‘There’s one more patient for you to see,’ the duty staff nurse said, as Helen filled in the last of her reports. ‘He was operated on this morning, and has just come down from post-op intensive care.’
‘I didn’t know there was any surgery scheduled for today,’ Helen replied. She had checked late last night, before she went to Sandra’s and there was nothing more at all on this week’s operating list.
‘It was an emergency admission this morning.’
‘Emergency?’ Helen frowned – there was no A & E at the Princess Beatrice. Normally private hospitals tended to concentrate their efforts on routine operations and long-term illnesses.
‘I admit it’s unusual,’ staff nurse Jones agreed. ‘Apparently a film crew was working on location close by. There was an accident while filming a stunt or something, and the patient was brought here. They called in an orthopaedic surgeon, Mr Hyatt. Assisted by Dr Taylor, he operated straightaway. The patient’s ankle was broken in a couple of places, and he had a slight concussion.’
‘And Dr Taylor wants me to keep an eye on his vitals?’ Helen said. It would be a change to have a proper patient to care for; she hadn’t yet become accustomed to having such an undemanding work-load.
‘Yes, he does. I’m told that the patient is a friend of our director, Professor Fenton. I presume that’s why he was brought straight here.’ Staff nurse Jones smiled. ‘You should have seen the commotion when the man was brought in, he was accompanied by half the film crew and the director – an over-excited Italian guy who wouldn’t stop talking. It was he who insisted we call in Mr Hyatt. Luckily for us he lives close by.’
‘Who exactly is this patient?’ Helen asked, wondering if she knew him too.
Staff nurse Jones handed Helen a chart. ‘The actor, Duncan Paul. All the nurses went mad when they heard it was him. Lots of them fancy the guy.’
‘Including you?’ Helen enquired, managing to appear cool and in control, while her heart raced.
Staff nurse Jones blushed. ‘He is my favourite actor, and I’ve now discovered that he’s even more gorgeous in the flesh than he is on the movie screen.’
‘I know.’ Helen flipped through Duncan’s records, relieved to see that there appeared to be nothing seriously wrong with him. Mr Hyatt had pinned his broken ankle, while X-rays and a CAT scan had shown that the slight concussion didn’t appear to herald anything more serious.
‘You know him?’
‘I met him briefly not long ago,’ Helen replied casually. ‘He seemed very pleasant.’
‘Lucky you. He’ll probably be pleased to see a familiar face,’ the nurse commented. ‘By the way, don’t expect him to be awake. As you can see by the drug chart, I’ve just administered his last injection. Dr Taylor wants to keep him sedated for a few hours more.’
‘Judging by what you’ve said it’s the nurses who need sedating round here, not Mr Paul,’ Helen joked. ‘Now where is he?’
‘The Rochester Suite,’ staff nurse Jones told her. This was one of the most expensive suites in the hospital, with its own lounge as well as the mandatory private bathroom.
‘I’ll call you if I need you.’ Helen moved over to the door of Duncan’s suite, taking a deep breath before she stepped inside. It was odd how out of control she suddenly felt just because Duncan’s name was mentioned.
This was the first time she had been inside the Rochester Suite. With its thick cream carpets, lush window dressing, antique furniture and expensive entertainment equipment, it seemed more like a high-class hotel suite – only the hospital bed in the adjoining room betrayed its true origins.
Duncan’s eyes were closed, his long lashes brushing his tanned cheeks. His dark, almost black, hair was in ruffled disarray, making him look younger than when they had last met. For the very first time, Helen could stare at him without interruption, and it struck her that he really was the most good-looking guy she had ever come across. He was very masculine, yet his full bottom lip gave him a faint air of vulnerability that his female fans found most appealing. He always played the ultimate hero – macho and yet tender-hearted when the need arose.
If only she hadn’t been with Max when she and Duncan had last met, she thought selfishly. She would have liked the opportunity to get to know him. Duncan had seemed to be attracted to her at the time but, on the other hand, perhaps he was just being polite; she couldn’t know for sure.
She took hold of Duncan’s hand and checked his pulse – a shade abnormal but that was to be expected after surgery. He didn’t appear to have a fever, although his breathing was slightly uneven. Gently she brushed her fingers across his forehead, smoothing his ruffled hair.
He was still wearing a blue gingham hospital gown. His black silk pyjamas lay folded on a chair, ready for when he awoke. The nurses would have strict instructions not to disturb him for some time yet.
There was a small cage covering his damaged ankle to prevent the bedclothes from pressing down on his leg. Everything looked all right and so far there was no sign of any infection developing, but she had to check his ankle so she pulled down the sheet covering the lower half of his body.
To be truthful Helen was acting out of curiosity as well as concern for the patient. However, she saw far more than she had expected. Duncan’s hospital gown was rucked up around his waist, and she found herself faced with a part of his anatomy she’d fantasised about for years.
His stomach was flat, firm and as deeply tanned as the rest of his skin, so he must sunbathe in the nude, she considered, as she stared at the arrow of dark hair running from belly button to groin. His thick, deliciously large penis lay in repose on its bed of black pubic curls. Below lay the soft, hairy cushion of his balls.
Helen felt a stab of longing, as a thousand lustful thoughts consumed her senses. She wanted to press her hand against her pussy to relieve the sudden heat in her groin, as a shameful dampness formed between her thighs.
For the very first time in her career she acted in a purely unprofessional manner. She touched his prick, watching it immediately twitch and unconsciously stiffen as her fingers gently stroked the thick shaft. Duncan gave a faint groan and moved restlessly on the bed, still under the control of the strong sedative. She could do anything she liked to him and he still wouldn’t wake.
Helen curled her fingers around the base of his cock, feeling her cunt tighten at the thought of masturbating it to perfect hardness. It would be so easy to pull up her skirt, straddle his muscular thighs and slide his prick smoothly into her hungry sex. Why shouldn’t she take what she had secretly craved from this gorgeous man? Duncan was an integral part of her perfect fantasy. He was the image that filled her head when she was alone in her bed, pleasuring herself with her own hands.
She was all too conscious of the power she held over his helpless form at this moment in time. Her senses spun out of control as she allowed herself to be consumed by her lustful thoughts. She would never have contemplated anything as outrageous as this in the past, even if the opportunity had presented itself, but now she had changed.
Who would know, she asked herself, her hands trembling, sweat breaking out on her forehead. The aching need in her pussy increased as she looked down at Duncan, controlled by the drug, having no say in whatever she chose to do to him. Power was an aphrodisiac, yet if she did what she was tempted to do, she would be breaking the Hippocratic oath.
Steeling herself to resist temptation, Helen pulled down his gown, then covered his sleeping form with his sheet and blanket. She took a deep unsteady breath, feeling a little guilty for even considering such a move. Then she reminded herself that officially he wasn’t even her patient. Duncan had been admitted under the care of Dr Taylor. In the truest sense of the words she wouldn’t have been committing an offence against medical council regulations – sexually consorting with one’s patient was a striking-off offence. Nevertheless, what she’d just contemplated could never be justified under any circumstances.
On the other hand, he was bound
to be here for at least a few days, so there was nothing stopping her from getting to know him better now. There was even the faint chance that she might eventually get to act out her fantasies after all. She was still staring thoughtfully at Duncan when staff nurse Jones entered the room seconds later. Helen wasn’t doing anything untoward, but she still jumped guiltily.
‘Everything OK, doctor?’
‘Fine, he’s sleeping peacefully,’ Helen replied, clipping the notes to the end of the bed. ‘I’ll check back on him in an hour or so. He shouldn’t wake for some time yet. Leave instructions with the night staff to help him wash and change when he does.’
Staff nurse Jones smiled. ‘The blue gingham gown does look rather incongruous on such a macho guy.’
‘I suppose it does. If you need me I’ll be in the staff restaurant,’ Helen replied, now wanting to get out of the room as soon as possible. ‘I feel in need of a strong cup of tea.’
‘A gin and tonic wouldn’t go amiss with me,’ Jones joked. ‘But if you’re going to the restaurant, Dr Dawson, could you do me a favour? I’ve got some urgent samples for the lab. I’ve been ringing for a porter for half an hour, but they’re all tied up at the moment.’
The path lab was on the ground floor, only a short walk from the staff restaurant. Helen had visited it briefly on her initial tour with Max, but that seemed ages ago now. She had been surprised at the time to discover how extensive the laboratories were. Most private hospitals shipped the majority of their samples out to large industrial laboratories. It proved way too expensive to have all the up-to-date equipment, and experienced staff, for what was essentially only a small amount of work compared to the NHS. However, the Princess Beatrice had haematology, biochemistry, histology and bacteriology departments.
She entered the unit, surprised to find it empty, totally deserted, and it was only four in the afternoon. First she tried the office door – the samples were usually dropped off there to be catalogued and labelled – but that was locked.
Helen wasn’t sure what to do with her urgent samples. She glance down at the three plastic bags she held in her hand. One contained vials of blood, the two others post-op wound swabs. She didn’t want the samples to be overlooked – they needed to be worked on straightaway.
‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Is anyone here?’ Her voice echoed eerily around the empty labs.
She pulled open the door of the nearest refrigerator; there was usually one set aside for out-of-hours samples, but this one was full of agar plates. She would have to check out the other labs; there must be someone here. All she found at first were gently humming machines and tidy benches, no sign of any staff. Then she heard the whirring noise of a centrifuge coming from a small room set between the bacteriology and haematology laboratories.
Making her way into the small laboratory, she found a white-coated Justin sitting at a bench working intently. ‘Hi,’ she said, feeling a little awkward about seeing him again, her mind suddenly filled with erotic visions of his embellished cock.
‘Helen.’ He swung round his chair and smiled at her. ‘What brings you here?’
‘This.’ She placed the bag of samples in an empty space on his cluttered work bench. ‘I’m told they’re urgent.’
‘Doctors don’t usually run errands round here. That’s the porters’ job,’ Justin remarked wryly. Despite the pristine white coat, the thought struck her that he still didn’t look in the least like a doctor.
‘The porters were all busy. I was passing the lab, I didn’t mind,’ she replied. The way Justin was looking at her made her feel uneasy.
She paused to wonder for a moment how he had ever managed to get a job here. Knowing Max, he would never have agreed to employ someone so disreputable looking. Max was a stickler for upholding convention, and wouldn’t have approved of visible tattoos and body piercing. Of course, he wasn’t averse to what could be hidden beneath clothing – that was an entirely different matter.
‘I hear that you and Ben got on well,’ Justin commented. ‘Extremely well, according to what Ben told me this morning.’
‘You shouldn’t believe all you hear,’ she said stiffly, wondering how much Ben had told Justin.
‘Ben doesn’t tend to exaggerate,’ Justin pointed out.
‘Where are all your staff?’ she asked, wanting to change the subject.
‘One of my senior technicians, Harry, is getting married on Saturday. They are all going out for the evening, so I let them off early. I’m a surprisingly easy-going boss, Helen. Very easy-going.’
‘Then I suppose you’re finishing up all the work they didn’t get through,’ she said teasingly, as she looked down at the cluttered bench.
‘Something like that. Nothing urgent, just routine blood tests on our maternity patients. Now that the new unit is about to open, we’ve started up the maternity clinic again.’ He rose to his feet and picked up the bags of samples she’d left on his bench. ‘I’ll pop these in the office. Get them registered and bar-coded. We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong with them.’
‘No, of course not.’ Helen smiled politely. ‘I should be leaving, I want to grab a quick cuppa before finishing my own work.’
‘Seeing Ben tonight?’
‘We haven’t made any plans.’ They’d not got around to talking after they’d retired to her bed. They’d just had sex for the second time and both fallen asleep straight afterwards.
‘Perhaps we could all meet up in the bar for a drink later?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said cautiously, thinking it might not be a good idea to make a habit of spending time with Justin and Sandra.
‘See you, then.’ Justin wandered off in the direction of the office.
Helen was about to follow him, when her natural curiosity prompted her to first try and find out exactly what Justin had been working on, mainly because she was more than certain he had lied to her. She’d done her stint in pathology and knew the difference between routine blood tests for pregnant women and cross-matching blood for transfusion. Ben had already told her that the maternity patients were mostly in their second trimester. None had complications, and they weren’t due to give birth for many weeks. There was no way any of them would require a transfusion at present.
She glanced down at the paperwork. Justin was cross-matching three units of B negative, ready for an operation. This struck her as strange. She knew full well there was no surgery planned for at least a week and blood was never cross-matched that far in advance, certainly not in an underworked laboratory such as this. She turned to check that there was no sign of Justin returning yet, then she began to quickly shuffle through the rest of the paperwork. What she discovered surprised her even more. The patient’s name wasn’t mentioned at all – he was continually referred to as Mr X.
The forms had been signed by Ralph Kalowski, a renowned plastic surgeon and a close friend and colleague of Max. Ralph was in the States with Max working on setting up the new clinics. Neither of them were due back in England for a number of weeks. Surely Ralph wouldn’t return just for this one operation?
If Ralph did turn up here in the next few days, she might be able to find out what was happening. Ralph was a charming man, and she knew him reasonably well; she certainly trusted him far more than she did Justin. After visiting the restaurant she decided to check the operating lists again. Perhaps they had been changed to accommodate the mysterious Mr X.
Deciding it might be better to avoid Justin on her way out, she walked towards histology. There was a door at the far end of the lab that led straight into the corridor close to the staff restaurant. The histology lab was totally silent, with an overpowering odour of disinfectant and formalin. Helen had hated the pervasive smell of formalin ever since she’d done human dissection in her first years of training.
Doctors couldn’t afford to be squeamish, but Helen still felt there was something unsettling about histology. She hated the sight of organs, from long dead patients, preserved for posterity in the bottles ranged alo
ng shelves. She walked towards the door, starting rather nervously, when she heard someone shout her name.
She didn’t recognise the voice at first and thought it was Justin. When she turned she saw to her relief that it was Ben striding towards her, his white coat flapping untidily around his legs.
‘I saw Justin in the office. He said you were following him, so I waited for you, but you never appeared.’
‘I thought this way would be quicker. I was going to the staff restaurant.’
‘It would be. But after hours, Justin keeps it locked. You can’t leave that way.’ Ben took hold of her and pushed her gently back against a bench. ‘I was hoping to catch you alone.’
‘Why?’ she asked stupidly, her mind still semi-distracted by the puzzle of the cross-matched blood, and Justin’s unnecessary lies.
‘Why do you think?’ Ben nuzzled her ear with his lips, while he lifted her skirt and slid his hands between her thighs. ‘I couldn’t wait until tonight.’ He pressed his fingers against her panty gusset, finding it still slightly damp from her encounter with Duncan. ‘Neither it seems can you.’
‘I didn’t know we were planning to see each other,’ she said breathlessly as his fingers rubbed her pussy, then wriggled their way beneath her panties.
‘Why not?’ he asked, sucking on her ear-lobe while his fingers explored the moist valley of her quim.
‘I didn’t expect anything permanent. It was just . . .’
‘Fucking,’ he concluded for her. ‘But such sweet fucking I had to have you again.’
‘You’re a greedy boy,’ she gasped, as his fingers circled her clit, teasing the aching root. ‘But we can’t do it here, can we?’ She felt her nipples harden, her breasts throb, and she wanted to beg him to fuck her here and now, even as she spoke.
‘Why not? Justin won’t disturb us, and there’s no one else around.’ His fingers worked their way in ever decreasing circles driving her insane with longing. She needed to feel those sweetly teasing digits sliding deep inside her.
Doctor's Orders Page 9
