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But it was Ross and not Lucy who opened the door a few minutes later. He walked over to Lizzi and stood close to her as he studied the chart.
‘How’s he doing?’
Lizzi shrugged. ‘Not well.’
Ross shook his head. ‘I doubt if he’ll make it. He’s so badly shocked, and he was under the anaesthetic for hours. Oliver and I were working on him together.’
Lifting up the edge of the bedclothes, Ross frowned at the drainage bag from the catheter.
‘His kidney’s been bleeding a bit.’
‘Kidney? Just one?’
‘We had to remove the left one. It was shot to bits.’
They watched dismally as a steady trickle of blood ran into the bag.
‘Damn.’
‘Will you have to open him up again?’
Ross shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He opened up the drip a little so that the whole blood ran faster, and checked his blood-pressure. ‘Pressure’s OK. I think we’ll just watch him closely. It may stop on its own. The last thing he needs is another anaesthetic. He’s got so much alcohol in his system that he really can’t take it. His system is depressed enough.’
‘He was drunk?’
‘As a skunk. The police are waiting to talk to him.’
As the old familiar rage swept over her, Lizzi lost all compassion. ‘Why the hell was he driving?’
‘Good question. He caused the accident, apparently. Ploughed into Jennifer Adams—it’s her husband in ITU with the head injuries, by the way—and then spun off and caught Roger Widlake and his wife broadside. She’s fortunately only slightly injured.’
‘Bastard,’ Lizzi whispered, it would serve him right if he died!’
Ross blinked. That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?’
‘It’s no more than he deserves!’ Lizzi said bitterly.
Just then there was a dramatic drop in blood-pressure, and the heart monitor registered a flat trace.
‘Here we go again,’ Ross said with a sigh, and rolled the man carefully on to his back, tipped back his head and breathed into his mouth while Lizzi automatically slid a board under his chest, then, locating his sternum, he crossed his hands and pumped steadily.
‘Get an airway in, Lizzi.’
Lizzi hit the alarm button, ripped open a Brook’s airway and inserted it carefully into the man’s mouth, forcing her professional side to take over from the unprecedented surge of emotion. Suddenly the room was full of people. Someone took over the air bag, attaching it to the airway and squeezing it steadily in the gaps between Ross’s rhythmic cardiac massage.
‘Do you want the defibrillator?’ someone asked.
‘No, he’s gone into asystole. He’s just given up—he may have a ruptured aneurism. We’ll have to keep him going if we can. If it isn’t that, he may pick up again.’ Ross snapped out instructions which had already been anticipated by the well-trained team. The atropine, calcium and adrenalin were already drawn up, and were injected into the giving set in the patient’s arm, as soon as they had been checked.
There was no response, and adrenalin injected directly into the heart was equally ineffective. The trace remained persistently, stubbornly flat.
After several more fruitless minutes, Ross straightened up with a sigh. There’s nothing more we can do. It must be his aorta—the PM will tell us. All right, thank you everybody.’
No one was surprised. The staff filtered out of the room, and left Lizzi and Ross alone with the dead man.
‘Probably just as well,’ Lizzi said flatly as she removed the airway and switched off the monitor.
‘Aye. Maybe.’ Ross sounded gruff, and Lizzi shot him a look.
‘Don’t you agree?’
‘Depends on your reasons for wishing him dead. If it’s to spare him any further suffering, then yes. If it’s just because he was young and irresponsible, I think it’s a bit extreme.’
Lizzi blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to over-react. I just—feel very strongly about drunk drivers.’
Ross straightened, and flashed her a weary grin. ‘Technically I agree with you, but I’d just spent several hours of my life struggling to save the young fool, and it’s hard to see it all thrown away. I like working miracles, and I don’t like to be cheated! But you’re right, the poor bloke’s better off dead. God knows what complications he would have had if he’d lived.’
Lizzi followed him out of the room. ‘What about relatives?’ she asked.
‘They hadn’t managed to contact any by the time they brought him down this morning, I don’t think.’
But they had. Lucy Hallett ducked her head out of the office door and smiled.
‘I’ve got Mr and Mrs Holden in here. They’re wondering about how Michael’s getting on.’
Ross and Lizzi exchanged glances, and he nodded.
Thanks, I’ll see to it. Perhaps you’d get him presentable?’ he murmured quietly to Lizzi.
Lucy frowned, and Lizzi shook her head slightly. Lucy’s mouth formed an ‘O’, and she came soundlessly out of the room as Ross went in and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘What happened?’
‘He arrested—probably as a result of a traumatic aneurism. Just as well. Mr Hamilton was about to have to take him down to Theatre to sort out his kidney again, because it was still bleeding. Did his parents realise how bad he was?’
Lucy gave a hollow little laugh. ‘I doubt it—I didn’t know, and they were getting their information from me. I was having difficulty holding them; they were almost determined to find him.’
Lizzi went back into Michael’s room and took down the drip, removed the catheter and tidied up the bed. No doubt his parents would want to see him now, and she did her best to disguise the damage. Just as she was about to leave the room, Ross appeared with Michael’s parents.
She left them to it. Telling relatives was a part of her job that she liked the least, and she wasn’t particularly good at it. She realised she was also feeling very angry with the dead man still, and probably wasn’t the best person to deal with his relatives anyway. Maybe it was cowardly of her, but she made her escape nevertheless and went to see how Sarah was doing with Roger Widlake.
He seemed to be holding his own much better than Michael had, and Lizzi went back to her office and contacted the mortuary technician, and then rang ITU to tell them that they now only needed one bed.
Shortly afterwards she saw Ross escorting the Holdens out, and she didn’t see him again until much later, by which time Roger Widlake was in ITU and her ward was her own again.
She was sitting in her office doing battle with the rota when he opened the door and popped his head round.
‘Can I come in?’
Of course.’ She straightened up and pushed the paperwork away from her. ‘What can I do for you?’
He grinned. ‘You could offer me a coffee and we could talk about Roger Widlake, in that order. I think I’m going to fall asleep otherwise!’
‘Mr Widlake’s been transferred to ITU,’ she told him.
‘Good. Then I’ll settle for the coffee!’
He dropped wearily into the chair opposite her desk and rubbed his hand over his face. He had shaved and changed into a suit, but he looked just as tired.
She smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can find. Have you had breakfast?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’d missed the chance by the time I’d dealt with the Holdens.’
Lizzi felt guilty. ‘I’m sorry I left you to cope with that. I should have done it so you could go and rest for a while.’
He gave her a weary, lop-sided smile. ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose you would have enjoyed it either, even though you think he got his just deserts.’
‘I-’ Lizzi’s mouth opened and closed, and she floundered to a halt. Was she really that vindictive? Was her judgement really so clouded that she couldn’t deal with the relatives of a patient because she had tried him and found him guilty?
Ross smiled understandingly. ‘Don’t look so worried. I had difficulty, too. It’s hard to explain that someone’s golden boy is not only dead but has caused havoc on the way. It was easier than I’d thought. His father asked straight out if he had been drinking, and I think his attitude was much the same as yours, but tempered by love. He’s a policeman.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh. Lizzi?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Coffee?’
‘Oh. Sure. Sorry.’
She left the room and went into the kitchen, making toast and fresh coffee. She found some butter and marmalade and laid a tray, and took it back into her office.
He was asleep, his head propped on his arms, sprawled across her rota. He had taken off his jacket, and his shirt pulled and eased with the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad shoulders. The sun gleamed on the soft, thick mass of silver hair, turning it to pale gold. It looked impossibly soft. Lizzi wondered how it would feel in her fingers. She felt a strange, primitive urge to nurture and protect—but not maternally. Oh, no. There was nothing maternal in her feelings, and she drew in her breath sharply.
She hadn’t felt like this for years, not since—not for years. She put the tray down with a tiny clatter, and he stirred and sat up.
‘Sorry.’ His voice was gruff, sleep-roughened. He ran his fingers through his hair and her fingers ached with jealousy. The elemental urge strengthened.
Grasping the coffee-cup, Lizzi filled it and set it down in front of him, her hands trembling slightly.
‘Black or white?’ Damn, why did her voice sound breathless?
‘Black, I think. Thank you.’
‘Toast?’ That was better. Her voice was her own again.
‘Lovely. Do you spoil all the doctors like this, or are you just taking pity on me?’
She blushed and busied herself with her own cup. He was right. Normally she would have sent them off to the canteen rather than let them raid the ward provisions. Sometimes when they were very rushed Oliver would grab a sandwich, but waiting on them? With a tray? What was she thinking about?
She knew perfectly well what she was thinking about, and she blushed again as he caught her eye. She struggled for a neutral topic.
‘Oliver told me you’d had a hectic weekend.’
He chuckled. ‘Is that what you call it? I picked the boys up from school in Norfolk on Friday and took them back to their mother in Edinburgh on Saturday, then back down yesterday.’
‘Your wife’s in Edinburgh?’ Lizzi asked, surprised—as much as anything at herself. She never, never asked personal questions—or answered them, come to that!
‘My ex-wife. Her husband’s a GP. She works part-time in the practice.’
Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry——’
He waved the toast dismissively. That’s OK. It’s public knowledge. What about you?’
‘Me?’ Her voice rose, and she made an effort to bring it down. ‘What about me?’
His mouth curved appealingly. ‘Are you married? Engaged? Entangled?’
She swallowed, ‘I——’
The phone rang, its warble loud in the sudden silence.
‘Sister Lovejoy here. Oh, hello, Bron.’
As she dealt with the details of the new admission, Lizzi was aware of Ross’s eyes on her as he munched his way through the toast.
When she put the phone down, he asked the question again.
She stood up, straightening her skirt with a tug. ‘Mr Hamilton, I make it a point not to discuss my personal life or anybody else’s with anyone at work. I’m afraid I can’t see the relevance.’
She swept out of the room, collared the young houseman and instructed him to clerk the new admission coming up from A and E.
‘Acute appendix, man of twenty-four. We’ll put him in Bay One.’
For the next twenty minutes or so she supervised the admission of the new patient, training a student in the preparation of the charts and the taking of the first TPR and BP readings, the notice over the bed which read ‘Nil by Mouth’, the urine sample to be obtained if possible and the tests to be done on it, the checking of valuables and other possessions and so on down the endless list, while the houseman obtained the relevant medical information.
She had seen Oliver come on to the ward a few minutes earlier, and so she headed back to her office to find out whose list the patient would be put on. As she approached the door quietly in her soft-soled shoes, she heard Ross’s deep voice murmer a question, and then Oliver chuckled.
‘Lizzi? You’ve got to be joking! The junior staff call her the Ice Maiden—that or Sister Killjoy.’
‘She’s not that bad, surely?’
Oliver laughed again. ‘Save yourself the effort, Ross. You’d need a PhD in cryogenics to thaw our Lizzi. She doesn’t play—not ever, not with anyone!’
Ross laughed, soft and very masculine, and murmured something else that Lizzi couldn’t quite hear. She heard Oliver’s reply, though, and it chilled her.
‘Nobody knows. She wears a wedding-ring on a chain round her neck, but whether he’s dead or gone AWOL nobody knows. She may not even have been married. It could be her grandmother’s ring or something. She hasn’t ever mentioned anyone, though. Forget it, Ross. If it’s recreational sex you’re after, you need look no further than that young scrub nurse in Theatre with us last night—given a chance she’ll be all over you like a rash——’
