скачать книгу бесплатно
Until this evening she hadn’t realised how much inner strength she possessed. Dancing had helped her explore a side of herself she hadn’t known existed, and she would embrace all the help available to embark on this new phase of her life and overcome her fears. It was too bad that Mr Ego of the Year had taken that sliver of newfound confidence and crushed it underfoot.
Lola groaned, predicting that the repercussions of tonight’s ill-tempered exchange would surely be felt at work.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to anyone like that—never mind a man with the power to make or break her career. But the fault totally lay at Henri Benoit’s feet. He had no business crossing paths with her outside the hospital and insulting her when she’d been so exposed. For an unguarded moment she’d let light break through the darkness, only for him to cast her back in shadow. The problem was she had no way of explaining that—or her defensive reaction to it—if he decided to haul her over the coals tomorrow.
‘I won’t cry,’ she said out loud, determined not to let another arrogant male reduce her to a gibbering wreck.
Engine started, she threw her Mini into Reverse and put her foot on the accelerator.
A loud bang and the jolt of the car caused her to slam on the brakes.
She didn’t dare look.
Whatever she’d hit, she couldn’t afford it.
Outside, she heard a car door open and close, heavy footsteps coming towards her. She switched off the ignition and braced herself, but the footsteps had stopped—no doubt to survey the damage.
‘Mon Dieu!’
The foreign curse instantly gave away the identity of her victim.
Lola closed her eyes. Oh, please. Not him!
She slowly unclipped her seat belt and got out of the car to enter into the fearful realm of the Frenchman’s ire.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, knowing she didn’t sound a fraction apologetic.
He bent down to inspect the cracked registration plate of his red sports car. Typical. She couldn’t have hit a clapped-out rust heap—it would have to be this shiny status symbol.
‘Is this payback for what I said in there?’
The patronising tone he used grated on Lola’s already sensitive last nerve.
‘I’m not that petty. Besides, it’s only the number plate that looks damaged.’ It wasn’t as though she’d written off his boy toy altogether.
‘Does your clown car not come with mirrors fitted?’
He looked down his high-bridged nose at her with a smug expression she wanted to slap off his face. The car she drove was a luxury, allowed her by the generosity of her brothers, who’d painstakingly restored it from its rusty former self and made it hers with a bubblegum-pink re-spray. Not everyone was afforded the life of privilege she imagined he’d led, and any snooty slight against her family was the one thing guaranteed to make her blood boil.
‘I would have thought your ego was big enough to use as a force field and deflect the Pink Peril.’
With three elder brothers, exchanging childish insults came as naturally as breathing for Lola. She already had a black mark against her for squaring up to him, so she might as well make it count. Besides, he’d gone down the snarky route first.
‘The Pink Peril?’ he echoed incredulously and the grin grew into a full-on beaming smile.
He was treading on dangerous ground now.
‘My brothers named it,’ she huffed, and told her easily pleased inner schoolgirl, which was squealing with hormonal appreciation at the appearance of man dimples, to shut up. It was surely another sign of trauma manifesting itself that she found a man insulting her attractive.
‘Do I take it that’s a reference to your driving skills?’ His eyes shone with suppressed laughter, the skin creasing at the corners to elevate his hunk status.
‘I have excellent driving skills,’ she protested.
‘So I see.’ He lifted a thick dark brow as he glanced back at the damage.
‘Look, I’ve apologised. I’ll pay for repairs. So, if we’re done here…?’
It was time she left—before she completely shot down her career. This man seemingly brought out the worst in her, and that wasn’t conducive to a happy six weeks under his tutelage.
Far from helping her get over the day’s trials and tribulations, this whole evening had simply heaped more stress upon her. At least with this latest disaster she knew she could count on her brothers to make any necessary repairs with the minimum of fuss. If only they could come to work with her tomorrow and clear up the mess she’d made there, too, she might have a chance of clawing back some respect.
‘I think I have an apology of my own to make. I didn’t mean to insult you in there.’
Henri ignored her need to end the conversation and perched his butt on the bonnet of his precious car.
‘And yet you did.’ She folded her arms across her chest as he brought up the subject of his slur against her character once more. He couldn’t know the throwaway insult had hit her on such a personal level, but that didn’t give him the right to end up the good guy here.
‘The problem is between Angelique and myself. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s fair to say I don’t exactly approve of the work she does.’ A shake of his head emphasised his dismay.
‘She seems like a woman who knows her own mind.’ Lola didn’t imagine a free spirit such as Angelique needed his permission to do something she obviously loved.
‘Ah, but Ange doesn’t always know what’s best for her.’
The sincerity Henri expressed brought goosebumps along Lola’s skin. Even though he might not agree with his other half’s lifestyle choice, his devotion was beyond doubt. The only unconditional love Lola had ever had was from her brothers. The tragic tale of her failed past relationships was entirely to do with her reluctance to let anyone else get close. She considered Angelique a very lucky woman.
‘It’s chilly out here, so if we could get back to rectifying this mess I would like to get home. I really think your licence plate took the full impact, and I can get my brother to order you a new one. I hardly think it warrants involving insurance companies.’
What went on behind the doors of chez Benoit was none of her business—she certainly didn’t want to warm towards the man responsible for ruining her entire day. All she wanted to do now was call it quits and start afresh tomorrow.
‘In that case we can sort the details out at work. I can see you’re in a hurry.’
He finally took the hint and Lola dashed back to her car to wait for him to move.
As she sat with her arms locked out straight, holding on to the steering wheel for dear life, she exhaled slowly. Everything seemed to hit her at once, and her heart started drumming so hard she thought she might just pass out.
One night of escapism, thinking she could be ‘normal’, and she’d played stripper, crashed her car and had another run-in with her boss—embarrassing herself at every step. It was more excitement in her life than she cared for.
The next six weeks working under Henri Benoit stretched before her like a prison sentence. One with absolutely no chance of getting time off for good behaviour.
CHAPTER TWO (#u80a61989-15b3-5d4c-9e57-1906e2b1de11)
BUILT TO SERVE the influx of inhabitants to the rejuvenated city, the predominantly glass and marble structure of the Belfast Community Hospital was bright and modern. Even now she was in the bustling corridors, under the glare of fluorescent light, Lola thought it a beautiful building.
These last few shifts had shown her that any chance for silent contemplation ended on the far side of the double doors, and Lola braced herself for the madness of A&E on a Friday night as she pushed them open.
‘Nurse! Nurse!’
The loud, slurred speech of a waiting patient greeted her. A hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, immediately regressing her to that time in her life when she hadn’t had the strength to fight back.
She screwed her eyes tightly shut, in an attempt to fend off the memories assaulting her, but it only succeeded in leaving her alone in the dark with them.
The busy reception area faded away, and the walls closed in until she was back in that small room crammed full of grinning faces. Her limbs were immobile, pinned down by unseen forces, leaving her completely at the mercy of her attackers. They were too strong for her, their hands tugging at her clothes until she was naked and shivering beneath them.
The actual assault had lasted only minutes—long enough to satisfy their cruel need to break her spirit. Once her humiliation was complete, the matter of her sexuality no longer an issue, they’d thrown her clothes at her and walked away. In hindsight, her ordeal could have been much worse, even though it hadn’t felt like that at the time.
A shudder racked through Lola’s body as she contemplated the alternative. It had taken her years even to let another man touch her after that betrayal, and she doubted she would ever have recovered if that band of delinquents had decided to take things any further.
The intervening years had been tough for her as she’d tried to come to terms with what her bullies had probably deemed no more than a prank. For her, the experience had left her wanting to run from the room screaming if a man so much as put his hands on her uninvited. Only her desire to practice medicine on the general public had put her on the road to recovery and stopped her freaking out completely at times like this.
The pressure eased from around her forearm, immediately releasing her from her torment. She blinked her eyes open to see a man she guessed to be in his sixties slumped in a plastic chair beside her. After a deep breath she extricated his fingers from her person and reminded herself that she wasn’t a helpless teen any more.
‘I’m Dr Roberts. I’m sure one of the nurses will be along shortly to assess your condition, sir.’
He had a small gash on his right cheek, which was letting a small trickle of blood further colour his already ruddy features, but she suspected from the stench of alcohol closing in around her that alcohol was the main reason behind his hospital visit.
‘Am I dying, Doctor?’ Red-rimmed eyes tried to focus on her, and it soon became obvious he was more of a danger to himself than anyone else.
It buoyed her confidence to know she was the one in control of the situation here, and she was able to reassure him with a pat on the hand. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not dying, but I’ll send someone over to see you as soon as possible.’
‘Good.’ He sank back into the chair, placated for now, and the sound of tuneless singing followed her on her way.
With the patient’s concerns passed on to one of the nurses, with the advice that it might be wise to have him seen to and discharged before he settled down for the night, Lola lifted a file from the stack on the desk.
Her first patient was an elderly woman experiencing dizziness and fatigue. Possible dehydration, since the notes indicated an increased thirst and decreased skin turgor. No doubt this lady had been specifically left for Lola to deal with because of the apparently straightforward nature of the ailment, but she didn’t mind. The role of general dogsbody gave her inner wallflower a chance to disappear under paperwork and the smaller jobs more experienced doctors deemed too trivial to waste their talents on. These small steps into the medical field would carry her through until it was her moment to shine. At which point she might need some anti-anxiety pills to hand.
With her bits and pieces gathered together from the storeroom, she made her way to the cubicle. The sight of the elderly lady waiting for her behind the curtain immediately put her at ease.
‘Now, then, Mrs Jackson. I’m just going to take a wee blood sample from you, if that’s all right?’ A UE blood test would tell if the electrolytes and sodium were off—a further indication of dehydration.
The old woman smiled, the skin at the corners of her pale blue eyes creasing with laughter. ‘Sure, I’m like a pin cushion these days anyway.’
Lola noted how sunken her eyes looked, and the dryness of her lips when she smiled. The dry mucus membranes were another sure sign her diagnosis was correct.
‘So I don’t need to worry about you passing out when you see this needle?’ If only all her patients were this cooperative it would make her job a whole lot easier.
‘No, dear. You do what you have to.’ Like a professional blood donor, Mrs Jackson held out her arm and tapped on a raised blue vein. ‘That’s where they usually go for.’
The translucent skin was already punctuated with fading bruises from similar procedures. Lola cleansed the area with a wipe, grateful that she wouldn’t have to put this lovely lady through the ordeal of chasing a suitable site to insert the needle.
‘I think you could get yourself a job here,’ Lola said as she tightened the tourniquet around the upper arm.
‘Ach, away with you. I could never put in the hours you youngsters do. Sure, when would you ever find time to catch yourself a husband? Unless you’re waiting for one of those handsome male doctors to sweep you off your feet?’
The inquisitive patient brought an uninvited picture of the suave Henri Benoit into Lola’s head. Even there he looked smug that she was thinking about him.
‘If you could just make a fist for me that would be great. Now, you’ll feel a little scratch,’ Lola said as she inserted the needle and let the woman’s last question fall without an answer.
Thankfully she had managed to avoid said handsome doctor and the embarrassment of that evening thus far. So why did her senses conspire and refuse to let her forget him? The sound of his accent, the smell of his aftershave and the memory of his rarely seen smile wouldn’t leave her. It was a godsend that their hands had only touched briefly or she would surely have ended up a victim of sensory overload.
She tried desperately hard not to think about taste.
Since that final humiliation at the club, he was the last person she would turn to for help. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her inadequacy in action. Regardless of how many times she carried out standard procedures confidently and correctly, she couldn’t shake off that look of disappointment he’d given her. Her fender bender in the car park had been the only time she’d witnessed the scowl slip from the registrar’s face and the smile had somehow been worse. It had made him human, showed a softer side to him, and it had made her want to impress him so she could see it again.
‘Could you hold that cotton wool for me there, Mrs Jackson?’ Lola withdrew the needle and the helpful patient dabbed the spot of blood left behind. ‘Now, you rest until we find a bed for you on the ward, and I’ll get these sent off.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ The previously animated pensioner lay back, flattening her head of white curls into the pillows, and showed the first signs of fatigue.
Lola vowed to take all the necessary steps to get Mrs Jackson rehydrated and back on her feet as she returned to the nurses’ station—and walked into a flurry of activity.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked Jules, who was passing by in the herd of medics apparently gearing up for something more serious than an old dear having a turn.
‘Emergency call. Ambulance is on the way with a patient in cardiac arrest.’
As Jules chewed on her pen Lola could see her body thrumming with anticipation for the arrival. Maybe it was the extra year’s experience Jules had over her, but Lola hadn’t quite reached that stage of life-or-death excitement.
‘Would you care to join us, Dr Roberts?’
Apparently it took the invitation to be issued in a French accent to get her pulse racing.
‘Pardon?’ She turned to face Dr Benoit, incredulous that he had asked her to participate as if he was issuing an invitation to dinner.
‘I’m sure they can spare you from treating minor cases for a while, and I think the experience will be good for you.’
He barely glanced in her direction and carried on flicking through his notes. A prod of disappointment poked Lola in the abdomen as he dropped back into aloof doctor mode. A far cry from her sparring partner in the car park, but at least she knew where she stood with this version of Henri Benoit—and she wouldn’t let him get the better of her.
Lola lifted her chin to meet the challenge. ‘I would love to join the team.’
Equipment gathered in preparation, the assembled medical staff waited for the starting pistol, ready to get off the blocks, whilst Lola willed her limbs to stop shaking. The paramedics slammed through the door and galvanised everyone else into action.
Here we go.
‘On the count of three.’ Henri took charge as they surrounded the trolley. ‘One, two, three.’
Between the paramedics and the doctors the seemingly lifeless body of an overweight middle-aged man was transferred from the stretcher onto the bed and hooked up to a bank of monitors.
‘Get a line in, please, Lola,’ Henri instructed.
With a very small chance of bringing the patient back, there was no room for her to freeze or panic.
‘Starting CPR,’ Henri announced, starting chest compressions.
Lola’s scrubs clung to her suddenly clammy skin as she fought to insert the cannula. They needed it to inject adrenaline and try to restart the heart, and he had tasked her with the important job. Thankfully, with Henri pumping the chest to get blood and oxygen flowing around the body again, he made it possible for her to find a vein.
‘I’m in.’ She managed to keep the relief from her voice in a room full of people who did this every day of the week.
‘Get the paddles on. Do we have a shockable rhythm?’
Henri’s voice carried above all other noise and she focused on it alone to guide her through what was happening.
