Heart's Command

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Pacing back and forth,’ he said crossly. ‘It helps me think.’

  ‘At midnight?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, and would you mind turning off that light? You’re behaving like a police interrogator out of a B-grade movie.’

  Kirsten chuckled.

  ‘You are in bad way, though I’m not surprised you couldn’t sleep, with the noise those pyjamas must make.’

  As her eyes adapted to less light, she saw him glance down at them.

  ‘The pyjamas…’ he muttered.

  ‘Very loud,’ she explained, then took pity on him. ‘Do you want something to help you sleep?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he snapped, and she held up her hands in surrender.

  ‘Hey, I wasn’t suggesting illicit drugs, just a mild sedative. Or a hot drink. That might help.’

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ he said, then, apparently remembering his manners, added, ‘Thank you.’

  His tone was even more dismissive than his words, so Kirsten said goodnight and walked away. But the major’s insomnia bothered her. Was he worrying about his two hospitalised soldiers? Was she making his job more difficult by keeping the men here?

  She made a mental note to ask him in the morning and went to bed, sleeping deeply and dreamlessly until a knock on the door roused her at seven.

  ‘I’m just going off duty,’ Joan told her. ‘Brett’s rash is a lot worse. He says he had measles vaccine as a child but it could be rubella. His temp’s slightly elevated, but apart from discomfort from the rash beneath the plaster there are no other symptoms.’

  Kirsten thanked Joan, and as she dressed began to consider how they could get Brett up the stairs to the first floor. When the hospital board had decided to shift patients into the old convent, their renovations had included the installation of showers for patients on the ground floor. But upstairs, in the bathrooms used by the staff, were deep, old-fashioned baths.

  She made her way out to the foyer and studied the stairs. The orderly on duty, a different soldier this morning, emerged from the temporary office and greeted her cheerily.

  ‘How am I going to get a soldier with his leg in plaster up those stairs and into the bath?’ she asked him, and he walked with her, apparently considering her problem, as she went up and along the passage, past the room she knew Harry used to the big bathroom.

  ‘Getting him into the bath might be a problem,’ the corporal told her, standing beside her while she mentally measured up the old claw-footed tub. ‘Although I’m sure the major would lend you a couple of men to lift him in and out.’

  They were standing side by side, considering the matter, when, like the nemesis he was becoming in Kirsten’s life, the man himself appeared.

  ‘Shifting the office to the bathroom, soldier?’ he asked, causing the young man to leap about a foot in the air before embarking on a string of half-sentence excuses.

  ‘He’s helping me with a problem,’ Kirsten explained, trying not to stare at the trim, first-thing-in-the-morning-and-still-dry Harry Graham. Although in fatigues again, he looked every bit a soldier, and something in his appearance, or perhaps his bearing, was so admirable she felt awkward in his presence. ‘It’s Captain Woulfe.’

  Harry moved closer and peered into the bath.

  ‘Lose him down the plughole, did you?’ he asked, and Kirsten forgot about feeling awkward and responded to his banter with a grin.

  ‘It’s James we’d like to lose,’ she countered, then relented. ‘No, I don’t mean that. And to get back to Captain Woulfe, he seems to have developed German measles now and the rash beneath the plaster is irritating him unbearably. I thought a bath—the plaster can get wet—with sodium bicarbonate to neutralise the rash’s irritation. The corporal and I were working out how to get him up here.’

  Harry looked at her for a moment then smiled.

  ‘Considering the stairs, it would be far better if we could take the bath to him. I’ll talk to my CSM and see what the men can rig up in his room. You want all of him in this tub, or just his leg?’

  ‘You can’t do that. As well as a big enough container—and all of him should go into it—you need water and somewhere for it to drain to when he’s finished.’

  He smiled at her disbelief.

  ‘Just wait and see,’ he said, then he turned to the orderly. ‘Get the CSM up here for me, would you?’

  The lad left the room so hastily that Kirsten realised he’d been embarrassed at being caught in there with her.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll either get it to him, or him up here.’

  ‘But you’ve got more important things to do. You can’t be taking men away from their flood work.’

  His eyebrows lifted.

  ‘I won’t neglect your precious town,’ he told her, ‘but I’m also responsible for my men’s well-being. There are always soldiers on duty here at the camp—they’ll sort something out for Woulfe. I’ll let you know.’

  She was dismissed, as the corporal had been, so she left the room, walking slowly back down the stairs, wondering what it was about Harry that was so appealing to her senses and so unsettling to her mind.

  Harry watched her walk away and sighed. What was it about the woman? Every time he turned around she was there—usually chatting up one of his juniors.

  Well, perhaps not chatting up, but laughing and joking with the men in a way she never did with him. She was more likely to snap at him, or tell him to change his clothes, though why he cared about what she did or how she acted, he couldn’t fathom.

  It couldn’t just be attraction, although her blue eyes, cheeky curls and pretty face were definitely worth a second look. Any man would find her attractive.

  But finding someone attractive, and feeling churned up in his stomach every time he chanced upon her unexpectedly, were entirely different matters.

  Perhaps it was the flood, the uncertainty of not knowing exactly when the worst would hit—or how bad that worst would be.

  He was assuring himself that this was the reason for his unsettled state when the CSM arrived. Not to work out how to provide a bath for Captain Woulfe but to announce that a small chopper was just landing.

  ‘Brass dropping in, I expect,’ he added laconically.

  ‘Great!’ Harry muttered. ‘Just what I need. A five-minute blow-through from some publicity-seeking brigadier.’

  The CSM refrained from comment, but he followed Harry down the stairs and snapped some order at the orderly now back on duty in the office.

  Presumably it would mean that refreshments would be offered to whoever had arrived, then, no doubt, a tour of the flood-ravaged town would be required.

  ‘Harry, my old mate!’ a cheery voice greeted him as he reached the door. ‘Heard some transport was headed this way so I dropped in to check on your boys in person. Can’t have the local medico rushed off her feet, caring for our men,’ Paul Gamble added, flashing his woman-slayer smile at Harry as he held out his hand in greeting.

  He was in uniform, not fatigues—in the full kit—knife-sharp creases in his khakis, and brass so shiny he glowed. Everyone knew women went for men in uniform, Harry remembered glumly.

  ‘Are you the only person on the chopper? Our only guest?’ he asked, knowing he should be pleased it wasn’t someone who’d demand a guided tour.

  ‘Just little old me and some supplies,’ Paul told him. ‘Now, come on, man, time’s awasting. Where can I bunk down? And where’s the…patients?’

  Harry scowled at him. He’d heard that pause and knew Paul had been about to say ‘woman’. After chatting to Kirsten for who knew how long on the phone last night, he’d wangled his way out here to check on her in person.

  And there wasn’t one damn thing Harry could do about it.

  He summoned the orderly, directed him to show the major to a room upstairs, then take him through to the hospital wing.

  ‘I’ve work to do. You’ll find your way around easily enough,’ he said to Paul.

  H
e might not be able to prevent the two doctors meeting, but he was darned if he was going to hang around to watch Lothario in action.

  CHAPTER NINE

  KIRSTEN was in her room, asking herself why the major’s abrupt dismissal should have bothered her, when there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, thinking Harry might have come to tell her what they’d decided for Brett.

  It wasn’t Harry but the young orderly, and with him a very smart-looking soldier who introduced himself as Paul Gamble.

  Kirsten shook his hand and smiled at him, though fuming inwardly that Harry had seen fit to bring the army doctor all this way without consulting her.

  ‘Have you come to take over the army patients?’ she asked, and his eyes, a clear hazel, smiled into hers.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’ve every confidence in your ability to treat a mild concussion and a broken leg, but it was a good excuse to get away from the base for a few days.’

  His smile did nothing to detract from his good looks, and even as Kirsten registered that he was a very attractive man she wondered why he didn’t affect her the way Harry Graham did.

  Not that being affected by the major was going to save him from her wrath over this latest arrogant act of his! She quelled her anger and smiled at the newcomer.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show you around. Introduce you to the staff. You can even visit the army boys if you feel you should.’

  Paul bowed and smiled again, then stood aside to allow her to precede him through the door.

  ‘I suppose I should at least pretend to be working while I’m here,’ he teased as he came behind her as she tapped on Brett’s door.

  His hand brushed, perhaps accidentally, across her shoulder and Kirsten wondered if he might be flirting with her.

  Heavens! Was it so long since someone had flirted with her that she’d forgotten what it was like?

  She opened the door and went in, then stopped, bemused to find the bed shifted against the far wall and a canvas tub rigged up. It was full of water and a large immersion heater was hooked over the side, no doubt heating it to a pleasant temperature. Hoses led in and out through the window and Kirsten had to assume it would all work.

  Someone in the place jumped to the major’s commands!

  She nodded to the two soldiers assisting Ken, and introduced Paul to the nurse.

  ‘You going to drown him? Has he been that much of a nuisance?’ Paul asked.

  ‘He’s covered in an irritating rash and the part under the plaster is driving him mad. I’ve got him on antihistamines but thought a neutralising bath might help.’

  Paul had walked past her to the bed, and was shaking Brett’s hand while Kirsten explained.

  ‘Good idea,’ the other doctor agreed. He spoke to the two soldiers who were handling the tub, advised them to listen to Ken’s instructions when they prepared to lift the captain, then said, ‘Well, he seems to be in good hands. Shall we move on?’

  Kirsten glanced at Ken who nodded to show he had everything under control.

  ‘As if we don’t have enough water around the place,’ she said as they walked out. ‘Now we’ve got en suite baths!’

  She took him across the passage to where James was not only awake but already giving Peggy—who, like all the staff, was taking on extra duties during the crisis—a hard time over what he saw as shortcomings in her bed-making ability.

  ‘Not happy in the service, Lieutenant?’ Paul asked, and James sprang to a straight sitting position and saluted.

  ‘Well, at least he’s remembering he’s a soldier,’ Kirsten said quietly.

  Then she stood back, signalled to Peggy to slip away while the going was good and watched as Paul dropped his casual manner and introduced himself.

  ‘Even a slight knock on the head can scramble your memory at times. I know it’s useless telling you not to force it but, believe me, forcing it doesn’t help. Only time will cure you. Let things come back gradually. I bet you remember more this morning than you did yesterday.’

  James nodded.

  ‘I can remember who I am, like my family’s names—that kind of who I am. And somehow I know I’m a soldier, although I’m not sure what that means.’

  ‘Quite a lot to you,’ Paul told him. ‘You’re a damn fine soldier. Young to be a lieutenant, and going places. Just lately you’ve been chafing at the bit because you’re doing more administrative work than active exercises, but you have to learn the office stuff as well.’

  ‘I was in an office,’ James said slowly, ‘before I blacked out.’

  ‘Not immediately before,’ Kirsten told him, ‘but you’re getting closer.’

  She looked at Paul.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay with him for a while. You know where my room is. Come there when you’re done and I’ll finish your guided tour.’

  It meant she’d have time to check her other patients, perhaps sit down with Bella and have a quiet cup of tea while they discussed the practical side of how things were going.

  Paul didn’t reappear until around lunchtime, and she knew from Mary that he’d sat all morning with James, and had later spent a little time with Brett Woulfe.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘But I felt James needed more reassurance than anything and talking generally about the army seems to have lessened his disorientation.’

  ‘I’m glad someone’s here with the time and knowledge to help him,’ Kirsten told him. ‘Now, do you want the tour or would you prefer to do your own thing?’

  ‘Definitely the tour,’ Paul said. ‘One of the nurses told me the building’s an old convent. I can’t wait to see over the place and feel the vibes so many lovely virginal women must have left behind. The place should be reeking with frustrations.’

  Kirsten smiled at his nonsense.

  ‘The major tells me there’s not a lot of difference between a nun’s cell and an army tent,’ she said, leading him out and down the passage so they could begin at the outer entrance to the west wing.

  ‘And how did that conversation come up?’ Paul asked, his mobile eyebrows repeating the question.

  Kirsten shrugged.

  ‘Who knows how any conversation comes up with the major?’ she said, then, hoping to shift the doctor’s attention from Harry, she pointed out the wide entrance, initially constructed so the nuns could walk in pairs without catching their voluminous robes on the archway.

  ‘It’s ideal from our point of view—wide enough to take a gurney with staff on either side, and no steps on this side, which is why we chose to use this wing.’

  ‘But you won’t stay here?’ Paul said, astonishment colouring his voice. ‘Surely you’ll return to your regular hospital when the floods recede.’

  Kirsten sighed. She really didn’t want to go through all the business of hospital closure again.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘This building is available. It’s above flood level, which means patients would never have to be evacuated again. The stone walls mean the building is cool in summer and warm in winter. There’s an abundance of room, a huge kitchen, a dining room, offices and room for expansion if we want to incorporate hostel or nursing-home services.’

  ‘But it’s old!’ he said. ‘These days they’re tearing down old hospitals all over the country and building new state-of-the-art structures.’

  ‘Because the old ones have been hospitals for a long time. And generally they were wooden structures, impossible to clean efficiently. This building might be old, but it has no accumulation of bacteria. Admittedly, the rooms we use for operating have been renovated with the latest in stainless steel and aluminium, but the rest of the building is just fine as it is.’

  She opened the door into the theatre to show him what she meant, then led him through the recovery room and into the little theatre she’d used as a labour room when Cathy had had the baby.

  ‘Well, that’s better than I’d expected to find hidden behind your stone walls,’ Paul admitted. ‘But what about
patient care, with all the patients tucked away in individual rooms?’

  ‘Come and see,’ she invited. ‘There are rooms large enough for two patients to share but so far we haven’t bothered. After all, don’t patients in private hospitals pay big money for individual rooms? Isn’t it seen as a bonus?’

  She took the visitor in to Chipper’s room and introduced him. He was on his own, and complained that the army had stolen Anthony, his most regular visitor, from him.

  Moira was next, and as Kirsten watched Paul speak to the frail woman, answering his own questions then waiting patiently for her slight physical movement to signal agreement or disagreement, she decided that, for all his charming, easy manner, he was probably a very good doctor.

  ‘Will you have to tube-feed her soon?’ he asked as they walked away.

  ‘I think I’ll have to,’ Kirsten told him. ‘I’m putting off the decision because I know she’ll know it’s the beginning of the end. She can still manage soft food spoon-fed to her.’

  ‘That’s labour-intensive,’ Paul pointed out, and Kirsten smiled at him. ‘And it takes time.’

  ‘One thing we have at the moment is time,’ she said. ‘If it takes three hours to get each meal into her, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘That’s hospice stuff,’ Paul argued, and Kirsten nodded.

  ‘But isn’t that what a hospital should be? A provider of services to everyone? Particularly in a country town which can’t provide all the individual services. Come and meet Mr Curtis. In a city he’d be in a nursing home but in a town which at any one time might only have one or two people requiring that level of care, it’s not financially viable to staff such a place. Here we can share staff, as well as facilities like the kitchen.’

  Paul said nothing, but he greeted Mr Curtis cheerfully and again spoke to the man for a few minutes before Kirsten moved them on.

  Cathy was feeding the baby and waved them in to admire young Robert.

  ‘Rob should be in to see him by tomorrow or the next day,’ she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘Being on the northern side of town, the water will start going down first out our way. Once the peak is past, he can safely leave for a few hours.’