Doctor on Loan Read online

  His hands were resting peacefully on his knee. There had been no attempt to rise or try to reach the phone, or even jerk in pain.

  ‘It must have been very fast, Emily,’ she said softly, looking up at the distressed woman. Hugo was standing silently in the doorway, leaving it to her but taking it all in. The next-door neighbour was hovering beside Emily, trying to comfort her, but comfort was a long way away.

  ‘But it’s the first night since Mum died that I haven’t been,’ Emily sobbed. ‘The first night for years. I always bring him his dinner. It was just…last night he was so nasty and Mark—my husband—said I shouldn’t let him keep talking to me like that. So just for once I stood up to him and said, “make your own dinner then, Dad.” And he waited and waited and got upset that I didn’t come and then had a heart attack…’

  ‘If he was in any pain he would have at least tried to reach the phone,’ Christie told her.

  ‘No, he wouldn’t.’ Emily shook her head, her distress increasing by the minute. ‘He would have just sat in that chair, rigid with anger, getting angrier and angrier all the time that his dinner wasn’t here, and it would have killed him. I killed him!’

  ‘I doubt that very much.’ Hugo moved forward at that, to stoop by the body, edging Christie aside. ‘Emily, I’m Dr Tallent. Would you mind if I examine your father? Do you mind, Dr Flemming?’ At the shake of her head his hand came up and gently touched the dead man’s face, closing his eyes and then carefully feeling the skin around his lower jaw and neck. ‘Emily, what time do you normally bring your father’s dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘I…’ She was almost beyond speech. ‘I guess about seven.’

  ‘That’s three hours ago.’ Hugo nodded. ‘Christie, do you have a thermometer?’

  ‘Yes.’ She opened her doctor’s bag which she’d brought in, not because she’d expected Don to need it but because she’d thought Emily might well need something to calm her. ‘Here you are. But why…?’

  ‘Let’s just see.’ He gently manoeuvred the dead man so that he could slip the thermometer between his arm and chest. ‘Christie, there’s a room thermometer on the wall. Check it, will you? I want to know the air temperature.’

  ‘Sure.’ She was puzzled. What was he doing? But all she could do was check the room temperature as he’d asked, and then watch. When Hugo Tallent worked he was a man in charge of his world, and his air of authority was absolute. She had the sense to let him be.

  And in three minutes she knew. He lifted the thermometer away from Don’s body, checked the reading and turned to Christie.

  ‘What’s the room temperature?’

  ‘Seventy-five.’

  ‘There you go, then.’ He rose and crossed to Emily. Lifting her hands from her eyes, he forced her to meet his. ‘Emily, look at the thermometer,’ he commanded. ‘Can you read it?’

  ‘I…’ She gave a watery sniff. ‘Yes. I guess.’ She focussed. ‘Eighty-eight.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he said softly. ‘Your father’s body temperature is eighty-eight. It’s not room temperature so we know your dad hasn’t been dead for too long. But he’s starting to feel cool to the touch, and his temperature has dropped from the ninety-six or ninety-seven it’s supposed to be.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Misery aside for the moment, she was just plain confused.

  ‘When death occurs, the human body drops in temperature no more than between one and two degrees an hour,’ he said. ‘The only exception is when you have extreme conditions, but this is a warm room, so two degrees would have to be the maximum rate of cooling here. If your dad’s temperature has dropped from ninety-six to eighty-eight, he’s been dead for at least four hours and probably longer. That’s backed up by the fact that his muscles have started to stiffen—it was hard for me to close his eyes. It’s my guess, Emily, that your dad died at about four or five this afternoon—long before he even knew for sure that you weren’t coming.’

  ‘But—’

  Hugo his head. ‘No buts. The fire’s died right down—he must have stoked it just before he died and maybe that amount of exhaustion was all it took for his heart to fail. But he didn’t feel a thing, and it was his time to die.’ He smiled gently at her, took her hands and motioned to the half-drunk glass of beer beside the chair. ‘He certainly wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Did your father enjoy watching the cricket?’

  ‘I…yes.’ Emily was all at sea, and Christie could only watch and wonder as the distress was replaced by something else. Acceptance?

  ‘This afternoon nearly every hospital television was tuned to the cricket,’ Hugo told her. ‘It was a fantastic oneday match, and Australia was winning. I caught some of it myself. If your dad had been watching he’d have been on the edge of his seat. He’d have been watching great cricket, he’d have been excited, he’d have got up to stoke the fire—if he’d been suffering from heart failure then he’d have felt chilly, but the fire would have stopped that—and then he’d have settled down again. He had his beloved cricket and a beer in his hand and a fire before him. What more could a man ask? And what better way for an old man to go?’

  Emily blinked, swallowed and blinked some more. ‘You’re…you’re sure?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m sure.’ And by Hugo’s tone there was no way she could argue.

  ‘Oh, Dad…’ Emily closed her eyes, then crossed the room and touched her father lightly on the face. ‘Then…’ She looked down at him and her distress had almost completely gone. He had been a very old man, and with heart failure his death must have been expected. ‘He died at peace?’

  ‘He did,’ Hugo said. ‘I bet he wasn’t even close to thinking about his dinner.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Emily turned a tearful face to Hugo, and then to Christie. ‘Thank you both. I think you’re both wonderful.’

  ‘Which,’ said Christie as the door closed behind them a short time later, ‘is hardly fair because it wasn’t me who granted her that peace of mind.’

  ‘Forensic medicine’s not your bag, then, Dr Flemming?’ Hugo’s tone was slightly teasing as he limped beside her, and she cast him a confused sidelong glance.

  ‘I know the steps of rigor mortis but as for the timing of temperature changes…were you sure in there, or were you making it up?’

  He grinned. ‘Oh, ye of little faith.’

  ‘You’re saying always trust a specialist.’ Her lips curved in response. ‘How can I doubt such an oracle? But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But what call does an anaesthetist have for such knowledge?’

  ‘I do a nice murder in my spare time.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She chuckled, the tension and sadness of the scene they were leaving dissipating in the warm night air. ‘So it’s murder, sailing and a spot of anaesthetics on the side. You’re quite a doctor, Dr Tallent.’

  ‘I am, that.’

  ‘And modest to boot?’

  ‘I’m famed for my modesty,’ he told her, casting down his eyes in demure and humble pose. ‘Brilliant, brave, strong, humble…’

  ‘Quite a guy, in fact.’

  ‘I thought you’d never notice.’ His free hand came out and took hers, and suddenly she was almost breathless. They’d reached the car, and stopped. Hugo still leaned on his walking stick, and in Christie’s free hand she held her doctor’s bag, but by their two free hands they were linked.

  And by something else…

  ‘Thank you anyway,’ she said awkwardly, her laughter fading. ‘What you did for Emily in there…’

  ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘She’d have agonised for the rest of her life if she thought her father died angry. She’s been a wonderful daughter to a very difficult old man, and I don’t mind if what you said wasn’t true.’

  ‘Hey, it was true,’ he said, wounded.

  ‘Even if it wasn’t,’ she went on with determination, ‘it was wonderful.’

  ‘Christie…’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said softly.r />
  ‘Why would I shut up?’

  ‘Because I’m going to kiss you,’ he said—and proceeded to do just that.

  Love-making aside, Christie had to check her patients in the hospital. Nine-year-old Mary Adams was still tight with asthma. The child really needed specialist attention and treatment but her parents refused to take her off the island—and there was no way Christie would let Hugo take her load that night.

  ‘Go and make yourself a cup of cocoa and go to bed,’ she told him as she half pushed him out of the car. Heavens, the man was incorrigible. He’d kissed her for a full five minutes in front of Don Parker’s house, and if the undertaker hadn’t pulled up behind them it was Christie’s belief that she would still be there, being kissed.

  And if she just moved sideways now…

  Ridiculous. It was crazy to feel like this—like her body was on fire with warmth and wanting and…life. It was as if she’d been dormant for years, and things were happening now that had been suppressed for far too long.

  Well, maybe they had, but in three more days they’d be suppressed for life so they may as well get used to it now.

  ‘Please,’ she said to Hugo. ‘You’re supposed to be an invalid. Your knee must be hurting—plus you must still be recovering from that bang on the head. I don’t know what I was about, letting you stay up this late.’

  ‘No, Dr Flemming?’ He smiled at her—and what a smile! It suggested all sorts of things she barely recognised—and yet she knew they were true.

  ‘No,’ she managed. ‘Hugo…be sensible. Go to bed.’ Her voice was suddenly breathless—as if she was on the edge of something she didn’t understand in the least—and then she felt angry with herself at the jab of regret she experienced as he nodded.

  ‘OK, Florence, my love. You win.’ His smile slipped a little and she could suddenly see weariness in his expression. Maybe he wasn’t quite as invincible as he thought.

  ‘Off you go with your lamp of healing,’ he told her, and he leaned over and touched her lips—a feather touch—a touch which shouldn’t have had the effect of sending a zillion volts of electricity straight through her but did just that. Even more than the intense embrace they’d just enjoyed. ‘Into the fray…’

  He climbed from the car and then stood and watched her go. He watched until the taillights of her car disappeared around the bend toward the hospital.

  And his face was suddenly impassive.

  Christie had just meant to check Mary—after all, the little girl was the only one of her patients who was unstable and it was close to midnight—but in the end old Mr Handell was awake and complaining of pain in his hip. She needed to increase his morphine and go over for the hundredth time why he really needed to get himself an artificial hip and why she couldn’t do such an operation on the island. He was only hospitalised because of immobility. If she could make him see the sense of a simple operation…

  Some things were impossible. Especially at midnight.

  Then she chatted to the night sister for half an hour. Eileen was agog with island news, and she also wanted to talk through a couple of patient worries. If Christie didn’t do it now she’d need to rise at six to do it, she thought wearily, a time when Eileen would be at her busiest.

  So she managed to hold back her reluctance to head back to the cottage—and Hugo—and do what was needed.

  Then, just as she was about to leave, Eileen said, ‘Young David Myers is due for his feed. Would you like to take him to his mother?’

  Sigh…

  But Eileen knew Christie and Liz Myers were friends. There was no reason in the wide world why Christie shouldn’t take the baby from the nursery and wake his mother.

  Except that Hugo was waiting.

  If she said that, wouldn’t that set the whole island talking? Good grief! So Christie managed a smile, checked the small but wailing David—the infant was doing fantastically well for a premmie—and wheeled him down the corridor to Liz.

  She didn’t need to wake Liz. Liz was wide awake and waiting for him.

  ‘Christie.’ Her eyes lit at the sight of her friend.

  First things first, though. Young David wasn’t interested in social niceties. His mother hitched herself up in bed, wincing from post-operative twinges, and settled her son onto her breast. David latched on like a leech, cast a fearful glance upward as if to say, Any ideas of disengaging me and I’m ready to yell the place down, and blissful silence reigned.

  Lovely. And now maybe Christie could escape.

  ‘I only popped in on my way home,’ Christie said apologetically. ‘Eileen will take him back when he’s finished.’ Then, because she must, she added a rider. ‘Any problems, Liz?’

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said mournfully. ‘About a million. Every time I move.’

  ‘You’re doing really well,’ Christie said encouragingly. ‘I know it hurts like crazy, but it’ll settle, and at least—’

  ‘At least I don’t have haemorrhoids from pushing,’ Liz finished for her. ‘If that was what you were going to say then I’m not interested. I have my own ouches and that’s all I’m interested in, thank you very much.’

  ‘I wasn’t, actually,’ Christie told her, smiling. ‘It was just—’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Liz cuddled her little one close and smiled. ‘I should count my blessings. And, of course, I am. You can’t doubt that I have been. I knew all about the risks of Caesarean under general anaesthetic. When you said you’d do it under a general, I thought I’d lost my baby.’

  ‘Liz!’

  ‘Well, I did.’ She gave a shamefaced grin. ‘I can tell you now, I spent my entire pregnancy expecting something dreadful to go wrong. I ordered medical books over the internet, you see. I became a sort of modern-day compulsive doomsayer. You name it, I imagined it. Or I found a picture of it in a textbook. I had pictures of babies with two heads, babies with no heads at all, babies with gene abnormalities, Siamese twins, Siamese triplets even…’

  ‘You didn’t tell me,’ Christie said faintly.

  ‘You would have told me I was being ridiculous,’ Liz told her. ‘Which I was. Especially after I had a scan and they actually head-counted. It was just that I didn’t believe them.’ She smiled down at her little one, and there was pure joy in her eyes. ‘Not until now. I didn’t believe I could end up with such a perfect baby, you see. And then, when I went into labour and you said you’d do a general, it was just what I’d expected…’

  ‘Oh, Liz…’

  ‘I knew the anaesthetic would cross the placenta,’ Liz said. ‘I knew my baby would be dead. And now he’s not. Thanks to Hugo.’

  Thanks to Hugo… ‘Thanks very much,’ Christie said with token terseness. She was feeling ill at the thought of her friend worrying so much—and she hadn’t guessed—but even so, hey, some credit for a healthy baby should surely come her way. Even though Hugo had done a great job! ‘There have been heaps of successful deliveries of babies under general anaesthetic.’

  ‘Are you telling me I shouldn’t think Hugo Tallent is wonderful?’ Liz demanded.

  ‘He thinks that all by himself,’ Christie said shortly. ‘There’s no need to build the man’s ego up any more than it is.’

  ‘And you don’t think he’s wonderful?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Christie!’ Liz’s eyes were suddenly intent. She still held her baby close but her attention was diverted. She knew Christie very well indeed. ‘Christie Flemming…’

  ‘I need to go,’ Christie said shortly, fighting mounting colour.

  ‘You think he’s wonderful, too,’ Liz said on a long note of discovery. ‘Well, well.’

  ‘Well, well, what?’ Christie glowered. ‘And what if I do? The man’s a city specialist. Of course he’s Mr Wonderful. But he has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You could be a city doctor,’ Liz said, hurling herself straight into a happy ending. ‘You could finish training in surgery and—’

  ‘Oh, right. Sure. And leave the island without a doctor?
Force Grandpa to leave the island or have him face old age alone? I don’t think so.’

  Liz grimaced as her fairy-tale dissipated. ‘I guess not. It just seems so unfair,’ she said slowly, sinking back onto her pillows and relaxing as her baby sucked on. ‘That you do without a love life for us…’

  ‘I’m not being offered a love life,’ Christie snapped. ‘Just because the man kissed me…’

  ‘He kissed you?’ Liz sat up again. Her stitches pulled, she gave a yelp and young David gave an angry whimper. He was a baby who didn’t like his mealtimes disturbed. ‘Whoops, sorry, love,’ his mum said contritely, but she was still on track. She resettled her son and then fixed her friend with a look that said Tell all or else! ‘Hugo Tallent kissed you?’

  ‘You want to tell the whole hospital?’ Holy heck, Liz’s astonished squeak could be heard the length of the corridor.

  ‘I don’t mind. Seriously? He kissed you?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Yes, but what?’

  ‘How many men kissed you before you married your Henry?’ Christie demanded, and Liz looked disconcerted.

  ‘I don’t know, but—’

  ‘You lost count?’

  ‘Maybe, but—’

  ‘But what? What’s the difference?’ Christie demanded. ‘A kiss doesn’t necessarily imply long-term commitment. Why does it have to have to mean anything different if a man kisses me?’

  ‘I’m not the island doctor,’ Liz told her bluntly. ‘If someone kisses you—’

  ‘They mean business. Yeah, right. But not now. If an islander kisses me he knows he’s making a huge statement—because of who I am. But Hugo is just like the men I met when I was at medical school. He can kiss me, you see, and then walk away. There’s not this whole huge expectation thing…’

  ‘Except that your heart isn’t untouched,’ Liz whispered softly, watching her friend’s face. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Christie flushed. ‘Untouched, I mean. It meant nothing.’

  ‘Nope.’ Liz reached out and touched Christie lightly on the cheek. ‘Oh, my dear, be careful. If you really don’t think there’s a future don’t let yourself fall any further.’