He chuckled, the colour slowly receding. ‘You mean three times wasn’t enough?’
‘That depends on how long it’s got to last me.’
His eyes darkened. ‘About ten minutes?’
She gave a breathless laugh. ‘Rhys, I have a patient in a moment.’
‘So have I. Listen, I came in here to tell you something. I’ve had a chat with a consultant about Belinda Long—the woman who wants the bilateral mastectomy?’
Tricia nodded. ‘What did he say? Will he do it?’
‘Yes—but unless she goes privately she’ll have to wait up to a year. I’ve asked April to contact her and get her to make an appointment with me to discuss it further—or do you think she’d rather see you?’
Tricia lifted her hands in a shrug. ‘I don’t know. If I was going to be here for longer I’d say I’d see her again, but she is registered with you and I won’t be around, so it makes sense if you deal with it. Are you going to see her husband as well?’
‘I think so. I know it’s her body, but it’s a radical step and it’ll alter her body image, whatever she might say. It’s important that he’s aware of the implications. I’ll move them on to the consultant as soon as possible, though. He’s got access to all the appropriate counselling facilities and can give her more accurate information about implants and prostheses than we can here.’
He hesitated, looking down at his fingers. ‘Um—are you busy tomorrow night?’
‘No. I’m on call on Sunday and Monday, over the bank holiday. Matthew’s on tonight and Tim’s on tomorrow and Saturday. Why?’
‘I just wondered if you’d like to go out for dinner.’
The smile just blossomed. ‘That would be lovely,’ she answered. ‘What time?’
‘Eight? Perhaps a little after? It depends if they’re naughty. I’m hoping, as it’s the end of the week, they’ll be tired after school, but it doesn’t always work like that.’
‘So you won’t be driving round the countryside for hours wondering whether or not to come?’ she teased.
His laugh was rueful. ‘No. Not this time. And don’t forget to start the Pill.’
‘I need a prescription,’ she told him.
‘Come and see me when you’ve got a moment. Perhaps you’ll need an examination.’
She laughed at the wicked twinkle in his eyes. ‘You’re forgetting—you did that last night.’
‘So I did,’ he said mournfully. ‘Oh, well. Come and see me anyway.’
But she didn’t, not because she didn’t have time, but because a patient came in who drove all other thoughts from her mind.
She was a young-looking sixty-five, the patient—married and with three grown-up children, and she had the obvious signs of an upper respiratory tract infection. It wasn’t new, though. She’d had it before, and it had cleared up a little with treatment but not completely.
She hadn’t been back for her routine check, she explained, because she’d had a slight heart attack and been admitted to hospital. Now, though, the infection was much worse and she had sinusitis as well. The whole of her face and nose was very tender, and she had a permanent headache. When Tricia listened to her lungs, she found evidence of acute bronchitis as well.
The obvious answer was a course of antibiotics and decongestant to clear the infection and relieve the pain of congestion in the sinuses.
However, it hadn’t worked before—at least, not for long. Tricia wasn’t sure it would work now. She flicked through the notes, looking for inspiration, because although at first sight the respiratory tract infection seemed just exactly that there was something about it that just didn’t add up.
There was the heart attack too, and a slight reported deafness, on top of the history of asthma. She had also had an episode of renal colic some time in the past.
Somewhere, lurking in the back of her mind, was a diagnosis—a much more sinister one than Mrs Stobart had been offered before. It began with W. Webber’s something? Wagner’s? She scraped around for a moment and dredged it up.
Wegener’s granulomatosis. That was it. A compilation of fairly mild symptoms, none of them drastic in themselves and all apparently quite unrelated. That was the danger, of course, because the disease was often undetected until it was too late.
Tricia had never seen a case. She wasn’t sure she was seeing one now, but one thing was sure—she was going to do everything she could to find out, because, untreated, the disease would progress, leading to widespread damage to the lungs and other organs, especially the kidneys, and eventually to death.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WEGENER’S granulomatosis? Are you sure?’
‘No.’ Tricia twisted the cord of the phone around her finger and swivelled the chair, putting her feet up on the edge of the desk. ‘No, Lins, I’m not sure. I just wondered what you thought?’
‘I don’t know. I remember her. She seemed basically unwell, but the symptoms weren’t so drastic that I was worried.’
‘No. They’re worse now, she says. She didn’t come back because of the heart attack.’
‘I remember that. It only seemed fairly mild—I suppose it could be caused by Wegener’s. It attacks all organs once it reaches a certain stage. Read up on it and see how you test for it. I can’t say I’ve got a clue. What did you tell her?’
‘I said I was going to arrange for her to have some tests and we’d contact her with an appointment in a day or two. I thought that would give me time for some research.’
‘Hmm—talk to Rhys and Matthew,’ Linsey suggested. ‘I’ll think and rummage through my textbooks here, and I’ll come back to you if I have any ideas.’
‘Thanks, Linsey. I’d appreciate it. I must fly; I’ve got patients waiting.’
‘Oh.’ Linsey sounded disappointed. ‘So I can’t ask you how you and Rhys got on last night?’
Tricia gave a choked laugh. ‘No, you can’t!’ she said, scandalised.
‘Are you still speaking?’
Tricia relented a little. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank God for that. I’ve been so worried.’
Not as worried as I have been, Tricia thought as she replaced the receiver in its cradle. She ought to see him. Damn. It was nearly the end of evening surgery and the chemists would be closing soon.
He rang her on the internal phone while she had her next patient with her.
‘Tricia, I’ve got a prescription here for you. It’s for Minulet. Will that be OK?’
‘Fine. It’s what I’d have chosen.’
‘I’ll leave it in my top drawer. It’s a private prescription and you’ll have to pay for it, but I thought it would be more confidential. You don’t want the reception staff having to fill in the temporary resident’s form for contraceptive services, I imagine.’
Lord, she hadn’t even thought of that. ‘No. That’s great; thank you.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I have to go; I’m already late picking up the kids. Can you check your own blood pressure and make sure it’s OK?’
‘Sure. Don’t worry, Rhys. Thanks.’
She hung up and turned back to her patient. ‘Sorry about that. Now, you were saying?’
She spent that evening driving to the nearest late-night chemist to get her prescription, then going back to the flat and settling down to learn all she could about Wegener’s granulomatosis. The more she read, the more sure she was that Mrs Stobart might well have the disease. She resolved to talk to Rhys about it as soon as she had the chance, but in the meantime she would arrange for various tests.
The patient might be anaemic, she learned, or show symptoms of lupus without the lupus cells in the blood. Blood cultures would test for subacute infection of the lining of the heart, and chest X-rays might show lesions in the lungs.
It seemed to be a case more of finding out what it wasn’t rather than what it was. Treatment, then, consisted of cyclophosphamide, a cytotoxic drug that was widely used in the treatment of leukaemia and lymphoma but had been found to be helpful in
suppressing the granulomas—nodules of abnormal tissue—that developed with the disease. Corticosteroids were also given at the same time in the initial stages, and gradually reduced after the first two months or so.
It was, therefore, an aggressive and unpleasant drug therapy and not to be undertaken lightly, but, once treated, the patient might expect a full recovery.
Treatment, however, could last at least a year and maybe longer and would be managed, of course, by a consultant at a hospital. In a way Tricia hoped she was wrong, because if she wasn’t the poor woman was in for a rough time. If she was right, though, at least the condition was curable in the early stages. Only time would tell. One thing she knew, however: she wouldn’t be here at the end of the treatment, whatever happened to Mrs Stobart. Her time here was definitely limited.
She went to bed and lay for a long time thinking about Rhys and how she would feel when she left him. Would he miss her?
It was hard to say at this stage, although she knew for sure that a part of her would always be with him, no matter what else might happen in her life.
She had taken the first pill of her course after some deliberation, but she couldn’t deceive him. It wasn’t fair to set about deliberately getting pregnant just to take a child of his with her, and, however she might feel about it, he already had three children. The very last thing he needed in his life was yet another.
If she was already pregnant, then of course she would love his child and treasure it—as he would, but she’d never tell him. It would be just another burden, another altar on which to sacrifice himself.
Anyway, it was just hypothesis. There was no way she could be pregnant and she’d just have to make sure it didn’t happen in the future.
The thought brought a lump to her throat, but she suppressed it ruthlessly. Never mind about Rhys, the last thing she needed was to add to the statistics of single parents.
She punched her pillow and turned her face into it, but it smelt of Rhys. Oh, hell, she thought, and hugged it closer with a sniff. So what if she cried? Who was to see or care? She gave in to the tears.
He was on time the following evening.
When the outside lights came on as he pulled up, she ran downstairs, waved to him from the doorway and set the alarm, shutting the door behind her. He pushed the car door open from the inside and she climbed in, throwing him a smile.
‘Hi. Everything OK?’
‘Fine. You look lovely.’
She grinned. ‘So do you.’
‘Lovely?’ He laughed. ‘Well, that’s a first.’
She leant across and kissed his cheek, loving the slight rasp of his beard. ‘Handsome, then. That better?’
His arched brow illustrated his scepticism. ‘I’ll settle for presentable.’
She laughed. ‘You’re always presentable. You look one better than that tonight. So, where are we going?’
‘Brockenhurst,’ he told her. ‘A fairly new Italian place by the station. It’s supposed to be very good.’
And far enough away to guarantee anonymity, she thought, and for the first time wondered if the private prescription had been for her benefit or his.
They parked at the station, and to her surprise the restaurant was located right there in a converted locomotive shed or some such building. So much for the special location, she thought, and decided that she must have been right. He was trying to conceal their relationship.
She soon realised, however, that the reputation of the restaurant was based on fact. The food was superb. Perhaps he’d genuinely brought her here because he’d heard it was good and wanted to spoil her. Why did she have to doubt his motives all of a sudden?
They talked about work at first, but she didn’t mind. Doctors always did that, and she was so used to it that it didn’t worry her any more.
‘Lisa’s doing well,’ he told her. ‘I saw her in Lymington. Her diabetes is stabilising well, and the baby’s fine.’
‘Good.’ She smiled wryly. ‘It’s just as well he’s so vocal.’
‘Oh, don’t. If Stacey hadn’t heard him—It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
She twirled her pasta on the fork and studied it for a moment. ‘What do you know about Wegener’s granulomatosis?’
He blinked. ‘Not a lot. It’s as rare as hens’ teeth. Why?’
‘Because I think one of Linsey’s patients might have it.’
‘Really?’ He sat up and leant forward, one elbow propped on the table. ‘Tell me more.’
She did, at the same time watching him twirl spaghetti. He dribbled sauce on his chin and she reached across and blotted it.
He broke off in mid-sentence and met her eyes over the table. His were burning with need and frustration. ‘Have you had enough?’ he asked.
‘No. Be patient.’
His chuckle was rueful. ‘OK. Just don’t touch me.’
It was like a red rag to a bull. She slipped off her shoe and ran her foot up inside the leg of his trousers, caressing his calf muscle. ‘Tricia, for God’s sake,’ he hissed.
She laughed softly. ‘Hell, isn’t it? Go on. You were telling me about Wegener’s—’
‘Look it up in a textbook. Do you know what I’m going to do to you when I get you out of here?’
‘No. Do tell.’
He hesitated for a moment, then a slow, lazy smile played over his face. ‘No. You can guess.’
He reached across the table and grazed his knuckles over her jaw and down across her throat. Her eyes widened and he chuckled. ‘Hell, isn’t it?’ he murmured.
His hand fell away, but not before the back of it had trailed over her breasts.
She leant back out of his reach and sipped her wine. ‘Why don’t you drink?’ she asked him, striving for conversation.
His face changed then, hardening. ‘I used to. I did rather too much of it. It doesn’t fix anything; it just acts like an anaesthetic. Sooner or later you have to come round.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘There’s no reason why you should, unless Linsey told you.’
She shook her head. ‘Linsey hasn’t told me much about you, Rhys. The odd thing here and there, that’s all.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘Where? Here in this restaurant with you, or at the practice?’
‘Either. Both.’
‘Because I want to be. I didn’t have a permanent job because my last boss was a pain and so I left. I was wary about getting involved in another practice, and I wondered if I wanted to go back to paediatrics.’
‘And do you?’
‘No. As to why I’m here with you, it’s because I want to be, and nothing to do with Linsey.’
‘Except she’d like to see us get together. I know she would, Tricia. I know her well and I love her dearly, but she’s an interfering do-gooder, in the nicest possible way. And you’re a pushover for a sob story.’
‘No—’
‘Yes.’
She decided to challenge him. ‘So why are you here?’
He laughed softly. ‘Why, indeed? I don’t know. Perhaps because what you have to offer is irresistible.’
‘Is it?’
He hesitated, then nodded, his innate honesty dragging the truth from him. ‘Yes. It is. I’ve been on my own a long time, Tricia. The thought of a warm, willing woman—especially one as beautiful as you—is very tempting.’
She ignored the compliment. ‘And you were tempted?’
‘Am I here?’
She looked at him, determined to find a light response. ‘Looks like it to me.’
His smile was gentle. ‘I was very tempted. I am very tempted. You’re a beautiful woman, Tricia. I meant that. Beautiful and funny and friendly and warm and inviting. I can’t believe someone hasn’t snapped you up long ago.’
‘Maybe I have nasty habits you don’t know about yet.’
He chuckled. ‘Maybe. And maybe you’re just that rare commodity, your own woman, unswayed by peergroup a
nd family pressure. Who knows? I just know it was me that you chose for your first foray into the real world,’ he said softly, his face becoming serious. ‘I just hope you don’t find it’s too high a price to pay.’
He turned and called the waiter, then asked for the bill. Moments later they were leaving, going out in the cool of the night. Tricia shivered, not from cold so much as the impact of his last words. Would the price be too high?
Almost certainly, yet she was destined to pay it. The curtain had risen, the scene was set, the actors already on the stage. She shivered again, and he put his arm round her, drawing her against his side for the short walk to the car.
‘OK?’ he murmured solicitously.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied. She was—now, with his arm round her, his body hard against her side. She was almost disappointed when they arrived at the car and he let her in, courteously opening and closing the door for her.
They drove back to the surgery in a silence that was companionable and yet filled with tension. Once there, there was no question of asking him in. He got out of the car and locked it, let her into the surgery and switched off the alarm in her flat, then followed her upstairs.
Again, there was no conversation, no dallying. At the top she turned into his arms and his mouth found hers hungrily. Moments later they were naked in each other’s arms, lying together in the centre of her bed, the silence broken only by the harsh rasping of their breath.
Their loving was wild and sweet and touched with moonlight. They hadn’t bothered to close the curtains and switch on the light, and Tricia thought how hard his body looked in the cold blue glare of the full moon—hard and powerful and dangerous and yet she was quite unafraid.
His touch was more gentle than any she had ever experienced, his caresses more tender, his kisses giving rather than taking. She came apart in his arms, only this time he held on and waited, bringing her back to the same wild and tumultuous precipice before giving in to his own needs and throwing himself over with her.
And she had thought it couldn’t be any better?
The Ideal Choice Page 11
