, if only Sister Collins would ask for a little help. But admitting that help was needed was not in Sister’s makeup. She hated admitting, even to herself, that her ward might sometimes be anything less than perfect!

  Abigail began to feel bad-tempered herself, as she sped around the ward on her various tasks; I wouldn’t like to end up like Sister, she thought, an embittered old woman, who can’t wait to leave the hospital, and who can’t bear to have the comfortable routine she’s built up disturbed in any way. Then just as quickly, her bad temper changed to pity. At least her own future was rosy, she was marrying Rupert.

  To Abigail’s intense relief, Sue managed the rest of the whole morning without one more catastrophe. Even the ward round had gone relatively smoothly, although the atmosphere between Greg Lincoln and Sister Collins had been so intense that Abigail felt it would have been possible to slice through it with a knife! As for herself, she had kept in the background as much as possible; they were both so prickly it seemed the most politic thing to do.

  “I like ward rounds,” Sue Parkins had informed her when it was over. “It made me feel like a proper nurse, just like the ones you see in films or on television.”

  Abigail chuckled. “Just try and be a ‘proper’ nurse for an hour while I go down to the canteen for lunch. If you need a hand, Staff Nurse Bloom on section five will help, or there’s always Sister Collins.”

  “No, thanks, I’ll stick with Staff Nurse Bloom,” said Sue, pulling a face. “Sister Collins is as prickly as a hedgehog today.”

  “You can say that again.” echoed Abigail with feeling, as she hurried towards the nurses’ staff room to get her handbag.

  Once in the crowded canteen, she collected a salad and a glass of orange juice from the cold counter, then searched through the crowded tables, looking for a familiar face.

  “Hey, Abigail,” it was Lynne, her friend from X-Ray Outpatients, “I’m glad I’ve seen you, it saves me a phone call. Come on, let’s eat outside on the terrace, I can see a vacant table.”

  Together they made their way outside, on to the large terrace attached to the side of the canteen. The County General was built on a hill, and a projecting terrace had been constructed outside the main canteen. On warm summer days, the huge glass windows were slid back, and tables and chairs, shaded by gaily coloured umbrellas, put outside. It gave the place quite a continental atmosphere, and was immensely appreciated by all the staff, making it a popular and relaxed meeting place at lunchtimes.

  Abigail felt the tensions draining away as she basked in the pleasant warmth of the sun; there was a cooling breeze and the umbrellas provided soothing shade.

 
“Now,” said Lynne, coming straight to the point in her usual fashion, “are you coming to our barbecue next week? We’re having it in the usual place, Beechwood at Hintersfield, and I could do with someone to help me with the cooking—at the moment it’s only me. Is Rupert coming too?”

  This speech was delivered in one breath, with Lynne demolishing her salad at the same time. It made Abigail feel quite breathless; Lynne always did.

  She sipped her orange juice slowly. “Honestly, Lynne, I don’t know how it is that you don’t suffer from chronic indigestion!”

  “I do,” grinned Lynne, devouring a lettuce leaf rapidly, “but come on, Abigail, I want an answer. Are you coming or not? We’ve got a good crowd coming as usual.”

  “I’d forgotten about it,” confessed Abigail.

  “Forgotten about it!” echoed Lynne feigning mock horror. “Abigail, how can you forget the social event of the year?”

  Abigail laughed. “Sorry. The answer is yes, of course, and I’ll probably bring Rupert. I’ll let you know definitely by tomorrow.”

  Lynne nodded. “That will be fine, time for me to get the food sorted out. Luckily for me I won’t have anything else to do this year—our new senior registrar, Derek Thompson, is a great organiser; he’s hiring a portable generator and some fairy lights, and he’s doing the music.” She suddenly smiled, “He’s awful nice, Abigail, and so go-ahead.”

  Abigail opened her grey eyes wide and grinned at Lynne’s expression. “Don’t tell me my career girl friend has finally succumbed?”

  “Not yet, unfortunately,” said Lynne, pulling a mischievous face, “but as soon as he gives me the opportunity I shall succumb immediately!”

  “Lynne!” Abigail tried to look severe, but only succeeded in giggling. “You are the absolute limit.”

  “Now don’t forget,” said Lynne, leaning confidentially across the table, “when you come to the barbecue, please take every opportunity you get to make sure that you tell Derek Thompson how nice I am. Clever, sexy—you know the sort of thing. Say something that will make him notice me.”