Price of love

by Rachel Lindsay

  The car stopped outside the gate and she opened the door quickly and stepped out. ' Don't bother seeing me to the door. It's too late to be polite.'

  She walked up the path and as she reached the front step, turned to wave to him. He waved back and then set the car in motion, but not until its tail-light had disappeared did she rummage in her pocket for her keys. Frowning, she stopped. They were in her handbag.

  And that was where she had left it on the desk in Casualty ...

  Donald Blake blinked with surprise as he looked up from his newspaper and saw Paula watching him.

  ' My keys,' she said briefly, and reached behind him for her bag which was on the shelf.

  ' So that s why you came back' he grinned. 'I thought perhaps you were worrying about our last patient.'

  ' Don't you start on me too,' she retorted. 'I've had enough lecturing for one night.'

  'Is that so?' he said with interest. 'What's our illustrious Mr. Edgar been lecturing you about?'

  ' Never you mind.' A nurse came towards them carrying two cups of tea and, grateful for the diversion, Paula accepted one. ' Not much point my going home now,' she murmured.

  ' You'll be daft if you don't. You can still get four hours.'

  She stirred an extra lump of sugar into her tea and waited for it to dissolve. ' What's his name?' she asked.

  'Whose name?'

  ' The man Mr. Edgar just operated on.'

  Donald raised his brows in surprise. 'It's Jason Scott.'

  'Should I know him? Don't tell me he's a pop singer or something?'

  ' He's pop all right, but not a singer! His old man is the, plastics king. They own that huge mansion out on the Shawton road.'

  'Not that Scott?'

  ' That Scott. Surely you've seen Jason's name in the gossip columns? He's either carrying off an heiress or a motor racing trophy I'

  ' He probably takes the latter less lightly,' she said drily, and could not help feeling pleased that her intuition as to the sort of man he was had been confirmed. ' You'd think he'd know better than to crack himself up the way he did."

  ' Someone was driving towards him on the wrong side of the road,' Donald said briefly. 'Scott swerved to avoid him and went over the bank.'

  Smothering the reprimand, Paula did not reply. Behind him the telephone rang and Donald picked it up, spoke into it and then put it down.

  'I'll call the police again. They're still trying to trace Scott's its. The mother's at their place in France and the influx's in Paris.'

  ' What's the betting they'll take him to London the minute he can be moved?' Paula commented. 'I can't see tin in letting him sweat it out in the Marsden General.'

  ' Neither can I. Not that I blame them. If I had bag of dough I'd probably do the same. Might even HI for racing, like young Scott.'

  ' Would you really?'

  He glanced at her, and from her expression realized that though the words were light, the question had been taken seriously. ' No,' he replied. ' As a matter of fact I wouldn't. The only difference money would to my life is that I'd concentrate on research.'

  'What in?'

  'Geriatrics. All I need is a small lab, five thousand to spend on equipment and a few hundred a year to live on. I'd give ten years of my life for that.'

  The intensity in his voice took her by surprise. It was the first time since his appointment to Marsden months ago that they had exchanged more than a few words, and she sympathized with the feelings that invoked in him.

  ' The money Jason Scott spends in a year would probably equip your lab twice over,' she said coolly. 'I'll give you thought of that?' ' Each man to his taste,' he shrugged, and then said with a slight smile: 'I must remember to warn the nurses not to spoil him. Did you see Theatre Sister's face as they wheeled him in?' Paula shook her head and he went on: 'Seems she knew him as a youngster. It'll be amusing if she starts calling him " young Jason".'

  'Even more amusing if she becomes obsequious.'

  The thought of Theatre Sister, dour and practical, being obsequious to anyone, made them both laugh.

  ' What's your burning ambition?' Donald asked'I have none. Just to continue here, I suppose.'

  ' Beats me how you can like hospital life. Too much red tape and routine for my liking.'

  ' Mine too' she agreed. ' But I'm adept at cutting through it. 'She yawned and stood up. 'If I don't go home, it won't be worth going.'

  She was halfway to the door when it swung open to admit a placid-looking young woman and a white-faced young man. A length of pyjama leg showed beneath his trousers and a battered suitcase was clutched in his hand.

  ' A first pregnancy,' she mouthed at Donald,

  ' How can you be sure?'

  'Take a look at the expectant father.'

  Leaving Donald to pacify the husband, while a nurse took his wife to the maternity wing, Paula made her way to the entrance hall. Her hand was on the door when the night porter called her.

  ' Dr MacKinnon, there's an emergency call from Men's Surgical. Will you take it or should I alert the duty doctor?'

  ' Say I'm on my way up'

  A dim light shone from Men's Surgical and on entering the ward Paula saw the curtains drawn around the bed nearest the door. She stepped through into the cubicle and, for the second time that night, found herself at Jason Scott's bedside. No trace remained of gilded youth in the death's-head mask propped against the hospital pillows. He lay motionless, his breathing shallow and irregular. A tube trailed away from one arm into the shadows, while on the other side stood an oxygen cylinder.

  She felt his pulse and then looked at the nurse. ' How long has he been like this?'

  'Not more than a few minutes. He was all right when Sister saw him, but not long after I didn't like the sound of his breathing and called her back. That's when we started the oxygen.'

  Pulling back the sheet to expose bare shoulders and surprisingly muscular arms, Paula bent her head close to Jason Scott's heart. Even as she listened the beat grew perceptibly weaker, its rhythm more broken and irregular.

  ' Martin," she thought, "I must send for Martin" Then her mind cleared, and with clarity came the knowledge that mere was no time to call anyone. Long before Martin could reach Jason Scott he would be dead.

  Her hands began to move over his chest 'I'm going to massage the heart Tell Sister to prepare an injection'

  Several moments passed and Paula's hands did not cease their movement. She was aware of Sister standing by her side with a hypodermic and she took it from her and, with a swift soreness that belied her trepidation, plunged it directly into the cold, clammy skin. Many times she had watched others do this self-same action, but never had she performed it herself. Slowly she withdrew the needle. Theory against practice—and a life dependent on her success. If anything went wrong . . .

  Again she bent over the unconscious body and resumed her massage; gently, rhythmically, never pausing, never hurrying. Imperceptibly faint colour returned to the man's checks and once more she reached for his pulse. It was stronger and less erratic.

  She looked at Sister and nodded. ' He'll do'

  'Shall ' continue the massage?'

  ' No. I'll wait here myself a bit longer' She paused and looked down at the bed, surprised to see that the man's eyelids were fluttering.

  As she watched, they lifted, and dazed eyes stared up at her. ' Where . . . where am I? What happened?'

  ' You're in hospital.' Paula bent over him. ' You've had an accident, but you're going to be all right.'

  lie lay so still that she wondered if he had heard. He rubbed his tongue over his lips and, anticipating his need, the Sister brought a tube to moisten his mouth. Another moment passed, then his body arched and he gave a deep anguished groan of pain.

  ' He's due for more morphine' the Sister whispered. Paula nodded and watched as the needle went into the arm. Another groan came from the bed and she reached for the clenched hand. With unsuspected strength it gripped hers and Jason Scott opened his eyes aga
in.

  ' Don't leave me' he whispered. A shudder convulsed him and he clenched his lips. ' Can't you give me something stronger ... it's agony "

  ' You've had a very strong dose' she lied. 'It'll soon ease up.'

  He groaned again and she raised her eyes to the Sister's and then looked away, knowing it was dangerous to risk a second shot.

  ' Help me,' he gasped, and flung out his band. Paula caught it and held it tightly. 'It won't get any worse, I promise you.'

  He half moved his hand, but as she went to draw her own away, he twined his fingers round hers. ' Stay with me,' he whispered. 'I can bear it if you do.'

  'Very well. But try and sleep.'

  ' Sleep!' The word was a mutter of anguish and a sheen of sweat broke out on his face. 'I can't sleep . . . it's too . . .'

  the voice was slurred, the last few vowels an unintelligible murmur that faded into silence. The Sister let out a sigh. ' With any luck he should get a few hours' relief.'

  Paula nodded. ' He can have another injection in four hours. The same dosage.' She pressed her hand to her eyes and, as she did so, became aware that Jason Scott was still grasping her other one. Gently at first, then with growing impatience, she tried to pry loose the clinging fingers. Was it her imagination or had his hand tightened its grip?

  'I've seen patients do that before,' Sister said. ' He'll hold on to you like a drowning mart to a lifeline.'

  Paula sighed. 'I'll stay on for a bit He's obviously lot deeply asleep.'

  ' You'll be needing a chair' A wooden one was placed by the bed and she sank down on ft and rested her arm on the bedclothes. Tentatively she tried to move her hand away, but his hold was as tight as ever, and she decided to relax. Once the morphine took full effect she would be able to go. Gradually night faded and a pale dawn pushed its way through the long windows of the ward, touching the face of the sleeping man. Paula shifted in her chair, remarking the return of colour to his cheeks and the faint, new growth of beard, blond as his hair. But the eyelashes were dark, thick and unfairly long for a man. Idly she wondered if the eyes they shielded would be blue brown. His pulse was even and his forehead, when the laid her free hand against it, showed little sign of fever. Her finger traced a path along the finely bridged nose to the full, sensual mouth beneath. A handsome face, the face of a man who had taken from life exactly what he wanted. The way, a few hours ago, he had taken possession of her hand . . .

  She looked down at the coverlet to where his fingers were still entwined with hers. Staring at them, she remembered an illustration she had once seen in an old medical textbook: A man and woman with bared arms, linked by a short length of rubber tubing—the first primitive method of blood transfusion, direct from donor to patient. Perhaps vitality could be similarly transmitted, draining from the strong to the weak . . . Beyond the curtains protecting the cubicle the ward awakened into life. Nurses' steps sounded brisk on the rubber floor; there was a clatter of basins and the splash of water as patients were washed, the crackle of linen as beds were made, all punctuated by hoarse whispers and an occasional snore from a man determined to remain asleep. A staff nurse pushed aside the curtain and came in with a cup of tea.

  'I could do with that' Paula said gratefully and, half turning, found that the hand Jason Scott had been claspwas suddenly free. She flexed it slowly, feeling a sharp tingle as circulation was restored.

  ' You've had quite a night of it' the nurse commented. '

  Will you be able to go home, doctor, or are you on duty this morning?'

  ' Duty.' Paula winced as she stood up. ' But not for an hour. Just time for me to go home and have a bath.'

  'If you'd care to use the nurses' quarters,' the girl offered,

  'It will save you going out'

  'I'd rather go out, thanks.' Paula's smile softened her refusal of the hospitality. 'A breath of cold air will revive me—otherwise I'm likely to doze off in the middle of an examination I'

  'I doubt if you'll get the chance. I passed through OutPatients on my way in, and they were already filling up.'

  'So early?' Paula was startled. ' What's the use of giving people appointments if they ignore them?'

  'Old habits die hard,' the nurse grinned. 'Most people don't believe there's such a thing as a hospital that sticks to appointment times!'

  Paula remembered these words later that morning as she tried to cope with the unusually heavy influx of outpatients. Every chair in the waiting hall was occupied, and though an extra doctor was brought in to assist her, there were soon so many people waiting for attention that they overflowed into the entrance lobby. Case followed case: a workman with a gashed arm that required seven stitches, a baby with a bead lodged in its nose, a broken wrist, a crushed finger . . . The queue seemed neverending, and there was no time to think beyond the present moment, no chance for fatigue to take its hold.

  ' Dr MacKinnon I' A nurse put her head through the door of her office. ' Can you spare a moment to look at a patient? It's urgent'

  Paula looked at the woman she had just examined and said swiftly, 'It's nothing serious, Mrs. Evans. I'll write to your doctor suggesting a course of pills,' and hurried after the nurse.

  The man she had been called to examine was lying on a stretcher, his face twisted with pain, and it only needed a brief touch to establish he had an appendicitis.

  ' When will a doctor see me?' he groaned.

  'I am a doctor.'

  'I mean a proper one—not a nurse.'

  'I'm a very proper doctor.' Paula nodded to the orderly to wheel the patient away. 'I'll notify Surgical you're on your way up. They'll soon make you feel more comfortable.'

  'If I'm going to have an operation I want a man doctor to see me first.'

  Paula turned away without answering. Even after four years in hospital it still irritated her to encounter this sort of prejudice. Not that she blamed the patient; he had probably never been examined by a woman before and, realizing an operation was imminent, wished to be told so by someone whose authority he would not question. And a woman with that authority was definitely not acceptable I It was still a man's world, she reflected as she returned to her consulting room; and likely to remain so for a long time.

  She did not consciously think about the man for the rest of the morning, but he remained obstinately in the back of her mind, and as soon as the out-patients' department closed she went up to Men's Surgical to see him. He had already been prepared for his operation and was peacefully sleeping.

  ' He goes to the theatre in a few minutes,' Sister said. 'I heard he wanted a proper doctor to examine him.'

  Paula smiled. In a small hospital news travelled fast. 'I hope you were able to satisfy him?'

  'I did,' Sister said drily. 'I told him you were the best doctor we had.'

  Paula reddened with embarrassment. It was not often Sister Bright gave a compliment, but when she did it was appreciated as much as though it came from some Illustrious consultant.

  'I hear you were up all night with Mr. Scott,' Sister Continued, 'Would you like to see him?' f Paula's heart missed a beat. 'Is he awake?'

  'Intermittently. I know he'd like to see you'

  Realizing it would be churlish to refuse, Paula walked across the ward to the bed that was still partially screened from its neighbours by curtains.

  He was lying very still, half propped against the Billows, his cheeks flushed with fever. The drip, she saw, had been disconnected, but there were other tubes ling from bed to floor. Was it those tubes or only the washed-out hospital issue pyjamas that made him look so young and vulnerable? Not so very young at that: the age on his chart showed him to be twenty-eight, three years older than herself, but years younger in terms of maturity.

  ' Hello there." His voice, though weak, had a gay, insouciant quality which she found peculiarly disconcerting, and his eyes—whose colour she had wondered about last night—were a deep, intense blue. ' So you're the honey who sat up with me all night.'

  'I don't know what you're
talking about,' Paula said briskly. Honey indeed I Trust the nurses to do their gossiping in the ward. To bolster her dignity she reached in her jacket pocket for her stethoscope. 'I'd like to listen to your chest.'

  'With pleasure, doctor.' The grin with which he undid his pyjama top made nonsense of her effort to put a distance between them, and as she bent her head down his hand reached out and touched her hair.

  She drew back sharply, but he did not appear to notice. 'It was you who stayed with me all night,' be persisted. 'I thought I was dying, and then a honey-gold girl appeared out of nowhere and gave me back my life.'

  ' You're talking nonsense, Mr. Scott.'

  'I'm not. Nothing's very clear—I'll concede that—but I was dying . . . I couldn't breathe . . . and then you came. I know it was you, don't bother denying it. I could never forget that toffee-coloured hair or those amber eyes of yours.'

  ' Mr. Scott . . . please . . . you were dreaming.'

  'I wasn't. It was true.' His voice trailed away and Paula saw the beads of sweat on his forehead. She turned and signalled a passing nurse.

  ' Tell Sister that Mr. Scott needs another injection.'

  ' Mr. Scott doesn't,' his weak voice said. 'I'm so full of dope I can't think straight'

  ' You don't need to think. All you need is rest.'

  ' Tell me something I don't know.' Another spasm of pain crossed his face and he was unable to speak until it had subsided. ' Was I in an accident?'

  'Yes. Don't you remember?'

  'No. I was on my way home and then—I seem to . . . No, it's no use; it's all a blank. Was I driving the Jag?' 'Yes!'

  ' What about the other car? I remember someone coming at me and then—damn, that's gone too.'

  ' Don't worry about your memory,' she soothed. 'It will be all right in a few days. And the other driver was untouched—thanks to you. You're the only one who got hurt.'

  'Just my luck.' He managed another weak grin and shut his eyes, fighting down a stronger spasm of pain.