Sold to the Surgeon Read online

  “Don’t tell me he hasn’t noticed you yet,” said Abigail disbelievingly, “I should have thought, working in the same department, he would have found it impossible not to!”

  “Oh yes, he’s noticed, but not in the right way, if you know what I mean…” Lynne broke off, suddenly grabbing her friend’s arm. “There he is now—come on!” She leaped up from the table, dragging Abigail with her. “We’ll take our trays back, he’s making for the dirty crocks hatch too, if I time it right we can have coffee together.”

  She left Abigail no alternative but to follow, although she would have preferred a slightly more leisurely lunch; but at the same time she was curious to find out what it was about the new senior registrar that Lynne found so fascinating.

  She noticed that Lynne manoeuvred herself beautifully, so that she put her tray down on the moving belt at exactly the right moment, just in front of the senior registrar. “Oh, sorry, Derek,” Lynne laughed gaily, sounding surprised, “didn’t see you there.”

  Abigail hid an amused smile. She hadn’t realised her friend was such an accomplished actress.

  “Oh, by the way, Derek, this is a friend of mine, Abigail Pointer. She’s a staff nurse on the ENT ward at the moment.”

  Derek Thompson turned, and Abigail was astonished to find herself looking into the friendly face of a shortish, dark-haired young man, with a round face and glasses. From Lynne’s ecstatic description, she had been expecting a Gregory Peck lookalike, at the very least!

  “Hi,” he said, giving Abigail a shy smile.

  As she nodded back a friendly acknowledgement, Abigail suddenly became aware of Greg Lincoln looming from nowhere to stand at Derek’s side. His dark, lean face, with its stern expression, was a complete contrast to Derek’s round, cheerful one. His expression didn’t look much friendlier than it had done on the morning’s ward round, she noticed, feeling inexplicably disgruntled.

  “Will you join us for coffee?” she heard Derek asking them both.

  Lynne nodded enthusiastically. That had, after all, been the whole object of the exercise, as far as she was concerned.

  “Please count me out,” said Abigail politely. It was obvious Greg and Derek were together, and she didn’t feel inclined to sit and have coffee with a man whose black mood of the morning was evidently still lingering.

  “Why not?” asked Lynne with embarrassing directness.

  “Oh, I…I’ve got to take some books back to the library, now’s my only chance,” lied Abigail hastily.

  “What a pity,” cut in Greg silkily. “I could do with some cheering up. It’s been a bad morning.”

  “I know,” answered Abigail pointedly, “We’ve all had a bad morning!” She was tempted to add, thanks to you, but restrained herself. She also ignored the friendly expression that had flitted across his face as he had spoken.

  If you think, Mr. Lincoln, she thought grimly, that I’m an impressionable young thing, who’s going to leap joyously whenever you feel like turning on the charm, you can think again!

  “I’ll ring you tomorrow about the barbecue,” she said in an undertone to Lynne, then she left the trio, studiously avoiding the quizzical stare of the new surgeon. Plenty of time to see you again when you’re stalking around the ward on your high horse, she thought crossly, firmly suppressing the annoying little voice at the back of her mind urging her to stay, to find out more about the American surgeon. Why should I want to find out anything more? she answered herself back. I know quite enough already!

  Chapter Three

  The rest of the day passed by fairly uneventfully, or as uneventfully as any day could with Student Nurse Parkins on the ward. But even she, apart from tipping, luckily a lukewarm, cup of tea into the bed of one unfortunate patient, managed to do everything more or less correctly.

  Greg Lincoln didn’t put in an appearance again, and Abigail could see from Sister Collins’ smug smile that she felt she had scored a personal victory. She obviously thought that she put him off, the way she did all the other consultants.

  “I don’t think we shall be inconvenienced by a ward round again, Staff,” she said starchily to Abigail, who was helping her update the Kardex system. “I think Mr. Lincoln now knows where I stand on that matter. There’s no need to do things the American way here.”

  And I think I know exactly where Mr. Lincoln stands on the matter, thought Abigail, with a feeling of foreboding. She could foresee the power struggle that was inevitable; Sister Collins had bullied all the other consultants into accepting her ways, which personally Abigail had never thought particularly good, although she’d never been in a position to voice her thoughts.

  Sister Collins’ main aim in life was to get by with the minimum of trouble, and Abigail had always put it down to the fact that she was near to retirement, and just couldn’t be bothered. Although that was no excuse for the medical staff, who Abigail had always felt should have put up more of a fight. But they’d always opted for the easy way out.

  Greg Lincoln, however, was a completely different kettle of fish; there was no chance of him taking the easy option! Abigail mentally prepared herself for the forthcoming fireworks, resolving to come in a little earlier the next day, just to make sure that everything on the ward was shipshape and spotlessly in order. She might as well do what she could to smooth what was obviously going to be a stormy passage in all their lives.

  “Don’t you agree, my dear?” asked Sister Collins again.

  “What?” asked Abigail hastily, as she was caught daydreaming again. “Agree with what?”

  “That we won’t be seeing Mr. Lincoln on one of his regimental ward rounds again.”

  “Well…er I…” muttered Abigail, frantically searching for something tactful to say, knowing instinctively that Sister Collins was not ready to swallow the bitter pill of reality.

  “Oh, Mr. Lincoln’s going to do a ward round every day he’s here.” interrupted Sue Parkins blithely. She’d been standing to one side listening to the conversation.

  Abigail looked up quickly, trying to give her a warning glance that would tell her to shut up. But in vain. Sue carried on, blissfully unaware of the storm clouds gathering on Sister’s brow.

  “I know”, she said in a confidential tone, “because I asked him. And he said that in all the hospitals he’s worked in, consultants always did a ward round, and he’s going to do one here. He’s going to haul us all up by our bootstraps!”

  Oh goodness, thought Abigail in exasperation, why can’t that girl keep her mouth closed! Bad enough telling Sister that he’s going to do a round every day, but then to imply that the ward is so badly run that it needs hauling up by its bootstraps!

  “Haul us up by our bootstraps!” Sister Collins’ voice, always high, spiralled practically an octave until it squeaked.

  “Yes, he…” Suddenly the import of her words sank in, and Sue’s mouth dropped open with dismay.

  “I think I heard the buzzer from room number three,” Abigail fibbed quickly. “The light can’t be working. You’d better go and see what Mrs. Smith wants, Nurse Parkins.”

  “Yes, Staff, right away, Staff,” said Sue breathlessly, taking the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. She flashed Abigail a grateful look as she disappeared, realising that she’d been extricated from yet another difficult situation.

  “Oh, Sister, this Kardex seems to be in a awful mess, shall I re-do it?” asked Abigail. The Kardex in question didn’t warrant re-doing, but she quickly waved it vaguely under Sister’s nose, hoping she wouldn’t inspect it too closely. “I’ll go and get the patients’ notes, and start to do it now before I go off duty.” Without waiting for a response, Abigail also made good her escape.

  The very last thing she wanted was to take sides. She didn’t want to hurt Sister’s feelings, but in her heart she knew Greg was quite justified in his remarks. It was with a sigh of relief that she saw the night g
irl come on duty; time to go, and she hadn’t needed to speak to Sister again. She was already in her office, packing her bags ready for departure.

  “Had a good day?” asked the staff nurse coming to take over for the evening.

  “Could have been better,” said Abigail briefly, not stopping to elaborate. “Has Sister already briefed you on the patients?”

  “Yes, thanks,” the night nurse grinned. “I was briefed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, to coin a phrase! I might be mistaken, but it seemed to me she couldn’t get out of here quickly enough.”

  “Well, there’s not much happening,” said Abigail, feeling she had to explain Sister’s behaviour. “No patients back from theatre today, as they were day cases.”

  The staff nurse, whose name was Joan, laughed and sounded relieved. “Good perhaps I’ll be able to put my feet up for a bit; I’ve been up to London for a couple of days, and I’m absolutely shattered.”

  “You shouldn’t lead such a hectic life,” said Abigail, grinning. “I’ve no sympathy for you. Don’t work too hard,” she threw the remark over her shoulder as she too scooted down the corridor, towards freedom and fresh air. She didn’t usually look forward to the end of her working day, but it seemed that ever since the new consultant had arrived, by the end of the day there was nothing she wanted more than to escape.

  She rang Rupert that evening and reminded him about the barbecue the following week. They made arrangements to meet at the site, as Rupert would have to drive straight there from London.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about your London trip,” exclaimed Abigail when he’d told her. Suddenly the weekend stretched ahead, lonely and empty. “I’ll miss you,” she said truthfully.

  To her disappointment Rupert didn’t say anything about missing her, his head was much too full of the plans he had for all the people he had to meet. As he told Abigail, he was at a crucial point in his career, and meeting the right people now made the difference between being moderately successful, and very successful.

  All he said as he rang off was, “Be good this weekend.”

  To which Abigail replied a trifle disconsolately, “The chance to be anything else would be a fine thing!”

  The prospect of the weekend stretching ahead didn’t exactly fill her with delight, and she acknowledged with a feeling of slight surprise that since her father’s death, she had come to depend on Rupert for companionship far more than she realised. I really ought to have more friends outside of hospital, she thought, but that was easier said than done. Working in a busy hospital, didn’t leave much time for meeting people outside the world of medicine, and she was lucky to have met Rupert. Most of her friends were from the hospital, but conflicting duties often made it difficult to meet up outside the confines of the hospital; Lynne for example, she knew, was on duty for the whole weekend.

  Suddenly she found herself wondering what the new consultant would be doing on his first weekend, although whatever it was he was very welcome to do it alone, or with Penelope Orchard, she reflected, pulling a face. Yes, almost certainly Penelope would invite him to meet her famous daddy!

  As she prepared her supper in the kitchen she reprimanded herself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts, telling herself that if she wasn’t careful she’d end up as a cross between Penelope and Sister Collins, a horrifying prospect! I shall do the garden she told herself firmly. That will stop me moping about; there’s plenty to be done, the roses are running riot all over the place.

  So when Friday afternoon came and the forecasters promised fine weather for the weekend, Abigail was pleased. Hard work would drive any thoughts of loneliness from her mind.

  Mr. Lincoln had been operating all that day, so they had been spared the rigours of a ward round, which by now had been established as a regular feature of most days. Although Abigail privately doubted whether Sister Collins would ever come to regard it as a regular feature of her day; it still seemed to take her by surprise every time it occurred.

  After waiting until Sister had gone off for tea, Abigail sneaked a quick phone call to Lynne, to confirm that both she and Rupert would be at the barbecue.

  “Good,” said Lynne, then when she heard Abigail would be arriving alone, “I’ll pick you up, and you can help me get things started. OK?”

  “As if I had any choice,” remarked Abigail wryly.

  She glanced at her watch. Sister Collins’ figure appeared at the end of the corridor and there was only about half an hour to go before off duty; but Abigail frowned anxiously. The last patient on the operating list hadn’t yet returned to the ward. It was a child, having laser surgery for recurring laryngeal polyps. Normally the children went back to section five, but as this particular boy was one of Greg Lincoln’s special laser cases, he was going to be nursed post-operatively on section four, where most of his beds were situated.

  Abigail looked at her watch again. Should she remind Sister Collins, who was busily preparing to leave for the weekend? Eventually deciding she’d better mention it, in case it had slipped her mind that they were missing one patient, she walked over to the desk.

  “Steven Brown isn’t back from theatre yet,” she said. “He went down at half past two, scheduled for theatre at three o’clock. Shall I ring Recovery and find out when he’ll be returning to the ward?”

  Sister Collins snorted with annoyance. “I thought all the patients were back,” she said crossly. “I particularly wanted to get off on time today, I’m due to catch the six o’clock train to London.” She shut the drawer of the wooden desk noisily. “That’s the trouble with all this new-fangled laser surgery, the machinery’s always going wrong and causing hold-ups.”

  Abigail said nothing, although she did think Sister Collins was being a little unfair. After all, they didn’t know the reason for the delay, it could be nothing whatsoever to do with the laser machine.

  She started to dial the number for Theatre Recovery, but halfway through put down the phone. Through the clear glass of the firedoors at the far end of the corridor she could see a trolley being wheeled along by the two theatre porters. The anaesthetist was there too, wheeling a drip stand, followed by Greg Lincoln; they were all still wearing their theatre greens.

  “They’re coming,” she said quickly.

  Sister Collins looked up, and seeing the entourage clicked her tongue derisively. “There, what did I say—problems! That child wouldn’t be needing a drip unless there’d been problems.” She bustled forward, heaving a sigh. “This means I’ll have to miss my train. I can’t possibly leave until he’s settled.”

  “I’ll stay,” volunteered Abigail. “It’s probably something I can handle, and then you needn’t miss your train.”

  She went forward with Sister to meet the retinue of people coming down the corridor. “The bed opposite the nursing station is ready,” she said, walking beside the surgeon and anaesthetist. “Sister and I were wondering what had happened to you.”

  “Well you might wonder,” said Bryn Hill, the anaesthetist, grimly. He looked pale, and still had on his theatre cap with his face mask pulled down so that it hung loosely around his neck. Abigail noticed with concern that beads of perspiration were standing out on his forehead—obviously all had not gone smoothly.

  It was with gentle care that the team manoeuvred the small boy from the trolley on to the bed. The anaesthetist checked him over again, pulse, blood pressure, response to verbal commands. He left nothing to chance, and finally turned back to Greg standing at his side.

  “I’m happy to leave him now, Greg,” he said, ripping off his theatre cap in a tired gesture, “but a nurse must stay with him for the next two hours at the very least; his level of consciousness must be monitored very closely until he’s back to normal.”

  “That’s a problem,” interrupted Sister Collins. “We don’t have enough night staff to warrant the use of one nurse exclusively to one patient. If he needs that ki
nd of attention, he should really be looked after in the intensive care unit, where there’s a ratio of one to one.”

  “I know, Sister,” muttered the anaesthetist apologetically. “But unfortunately the intensive care unit is full, and anyway I’m quite certain this boy will be perfectly all right now. It’s just that I’d be happier if someone could keep a close eye on him for a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Abigail quickly. “I’ve nothing special planned for this evening, so it’s not a problem.”

  “I’d be very grateful to you,” said Greg, speaking for the first time. “I’m sure Dr. Hill is right; there’s nothing to worry about, but we don’t want to take any chances with the little fellow.”

  So Abigail stayed on behind when the rest of the day nurses and Sister Collins went off for the weekend; it transpired that the small boy had developed a severe tachycardia during the operation, so severe in fact that the operation had been halted. However, eventually the laryngeal polyps had been successfully lasered away, thus ensuring that his respiratory problems were resolved.

  Abigail looked at Steven, lying so still in the bed, his breathing regular and peaceful now. She felt his pulse—quite normal. The parents had been in to see him briefly, and Greg had explained what had happened and then sent them away for a meal in the hospital canteen. He had promised them he would come back and meet them in an hour, so that they could see their son, and then go away reassured for the night.

  Abigail smiled to herself. The new surgeon might be difficult to work with sometimes, but he was a different person with patients and patients’ relatives. He had been so gentle and kind when he had been explaining to the worried mother and father, and Abigail knew that if he promised to come back in an hour, he would keep his promise. Not something that could be said for all hospital doctors, who with the best will in the world tended to promise things, but then rush off and do something else, forgetting all about their promises. Sometimes they kept patients and relatives waiting for hours; a thoughtlessness which always annoyed Abigail.