Hospital Heartbreaker Read online

  'She's decided to forget it?' Anne queried, astounded. 'La Beasley? When she had what she must have thought was a genuine complaint, even though we know the truth? I don't believe it!'

  'What else does it mean? If she had reported me the Manager would have interviewed me before I was allowed back.'

  'Perhaps your concussed admirer confessed?' Anne suggested.

  'She wouldn't have believed him, even if he were the sort of man to admit a fault!' Fleur said sharply. 'I don't understand.'

  'No need to. Come on, get changed, we'll go and have a huge meal at Giovanni's. I'm starving, and it will be the last time! There's the party tomorrow night.'

  *

  Chapter 2

  The female surgical ward at Chad's was a busy, friendly place. Fleur was welcomed eagerly, since they had been understaffed for months. The regular staff were a happy, efficient team, and within days she felt thoroughly at home.

  'I'm so glad I chose theatre,' Anne said one morning, 'but I can't wait to meet the fabulous Russell Delaney. Have you seen him yet?'

  'No. The professional hospital heartbreaker, I heard.'

  'He's been in Edinburgh, due back a couple of days ago. A brilliant surgeon though he's only in his early thirties. Tipped for a consultancy before he's forty.'

  'He doesn't sound good husband material, with his reputation,' Fleur warned. Anne, though an excellent and dedicated nurse, longed to marry and have a family.

  Now she gave a shamefaced laugh.

  'Oh, no, I'm not stupid. Actually, one of the housemen, David Willis, is rather nice. We're going out tonight. I'm just curious to see a man who sends all the nurses into flat spins.'

  'I can do without, thanks,' Fleur said and changed the subject, suggesting they went shopping for curtain material.

  'I won't put up with that awful dingy cream stuff a moment longer than I have to.'

  Later, when Anne and David, a large, pleasant, cheerful young man who had trained at Chad's and was a star player in its rugger team, had gone, Fleur admitted to herself she was afraid of meeting the renowned Russell Delaney.

  Since the episode with the good looking patient, and her own instinctive response, Fleur had been both puzzled and worried. Pretty and popular, she'd had many boyfriends and fancied herself in love. But no one's kisses had sent such quivering waves of desire coursing through her body.

  The circumstances had been unusual, she told herself, and also unexpected, so that her chemical reaction had been partly to blame for the nervous fears she had experienced. Yet the image of that handsome face with its deep-set eyes persisted, as did that of his naked torso, and the recollected feel of his hard muscular body. He had undoubtedly been the most handsome man she had ever encountered, and she was secretly afraid it had been the sheer good looks of the man which had stimulated her instinctive response.

  Fleur had always been unusually responsive to beauty, in music or painting, the perfection of a flower or the charm of a young animal. Her mobile lips had always curved into a smile as she appreciated some delight of form or sound, and now she was beginning to fear that masculine beauty was having the same sort of effect on her. It could create enormous problems, and she had no wish to meet avowedly handsome men.

  *

  That was not a problem with Steve Markham, she conceded the following day, when she met him for the first time at Chad's.

  He was large, with a square, pale face, prominent pale grey eyes and, though only in his late thirties, his fair hair was receding rapidly. He usually dressed in shabby old tweeds, good quality but poorly fitting, maintaining that physical comfort was of far greater importance than sartorial elegance.

  Plain, comfortable and nice, was the usual verdict of nurses skilled in categorising the male staff, and Fleur agreed. Friendly and undemanding, he was a pleasant escort, but there had never been anything deeper between them than mutual liking.

  Steve was now a Registrar at Chad's, on the firm of a consultant who specialised in abdominal surgery, and Fleur knew she would meet him on her new ward. However, it was in the canteen when she was taking a hasty lunch that she saw him.

  He was sitting with a couple of older men at a table nearby, his back to her, wearing a familiar worn tweed jacket and drill trousers. She did not think he had seen her until the others got up to leave and he came across to sit opposite her.

  'Welcome to Chad's. I heard you'd arrived. Glad to see you again, Fleur. What do you think of us?'

  'I wonder why I didn't come here years ago,' Fleur replied. 'Everyone's so friendly. I suppose I was reluctant to leave St John's as I knew it, and had enjoyed my training so much.'

  Steve nodded. 'I know what you mean. But you'll like Chad's even more. We have rarer cases, of course, being a London hospital, and that's a challenge, as I'm finding.'

  They discussed one of the patients Steve was interested in, a woman with severe jaundice who had been admitted to Fleur's ward that morning, and as he rose to leave her he said he would be popping up to see the woman later on.

  'If you're not too busy settling in, perhaps you'll have a drink with me this evening?' he asked.

  'Thanks, I'd like that.'

  'The Crown is the favourite local.'

  'I've seen,' Fleur replied. 'It even has a garden!'

  'Not for this time of year,' Steve said, shivering. It had become really cold the last few days. 'In good weather you can't move outside for the crowd. When do you finish?'

  'I'm off at five today.'

  'Right, see you over there as soon as you can make it.'

  *

  The afternoon was uneventful, routine tasks, until Fleur was checking her patients before she went off duty. Then she noticed one of the drips had been badly connected and there were small bubbles of air in the tube.

  Swiftly she dealt with this, waited to ensure no more bubbles had crept into the tube, and then, seeing Sister talking to one of the consultants in her office, went to find the newly qualified nurse who had been responsible for changing the drip.

  She found her in the ward kitchen, making coffee and setting out a tray with two cups and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Another cup, half full, was on the table, and as Fleur walked in she reached for it and took a swift mouthful.

  'Nurse Massingham!' Fleur said sharply, and Gilly Massingham turned guiltily towards her. 'Did Sister tell you to have your coffee break here?' Fleur asked curtly.

  'No, but it's two hours since I had a break,' the girl said sulkily. 'I didn't think there was any harm in it while I was making some for Sister and Mr Rogers.'

  'It happens to be against the rules. But that wasn't what I wanted. Did you change Miss Porchester's drip?'

  'Yes. Why?'

  Frowning at the insolent tone she used Fleur spoke sharply.

  'You ought to be capable by now of ensuring no bubbles of air get into the drips. Don't you realise just 30 mls could be fatal? It's not a difficult job, just needs care and concentration. If you can't achieve these you won't make a very successful nurse.'

  'There weren't any bubbles when I last looked!'

  'Then how did they get there? You're responsible for that drip. I hope you're not being silly enough to accuse anyone else of interfering with it. Sister must be told. We can't allow nurses to be careless and pay so little attention to a patient's welfare. Now take in the tray and make sure you're more careful in future.'

  With an angry glance from under her lashes, the girl turned away from Fleur, and in a defiant gesture suddenly picked up her cup and finished the coffee she had been drinking. Fleur gritted her teeth, but said no more, merely waiting until she had carried the tray into sister's office.

  'She isn't the best of nurses,' Sister Reynolds said later when Fleur reported the incident. 'She came here thinking she knew everything. On the basis, I think, of having read a simple textbook. We must keep an eye on her.'

  *

  When she came off duty Fleur changed rapidly into a warm skirt of a rich golden brown, and a thic
k, polo-necked, darker brown sweater. It promised to be a hard winter, she thought, and already she had begun to wear boots even on her short journeys between the flat and Chad's. She tugged on some elegant long suede ones, dark brown and high heeled, and clasped a matching belt about her slender waist.

  As she brushed her dark blonde hair loose she surveyed her reflection critically in the locker room mirror and then nodded to herself. The sweater had been the right shade after all. When she had bought it she had been tempted by one of a lighter colour, but this enhanced the brightness of her shoulder-length hair, falling with a slight wave over the collar of the sweater.

  She put on a discreet lip gloss, and then shrugged into a thick, warm sheepskin jacket. If the weather got colder still she would have to buy herself a warm coat for days when even this jacket was not enough.

  The Crown was opposite the main entrance to the hospital, and there were only a few people there, none of whom Fleur recognised.

  She sat where she could see the doors, and looked round her appreciatively at the opulence of the solid Victorian interior.

  To one side were a series of booths, separated by high wooden partitions topped with panels of decorative multi coloured glass. The wood was real rich mahogany, lots of it and worn smooth and glossy with time, polish and loving care.

  That, the heavy dark green and gold flocked wallpaper, and faded prints of various nineteenth century sporting events, were reflected in the yards of bright mirrors behind the bar, their coloured borders echoing the pattern in the glass partitions.

  Several times the doors swung open to admit more customers. Four nurses Fleur knew came in with boyfriends, and waved as they crowded into one of the booths. Then the doors swung open again and Fleur stiffened with shock as she saw a woman, tall and elegant, swathed in furs, and a man in evening dress.

  As though hypnotised, Fleur watched him settle his companion at a small table before going to the bar, then she turned to hide her face. What could he be doing here, of all places?

  The memory of that disastrous episode swept over her again, as it did several times each day, but now the man involved was sitting a few feet away from her with one of the loveliest, sophisticated, and most expensively dressed women Fleur had ever seen. She knew she was blushing as she recalled the touch of his bare skin and muscular body, and the searing kiss he had forced upon her.

  To her immense relief the couple had just the one drink and then, after glancing at their watches, left. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her tumultuous emotions, and did not see Steve until he dropped into a seat beside her.

  *

  'Sorry, I didn't mean to be so late, but there was an emergency peritonitis. Only just got away.'

  Fleur replied disjointedly, and instead of the wine she would normally drink, surprised Steve by asking for a whisky.

  'Not much soda, no ice,' she added, and he raised his eyebrows slightly.

  'Had a hard day?' he asked sympathetically.

  'What? Oh, middling,' she replied, and then forced herself to pay attention to him by asking questions about the hospital.

  He replied patiently, but she had great difficulty in concentrating. What had that wretched man been doing here? Was it chance he had come into this pub, or did he live or work nearby? Angrily she tried to dismiss the disturbing recollections his appearance had conjured up in her mind, but his face persisted in forcing itself onto her attention.

  'I'm sorry, what was that?' she had to ask Steve.

  'I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. There's a very good Italian place a couple of blocks away.'

  Fleur shook her head.

  'Sorry, Steve, I'm too tired. I'm not very good company at the moment. I ought to have an early night.'

  'You do look pale,' he commented, concerned, 'though it's not easy to judge in this lighting. Another time, soon, I hope. Now, can I run you home? My car's outside. Have you found somewhere, or are you in the nurses' block?'

  She accepted the lift gratefully, and told him about Anne and the flat. When they arrived Fleur asked him in for coffee.

  'Thanks, but no. You're pale. Go and eat something and then get straight to bed. Doctor's orders. I'll probably see you tomorrow, and then we'll fix a date.'

  She waved as he drove away, then let herself into the block of flats. Anne was already there, and the delicious smells of hot soup and grilling lamb chops filled the small kitchen.

  'Good. I was beginning to think I'd have to eat both chops,' Anne said, putting cutlery out. 'Were you kept late?'

  'No, I had a drink with Steve. Anne, he was there, in the pub,' Fleur said as she hung up her jacket in the hall.

  Anne stared at her in astonishment. She had no need to ask who Fleur meant. He had been a constantly recurring topic of conversation almost every day, however much Fleur protested that she wanted to forget all about it.

  'Did he see you?' she asked now in practical tones.

  'No. I was at the back, watching for Steve, and they only stayed a few minutes,' Fleur replied as she came into the kitchen. 'He was with a woman, all attentive,' she added.

  Anne cast her a swift glance, but said nothing as she busied herself ladling out soup.

  'I still don't understand what happened,' Fleur said after she had taken a few mouthfuls. 'Why didn't Sister Beasley report me? It must have seemed a marvellous opportunity for her.'

  'She was off duty next day, and as you were leaving she might have realised it was pointless,' Anne suggested. 'When there are complaints the investigations take weeks while they interview everyone in sight to get at the truth.'

  'They wouldn't have needed to, she and Liza saw it. And the next day hadn't been her day off, she changed it. And Liza was off too, which was odd as she'd only just come onto the ward.'

  'At least no one at the party seemed to know about it,' Anne reminded her.

  'And that's another mystery. After all the rumours flying about I'd have expected it to be common knowledge by then. But no one even mentioned it, not even in a sly, hinting way.'

  *

  'It was our leaving party, perhaps they all felt embarrassed, or wanted to be nice,' Anne suggested. 'Which reminds me, we ought to have a house warming here. We know enough people by now to fill the place. There's Dave and Steve, people from your ward and their boyfriends, same for my course friends, and talking of handsome brutes, there's the fabulous Russell Delaney. If he'll come. I'm not surprised they all swoon when he only smiles at them. Is he good looking!'

  'Where did you meet him?' Fleur asked, not interested in Anne's raptures about handsome men, but feeling her friend was waiting for a response.

  'He was operating this morning, gall stones, and we were observing. I know I'm only a raw beginner in Theatre, but he really is streets ahead of anyone else I've seen. So cool, and decisive, and he doesn't make sarcastic comments if the right implements aren't ready at exactly the moment he wants them. He gets much better co-operation that way, too,' she added. Anne had recently done a course in psychology, Fleur recalled, and she laughed, her mood suddenly lighter.

  'I don't suppose he'd be interested in coming here,' she said warningly. 'Besides, David would be jealous.'

  'Oh, we're not serious,' Anne said, a little too airily, 'I was thinking he'd suit you better than Steve. He's much more exciting, I'm sure.'

  'I've had enough excitement to last me a long time,' Fleur protested. 'The chops are burning.'

  Anne leapt up with an exclamation of horror to rescue them, and then returned to her suggestion of a party. They checked their duties for the next few weeks, agreed a date in early December, made some tentative lists, and then Fleur pleaded tiredness and retreated to bed.

  But not to sleep. The sudden unexpected sight of him had made her restless, and her thoughts were busy with speculation about what he could be doing in London. Perhaps it wasn't so odd for him to be in the capital, but to be in exactly the same part of it where she was did seem strange.

  She didn
't even know his name, or what he did. Nor how he had come to be in St John's in the first place. Much as she insisted she wanted only to forget him, she found that lack of knowledge intensely frustrating. Everything had happened so quickly she had never seen his notes. When she returned to duty the following day he had gone, and she had been so embarrassed she hadn't cared to question any other nurses.

  Now she wished she had, for at least that would tell her whether she was likely to encounter him again. The thought made her shiver apprehensively. It was not only the suddenness of what happened, but the strange effect it had had on her. No one else had stirred her like that and Fleur, fundamentally honest, could not maintain the fiction that it was only surprise which had sent her blood surging about her veins, and her heart beating furiously. Her lips tingled still as she recalled the sensations of his mouth on hers, insistently persuading her to what she knew would soon have been an abject surrender.

  Even though she was on a late duty the next day she was pale and tired, with dark smudges under her eyes from sleeplessness. Listlessly she counted sheets in the small cupboard near the entrance of the ward, and was emerging with a pile of them in her arms, stifling a yawn, when she became aware of several people entering the ward.

  She stepped back to avoid a group of student doctors accompanying a consultant on his ward round. She waited for them to go past, her eyes lowered, then almost dropped the sheets as her chin was grasped in a firm hand and her face tilted upwards.

  'Are you burning the candle, or is it the air of London that has driven those delicious roses from your cheeks?' a deep, well-remembered voice asked, a hint of laughter in it.

  Fleur's eyes flew upwards, and met smiling blue ones. She was of average height, and had not realised before just how tall he was. He had, after all, been sitting when she first saw him, and last night she had been too astonished to notice such details. Now her bemused gaze took in the white coat he wore, the stethoscope in his pocket, and then a wave of emotion stronger than anything else she had ever experienced swept over her, compounded of shame, fury, embarrassment, and an urgent need to remove herself at once from such close proximity.