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‘What have we got?’ the older paramedic asked.
Charlie gave the two paramedics a brief run-down of what had happened. ‘Mrs Ward’s had GTN but it isn’t having much effect. We’ve found Liam’s missing fingertips and put them in a plastic bag with ice—I cleaned the wound with a dry cloth in case of phosphorus contamination.’
‘Trained first-aider?’ the younger paramedic asked.
Charlie smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘We’ll take them both in,’ the older paramedic said.
‘My house. Open,’ Mary said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll stay and help the police secure it,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll tell them what happened.’
Charlie took the notebook from his inside pocket and scribbled his mobile number. ‘I need to get going, but they can get me on this number or call me at the hospital—the Hampstead General.’
‘You work at our place?’ the younger paramedic asked.
‘Yep.’ Charlie glanced at his watch. ‘And I’d better get my skates on or I’ll be late for work.’ He was already late, but that couldn’t be helped.
‘Might as well come along with us, then,’ the younger paramedic said with a smile.
Ten minutes after Sophie had left, Charlie walked into the department. ‘Sorry I’m late. Unavoidable delay,’ he said. Not that he was going to explain what his delay had been. I had to rescue a woman with angina and a boy with major burns. It would have sounded bleating or boastful or, worse, both together. ‘Thanks for waiting. I wouldn’t have blamed you all for getting on with your lists, thinking I wasn’t going to bother turning up.’
Guy coughed. ‘I’m afraid the other firm isn’t here. Andy’s away today and Sophie, his registrar, was called into Theatre.’
Pretty much as he would have expected. ‘No problem. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to catch up with them later.’ Charlie shook his hand. ‘Charlie Radley.’
‘Guy Allsopp, consultant surgeon. This is Mark, my registrar, and Abby, my house officer,’ Guy said. He quickly introduced the rest of the staff.
‘Pleased to meet you all. Well, let’s get the awkward stuff out of the way first,’ Charlie said. ‘First off, I know there were internal candidates for the job, so I imagine a few of you would much rather I wasn’t here. I’m sorry that someone had to be disappointed, but I hope we can learn from each other and work as a team.’
He noticed that Guy and Abby exchanged very meaningful glances. Had Andy been an internal candidate and had he deliberately stayed away today? In that case, Sophie, as Andy’s registrar, was showing solidarity with the head of her firm. They were the ones who really needed to hear this speech.
Ah, well. He’d make his peace with them both later. He had some other rumours to squash first.
‘Secondly, I know what hospital rumour mills are like, so you’re probably expecting a toff who spends more time with a string of blondes in little black dresses than with my patients, and who only does face lifts. I’m not planning to live up to those expectations. I’m here to do a job, I don’t have a string of girlfriends, I answer to “Charlie”, not “Your Lordship”, and I don’t do face lifts or nips and tucks.’ He smiled. ‘So. I hope we’ll get used to each other pretty quickly. My door isn’t always open because I think that’s intimidating—but I’m always happy to talk through any problems between seeing patients.’
A few murmurs, but no outright hostility. Good. He could build on that.
‘And, finally, so I can get to know people who aren’t here today or are on a different shift, I’m planning drinks on Thursday night—my tab. If anyone can recommend a good bar, I’m all ears.’ And, please, please, any minute now the emergency department would bleep him, he’d have to go to Theatre and he could just relax and do the job he loved.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ Abby said.
‘Guy? Yeah, you already told me. Several times,’ Sophie said with a grin.
‘No. I mean Charlie.’
‘Charlie?’
Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, because Abby added, ‘The new director of surgery.’
Ah. The baron. ‘How nice for him,’ Sophie said coolly.
Abby frowned. ‘Don’t be so hard on him. He’s a nice bloke.’
He was upper class—and Sophie knew from experience just how not nice they could be. ‘Yeah. I bet,’ she said sarcastically, before she could stop herself.
‘He is. He’s buying drinks for everyone on Thursday night, and he’s included the auxiliary staff and the cleaners,’ Abby protested.
Sophie shrugged. ‘So? He’s a baron. Rich. He can afford it. It’s an empty gesture, Abby.’
Abby frowned. ‘He’s not a snob, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s genuine.’ She added what she clearly thought was her trump card: ‘Guy likes him.’
‘Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ Sophie asked.
‘Soph, I don’t understand why you’re so anti.’
‘I’m not anti. I’m just saying I don’t like politics and I don’t think they have any place in hospitals. We should be looking after our patients, not playing games.’
‘Charlie doesn’t seem like a game-player.’ Abby took a swig of her coffee. ‘Let’s agree to disagree, shall we?’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ Sophie raised her own cup.
They’d been talking shop for about five minutes when a tray clattered onto the table next to theirs. ‘Hi, Soph.’
‘Hello, Guy.’ She smiled at him. And then looked up at the man standing next to Guy—into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
Baron R. C. Radley.
The photographs in the gossip rags simply didn’t do him justice. In the press he always looked slightly unreal—with a perfect tan, even white teeth and not so much as a faint shadow under his eyes or a blemish on his skin.
In the flesh, he was something else. Tall—about six feet two, she’d guess—with dark hair cut just a little bit too short. Sculpted cheekbones, a haughty nose—very patrician. Except his lower lip was full and gave him a slightly vulnerable air, and there were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes that told her that he smiled a lot.
Her pulse started to hammer, and the back of her neck tingled. Gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe him. Neither did mouth-watering. He was both—and more.
Please, don’t let her mouth be hanging open.
‘Let me introduce you,’ Guy said. ‘Soph, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Sophie Harrison, the senior registrar on Andy’s team.’
Charlie placed his tray carefully on the table and held his hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you. And I’m sorry I missed you this morning.’
He had a posh voice. The sort that usually raised her hackles. So why did she suddenly want to purr? Not good. Not good at all.
Sophie was aware that Abby and Guy were both staring at her. Oh, yes. She was meant to shake the baron’s hand. Though when she did, she wished she hadn’t. Her skin was actually tingling where it had touched him.
No way. She wasn’t going to fall under the spell of someone like him—a womaniser and a toff. Absolutely not. ‘Sorry I couldn’t wait.’ For you to bother to turn up. ‘I had a full list.’
‘Of course. Patients are nervous enough before an operation—the last thing they need are unexpected delays.’
Not quite the reaction she’d been expecting. Wasn’t he supposed to be offended that she hadn’t waited to tug her forelock?
Before she could reply, one of the nurses came over. ‘Hey, Charlie!’
Batted eyelashes—and Sophie would bet that the nurse had just breathed in hard. Certainly, her bust was difficult to ignore. Her name tag said that she was from the emergency department. Don’t say their new director of surgery had already started working his way through the nurses?
‘I thought you might like to know how Mrs Ward’s getting on. She’s stable and we’re sending her home.’
‘That’s good,’ Charlie said.
‘How’s Liam?’ she asked.
‘Out of Theatre. Guy did a good job.’
Sophie frowned. ‘Am I missing something here?’
‘Didn’t he tell you?’ the nurse asked. ‘Our Charlie’s a hero. He was on his way in this morning when he saw this kid stuffing fireworks in this old lady’s letterbox. One went off in the boy’s hand—and the old lady had angina. Charlie rescued them both.’
‘You didn’t tell me you were involved in the rescue as well,’ Guy said. ‘So that’s why you were late this morning?’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I just called the ambulance, as anyone else would have done.’
‘Don’t be modest.’ The nurse batted his protest away. ‘The paramedics reckon you’re a hero. The papers have been ringing up, too—they want a picture of you.’
So this was what it was all about. Baron Radley, Hero of Hampstead. A PR opportunity. The hospital would be delighted to get some positive press instead of pointed comments about superbugs, declining standards and lengthening waiting lists.
‘They’re not getting a picture. And the press office can handle the calls,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m a doctor. I did what any other doctor would have done. That’s all.’
All? Sophie didn’t think so. He might be a doctor—but he was one with a title. And one who’d been linked in the press with too many gorgeous women to count.
He flashed a smile—one she’d bet he’d practised. A lot. ‘But thanks for telling me about Mrs Ward.’
It was a dismissal, and the nurse knew it. ‘See you later, Charlie.’ She actually gave him a coy little wave. What was it about this man that fried women’s brain cells? Sophie wondered in disgust.
Though that smile was definitely a lethal weapon. She’d have to be careful. Very careful.
‘So what happened?’ Abby asked.
‘Full-thickness burns to the palm of the dominant hand and two amputated fingertips. Guy did an excellent job of debridement and repairing the fingertips,’ Charlie said.
‘And Charlie did the skin grafts.’
Usually, skin grafts were delayed for a couple of weeks after the burn, when the dead skin started sloughing off—but in certain cases, such as fingers and eyelids, primary skin grafts had to be made as soon as possible after the injury to reduce the likelihood of infection.
‘I assume he’s staying in Paeds for a few days?’ Sophie asked. Burns to the hand were very difficult to manage at home, and there was a high risk of infection by Streptococcus pyogenes in the first week. The boy would definitely be on a course of antibiotics to reduce the risk of infection.
Charlie nodded. ‘I want to keep a check on him in case of fibrotic contractions.’ The fibres around the burn often contracted as they healed, and could cause problems with movement. The likelihood was that the boy would need multiple plastic surgery operations. ‘Plus he needs to keep his hand elevated.’ That would reduce the risk of swelling, or oedema, which could cause problems as the burn healed.
‘I think you’ve made a hit in ED,’ Guy said.
Charlie grinned. ‘They’ll get over it. When people get to know me better, they’ll realise I’m just like any other surgeon around here.’
Like any other? Hmm. Sophie didn’t think so.
‘I’m happiest when I’ve got a scalpel in my hand,’ Charlie added. ‘Now, please, let the coffee here be better than at my last place…’
Smooth. Very, very smooth.
But Sophie wasn’t tugging her forelock to anyone.
She gave him a cool little smile, and turned her attention back to her lunch.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a47c3e63-bb40-507a-9efc-32616a00047a)
‘I CAN’T believe Tom didn’t even notice his foot was gangrenous!’ Abby said.
‘Type-one diabetic, male, early thirties, single, lives on his own—no, I can buy it,’ Sophie said.
Abby shook her head. ‘I can’t, even though I know people with diabetes are more at risk of foot infections and ulcers—their circulation doesn’t work properly and it affects the motor, sensory and autonomic nerves.’
‘Which means?’ Sophie asked.
‘The motor nerves supplying the small muscles of the foot and the calf don’t work properly so the weight-bearing bit of the foot is distorted,’ Abby recited. ‘The effect on the autonomic nerves means the foot doesn’t sweat, and the sensory nerves don’t work so the patient doesn’t feel any pain.’
‘Exactly.’ Sophie thought Abby was shaping up to be an excellent doctor—she knew the textbook stuff. Now she just needed to understand her patients a bit more and empathise with them. ‘You don’t feel it, so you don’t do anything about it. Nearly half the time diabetic patients spend in hospital is because of foot problems.’
‘But surely he must have seen it?’ Abby asked.
‘He probably hoped it would just go away on its own. A lot of people do—they’re scared of doctors and hope if they ignore the problem it’ll go away.’
Abby shook her head in disgust. ‘So why didn’t his diabetic nurse pick it up?’
‘Because,’ Sophie said, ‘he didn’t turn up for any of his appointments. He got divorced last year and his mum told me yesterday he cut himself off from the rest of the world. The only reason we know about his foot is because he had a hypoglycaemic attack at work and the foreman insisted on him coming to hospital. Lucky ED was clued up enough to guess if he wasn’t keeping his glucose levels under proper control, he probably wasn’t looking after himself and might have a bit of ulceration on his feet as well.’
‘A bit of ulceration? Soph, the entire dorsum of his foot is necrotic!’ Abby said, aghast.
‘Yup.’ The top of Tom’s foot was red, swollen and puffy, and the tissue beneath was dead. ‘The sad thing is, it could all have been avoided if he’d come for treatment earlier.’ Sophie sighed. ‘The gangrene’s too bad for me to save his foot. I just wish I could have done reconstructive surgery on it—which I would have been able to do if he’d seen us weeks ago. He might have lost a toe or two, but it would still have been workable. Whereas this…It’s going to take him months of physiotherapy to get used to a false leg.’
‘What does Charlie say?’
‘Same as me. It has to come off.’ Sophie had checked with him the previous afternoon, and together they’d explained the options to Tom. She’d been impressed by the way Charlie had handled it and had tried to give Tom some dignity. ‘He’s doing the op with me this afternoon. We’ve been giving Tom an epidural for the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Why?’
‘Studies show he’s less likely to suffer from phantom limb pain after the amputation,’ Sophie explained. ‘We’re going to do a below-knee amputation—I need to go high enough to make sure the tissue I cut through is healthy. Why?’
‘Because otherwise there’s a risk the wound will break down and become ulcerated, so you have to do another amputation. You’re going below the knee—mid-tibia—because it’ll improve his mobility with a prosthesis,’ Abby added.
‘Perfect textbook answer,’ a voice said beside them.
