‘I can see that.’ He was still taking everything in. What was new?
Everything was new.
The vinyl furniture had disappeared completely. There was now the amazing sofa and a couple of great squishy armchairs. There was a new dining table—or rather an old one—an oak affair that looked as if it had been polished for generations. There were matching dining chairs with scatter cushions. And rugs…three vast Turkish rugs covering almost every available piece of floor space.
There were even pictures on the walls!
‘Did this all come out of your suitcase?’ he enquired, and she chuckled.
‘I just waved my magic wand.’
He glanced at his watch. He’d been away for exactly five hours.
‘You just nipped out to the shops, then. Or called in a decorator?’
‘Well, no.’
‘So would you like to explain?’
‘I went exploring and caught Bob and Henry before they left the hospital.’
He thought that one through. Bob and Henry. He only knew the one Bob and Henry pair. ‘The ambulance drivers?’
‘I know them both from way back,’ she told him. ‘They weren’t ambulance drivers in my day. In fact, I went to school with Bob, and when I showed him the conditions we were expected to live in he was shocked. Both of them were.’
‘He’s given you this stuff?’ Blake’s voice was unbelieving, and Nell giggled.
‘No, silly. It’s from my house.’
‘Your house.’
‘I told you,’ she said patiently. ‘I own a house out on the bluff. It’s ancient, it hasn’t been used for years but it’s full of extremely good stuff. Like this.’ She patted her sofa fondly. ‘I knew it’d be comfortable. I was never allowed to sit on it when I was a kid but, oh, how I wanted to.’
He was distracted—almost—but there were burning questions. ‘How the hell did you get this stuff back here?’
‘The ambulance, of course,’ she said blithely. ‘How else?’
‘You used the ambulance to transport furniture?’ He was gearing himself up to explode.
‘If I hadn’t then I’d have needed the ambulance tomorrow to cart me away for major back repair.’ Her tone was innocence personified. ‘It was a case of preventative medicine, and I’m really good at that. I was determined to get it here, and my little sedan only has a very tiny roof-rack. Anyway, once I explained the situation to Henry and Bob they were only too pleased to help.’ She smiled up at Blake. ‘So we took the stretchers out of the ambulance and went for it. It took us five trips and we’ve only just finished.’
‘And if there’d been an urgent call?’
‘Then they’d have heaved the furniture out and got on with it,’ she told him. ‘Honestly—do you think we’re negligent or something?’
He thought no such thing. He didn’t know what to think. He walked over and sank down into one of the chairs—and promptly stood up again.
One of the cushions had moved! Now it rose, shoving itself to four feet, and it glared at him. What the…?
But Nell was smiling. ‘Um…meet Ernest. Dr Sutherland, Ernest. Ernest, meet Dr Sutherland.’
‘Ernest.’
Who was Ernest? He’d just found out. Blake found himself looking at the most mournful, pathetic bag of bones he’d ever come across in the doggy kingdom. The ancient cocker spaniel, his black and white coat faded with age into indiscriminate grey, was all jowls and floppy ears and huge mournful eyes. He looked up at Blake as if he’d just wounded him to the core.
‘Hey, I didn’t sit on you,’ Blake said before he could help himself. ‘I nearly did but I didn’t.’
The eyes still reproached him.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’
‘Take no notice of him,’ Nell said blithely. ‘Ernest’s greatest skill in life is making people feel guilty, whether they deserve it or not.’
‘He does a great job.’
‘He does.’ Nell grinned. ‘I adopted him because he looked so pathetic. It’s his principal talent and he’s really very good.’ She rose and crossed to give her dog a hug. ‘I’ve had him for five months now. It’s been a guilt trip all the way, yet still I love him.’
Blake was still taking things on board. ‘This is the Ernest that’s going to take up the third bedroom?’
‘Well, I’m not going to sleep with him,’ Nell said, horrified. ‘He snores.’
Blake looked down at the ancient Ernest and he grinned.
‘He looks like the sort of dog who’d snore.’
He got a really, really reproachful canine glare for his pains.
‘Ernest’s very sensitive,’ Nell warned. ‘You might find you have to pay for that remark.’
‘He doesn’t bite?’
‘Bite?’ Nell shook her head in disbelief. She crossed to the little kitchenette and opened the oven door. ‘That requires energy. No, Ernest’s principal way of punishing people is by ignoring them.’
‘I can live with that.’
‘You’ll find you can’t,’ she warned him. ‘It’s very effective. He sort of embellishes his ignoring routine in all sorts of fancy ways. You’ll see. Now… Dinner?’
Ernest was promptly forgotten. ‘Dinner!’
‘You haven’t eaten?’ She turned back to face him. ‘I didn’t see how you could have.’
‘No, but—’
‘Then there’s dinner,’ she told him as if he were stupid. ‘I ate hours ago but I saved half the casserole for you. It’s apricot chicken. Very basic but it is my first night. We stopped off at the all-nighter on our first furniture run so I could throw this together while the boys heaved sofas.’ And then she grinned. ‘I imagine it’s set the town talking. An ambulance parked outside the minimart with a sofa sticking out the back.’
He imagined it might have. He should be angry. But there was apricot chicken casserole. His nose was giving him all sorts of messages, and every one of them was urgent.
And it was sort of funny…
‘I don’t approve,’ he managed, and Nell nodded.
‘Of course you don’t. You’re a very responsible doctor. I can see that. So you don’t approve of ambulances filled with sofas, buying chicken drumsticks and cans of apricots. But you will still eat my casserole?’
He was trying hard not to laugh. For heaven’s sake, she was ridiculous. ‘I might.’
‘Ernest will if you don’t,’ she said cheerfully, and Blake turned and glowered at the dog. Ernest glowered back.
But this was a dog after all. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Blake told him. ‘Not even the scraps.’
‘He’s already eaten,’ Nell said.
‘Chicken casserole?’
‘Dog food. The ambulance and sofa brought that, too. But he’s not fussy and he’s always up for second helpings.’
‘I imagine he might be. That’s quite some paunch.’
‘Now you really are getting personal.’ She scooped the casserole onto a plate and set it down on her gorgeous table. The whole room came together. The aroma of the delicious casserole. The furniture. The dog. The brilliantly dressed woman, heavily pregnant, ladling out food…
It was the sort of scenario that’d normally make him run a mile.
‘Wrap yourself around that,’ Nell told him, and she smiled.
Who could resist an invitation like that?
‘Wash your dishes afterwards,’ she said blithely. She hauled her dog up into her arms. ‘We’ve done enough. Ernest and I are very, very tired and we’re off to bed. We’ll leave you to it.’
She left, and the room was desolate for her going.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEONE was trying to smother him.
Blake woke to fur balls. Or fur mats. Something warm and heavy and limp was lying right across his face, threatening to choke him while he slept. He sat up like he’d been shot, and Ernest slid sideways onto the floor.
The stupid dog lay like he was paralysed, four legs in the air, eyes frantic, wai
ting for someone to set him to rights. Good grief!
‘You dopey dog. Don’t you have any respect?’
Ernest whimpered.
Was the creature injured? Blake flung back the covers, climbed out of bed and stooped to see.
Ernest promptly found his feet, took one agile leap and landed in the warm spot vacated by Blake.
‘You damned dog… You’re out of here.’ Blake put a hand on his collar to haul him away, but it was easier said than done. Ernest lay like a dead dog. His eyes were closed and he snoozed as if he’d been asleep for hours, seemingly totally oblivious of anyone else’s comfort but his own.
‘It’s either you or me, mate,’ Blake muttered, and glanced at the clock. And then glanced again. Hell. That couldn’t be right. The clock said eight-thirty. His alarm was set for six.
The alarm had been turned off.
She’d sneaked in while he’d been sleeping, he thought incredulously, and then wondered how on earth could she have done it. He would have woken. Surely?
The thought of Nell tiptoeing across his bedroom had him as unnerved as…as did her stupid dog sleeping in his bed!
‘OK. I know. I have to get up,’ he told Ernest. ‘Sure, you can use my bed. Any time. Don’t mind me.’
Ernest didn’t.
He’d have to skip breakfast. There was a ward round to do before surgery at nine, and there wasn’t time. At least no one had rung during the night, he thought as he showered and dressed, but that in itself was unusual. Worrying even.
He’d had the best sleep he’d had in months and he felt like a million dollars for it, but he’d have to pay by working doubly hard now. Harriet’s heart problems needed urgent attention. He needed to persuade her to be transferred at least to Blairglen but preferably to one of the major coronary-care units at Sydney or Melbourne. That by itself would take hours.
Damn, damn, damn…
And on the other side of the wall, Nell must still be in bed.
‘She’s been a great help,’ he told Ernest as he hauled a comb through his unruly thatch of hair. ‘Some Christmas present she turns out to be. She turns off my alarm, she lands me with her dog and then she sleeps in…’
She was seven months pregnant. And she had made him apricot chicken the night before.
‘But I don’t need domesticity,’ he told the somnolent Ernest. ‘I’d rather eat baked beans on toast and be on time. How on earth can I fit everything in?’ He slammed the bedroom door on the sleeping dog, walked out through the living room—trying to ignore just how good the newly furnished room looked in the early morning light—and stalked through to the hospital.
‘Some Christmas present,’ he muttered again, anger building at the thought of what lay ahead. ‘Now I’ll be late all day.’
Only he wasn’t. Everything had been done.
Donald, the charge nurse, came to greet him, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Well, well, if it’s not Captain Snooze. Our Dr McKenzie told us you were having a wee sleep in and we could hardly believe it.’
‘Your Dr McKenzie?’
‘She’s been here for two hours,’ Donald told him. ‘She had breakfast with the staff and we feel we’ve really got to know her. She’s a great kid.’ Donald was fifty. Anyone forty-nine or under was a kid to him—Blake included. Now he beamed like a Scottish patriarch, solving the problems of the world.
‘And she’s very, very competent,’ Donald told him, ignoring the look on Blake’s face and sounding as pleased as Punch. ‘Louise couldn’t get Elmer Jefferson’s drip back in last night and she did it first go. Louise says she has fingers like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘You’ve let her near the patients?’ Blake’s voice rose to incredulous and Donald took a step back—but he wasn’t a nurse to be intimidated by a mere doctor. They worked on equal footing, these two.
‘Now, why wouldn’t I have done that?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t be a fool, man. She’s a registered doctor, she’s approved and paid by our hospital board, and Jonas and Emily from Bay Beach both rang me up personally to vouch for her training. I knew her when she was a kid, so I was tickled pink to hear she was coming back.’
Tickled pink hardly described how he was feeling. Blake stared at his charge nurse through narrowed eyes. ‘You knew she was coming?’
‘We all did,’ Donald said smugly. ‘Happy Christmas, Dr Sutherland.’
Great. The world had gone mad.
‘Where is she now?’
‘She’s done a full ward round, sorted out any problems—not that there were any—only Elmer at five a.m.’
‘Elmer’s drip packed up at five and you didn’t ring me? You know he—’
‘Yeah, we know it’s important. That septicaemia isn’t going to go away without a few more days of antibiotics. It was some spider bite he got.’ He grinned, enjoying Blake’s annoyance. ‘So Louise rang Nell—just like she told us to.’
‘When did she tell you to?’
‘Last night, of course.’ Donald grinned again. ‘A couple of the nurses stopped by to lend her a hand with the furniture moving when they finished late shift. Me included. She got us hanging pictures and said you were taking turns with calls, starting last night, so when the drip packed up at five Louise rang her.’
‘Rang my phone? I would have heard.’
‘Louise rang Nell’s cellphone,’ Donald said patiently. ‘She gave us the number. Easy.’
Easy…
His life had been turned upside down. By a nutcase.
‘Is she wearing her purple patchwork pants?’ he couldn’t help asking, and this time it was Donald’s turn to look astonished.
‘Now, why should she wear purple patchwork to work? She’s a professional. No. She’s wearing a white coat over some sort of floral skirt. Very demure. See for yourself. She’s in with Harriet.’
‘Harriet?’
‘Harriet’s been busy planning how you could perform open-heart surgery here,’ Donald told him, grinning. ‘She wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told Nell what the problem was and Nell left her until last. So she’s still there. Want to see how she’s doing?’
Blake did. He cast one more glare at his charge nurse—heck, Donald almost sounded as if he’d been bewitched—and then he stalked off down the corridor to Intensive Care. To see what damage had been done, and how best he could undo it.
Only, of course, no damage had been done at all. Harriet was lying back on her pillows, smiling up at the woman beside her bed, and Nell was holding her hand.
The night and the chest pain had taken their toll on Harriet. Her bravado of the night before had slipped, and fear was showing through. She was gripping Nell’s hand like she was drawing strength from human contact.
She looked up as Blake entered—they both did—and he received two smiles of welcome. Nell’s was warm and open. Harriet’s was a bit wobbly.
‘Dr Sutherland…’
He had the sense to focus on Harriet first. Nell and her damned managerial ways could wait.
‘Hey there.’ He walked across, took the old lady’s hand away from Nell and held it himself. ‘Well done,’ he told her. ‘You’ve had the night without any more trouble.’ And then he frowned and looked sideways at Nell. ‘At least, I assume there was no more trouble.’
‘I would have woken you if there was,’ Nell said blithely, and he almost choked.
Focus on Harriet…
‘No more palpitations?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Great.’ He hesitated. ‘Harriet, we’re going to have to get specialist opinion on this. I’m afraid that means a trip…’
‘To Sydney.’ Harriet managed a brave smile. ‘I know. Nell…Dr McKenzie’s just been explaining it to me.’
‘Call me Nell,’ Nell said promptly. ‘Please. You used to call me Nell when I was a little girl. I don’t see why you should change now.’ She smiled fondly down at the old lady. ‘Harriet used to run the general store and sometimes she gave me free sweets,’ she explained to Blake, and Har
riet’s smile died.
‘It was the least I could do. No one else ever did. Those dreadful—’
‘That’s enough,’ Nell told her. ‘The bad old days are over. Forgotten. And now aren’t I lucky? Being a doctor, I can buy all the sweets I want.’
‘Oh, my dear…’
But Nell was refusing sympathy. ‘I’ve just been telling Harriet about my friend Matt who’s the head of Coronary Care at Sydney Central.’ She turned to Blake. ‘Matt’s a real sweetheart. He has a gorgeous wife and he has two sets of twins and a dog just like Ernest. In fact, he’s Ernest’s brother.’
Despite himself, Blake grinned at that one. ‘Matt’s Ernest’s brother?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Don’t go near him with a bargepole, Harriet. Ernest is the dopiest—’
‘Matt’s dog is Ernest’s brother,’ Nell said with dignity, but her green eyes twinkled. ‘And haven’t you made it up with my dog yet?’
‘Two dogs like Ernest…’ Blake said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, and Nell’s twinkle deepened.
‘Yep. Aren’t they just wonderful?’
‘Wonderful!’
Nell gazed at him thoughtfully for a long moment—and then shook her head. She put her mind back to business. ‘Anyway, Harriet thinks she might just trust Matt to decide what’s best to be done, so I’ve organised an air transfer to Sydney.’
‘You’ve organised an air transfer?’
‘With Donald’s help, of course,’ she told him. ‘We decided Bob and Henry weren’t really skilled enough for a coronary-care transfer.’
‘And if Bob spends the day with the ambulance it’d mean the mail would be really late—if it arrived at all—and it’s so near Christmas that it’d be a disaster,’ Harriet chirped in, and Blake could only stare.
‘But…’
‘But what, Dr Sutherland?’ Nell smiled. ‘We haven’t set in motion anything that you can’t rescind. The air ambulance doesn’t arrive until midday. But Harriet and I agree that you have quite enough on your plate without trying to implant a pacemaker before Christmas.’
‘Harriet’s agreed to this?’
‘If Matt thinks it’s necessary. Harriet wants to hang around for the long term. She’s agreed to help me set my house in order—oh, and knit me one of her famous capes. She knitted one for my grandmother once and I did so want one.’
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