Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 4

by Various Authors

  ‘Nervous?’ she asked, her gaze drawn to his despite her determination not to look at him.

  ‘That first-day feeling.’ The wry smile that had nearly undone her before reappeared, curving his mouth and tightening the knot deep inside her. ‘Will the patients like me? Will I fit in? Please God I don’t make any mistakes.’

  A lump formed in Polly’s throat. She hadn’t anticipated him being so honest—that he had admitted his worry and doubt made her like him even more. Instead of hiding behind some macho façade, he had exposed an inner part of himself, revealing unexpected vulnerability.

  ‘I’ve been here nine weeks and I still have moments when I feel like that,’ she told him, her voice huskier than normal as she matched his honesty with her own.

  Dusky lashes lifted and the expression in his eyes, the unique sense of oneness, took her breath away. The intense connection seemed to last an eternity, and was broken only when Luca spoke.

  ‘Nick said you were born in Penhally. Is there not a familiarity for you here?’

  ‘Not really.’ Polly bit her lip, unsure how much to tell him. What could she say? That she’d always felt on the outside, looking in? That she’d never belonged? She shook her head, more at herself than at him. ‘I left a long time ago, so I doubt people would remember me.’

  The slow smile that curved his mouth was brief but incredibly sexy. ‘I cannot believe that anyone, having met you, would forget you, Polly.’

  Luca’s words had a disturbing effect, unexpectedly cracking open the vault in her head into which she’d consigned things she wanted to banish from her memory. Luca didn’t know it, but he couldn’t be more wrong in his assessment. She’d never made much of a blip on anyone’s radar, let alone left any kind of permanent impression.

  Whoever had invented the saying ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’ had got it all wrong. At least for her. There had been no sticks or stones but thirteen years of constant verbal abuse had shattered her already shaky self-esteem. Plain Polly from Penhally. The once-familiar taunt returned to her with a suddenness that stole her breath. Worse, tears stung her eyes. Tears she refused to shed at thirty, just as she’d fought against them from the age of four…determined, even then, not to show any outward signs of weakness. She’d lived with the incessant stabbing pain before. She could do so again.

  ‘Polly? What’s wrong?’

  Concern laced Luca’s voice, but Polly shook her head in denial and resolutely avoided looking at him. She was shocked that after meeting only minutes ago, he should be so adept at reading her, so attuned to her inner feelings when she was quite sure nothing showed on the outside. Hiding her emotions was a technique she had perfected from a very young age.

  She was saved from replying, or from Luca probing further, because a knock at the door announced the arrival of their first patient. Polly called for them to come in and rose to her feet, finding her knees still too shaky to hold her. What she needed was to refocus her mind and, if not entirely forget that Luca was there, at least be distracted enough by the patient now opening the door not to notice the effect Luca had on her.

  ‘Hello, Mr Murray. Do come in and take a seat.’

  Polly fixed a public smile on her face as she offered her greeting. In the nine weeks she had been working here, very few people had recognised her or commented on her return. Which suited her just fine. But how ironic, after Luca’s comments just moments ago, that the first patient of their joint surgery together should the father of a girl who had been in her class at school. Not that she expected Mr Murray to remember her—she and Dawn had never had much to do with each other. True, Dawn had teased her a time or two, but she had been nowhere near the worst. And how she had envied Dawn her closeness with her father.

  As the sixty-year-old man with greying hair and a distinct stoop to his shoulders shuffled rather than walked into the room, Polly stepped around the desk and went to his aid. She remembered him as a robust, active and jolly man, so it was a huge shock to see how much he had aged in the years since she had last seen him.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Polly.’ Mr Murray’s smile was warm but tired as he took the arm she offered.

  Guiding him to a chair, Polly noted the dark circles under his pale green eyes, as well as the shallowness and raspy sound of his breathing. Clearly there had been no improvement since his last consultation. And now it was up to her to root out what lay behind the man’s recurring chest infections. After ensuring he was comfortable, she introduced him to Luca—a quiet presence in the room but one she was continually aware of.

  ‘Mr Murray, this is Dr Luca d’Azzaro.’ It took a supreme effort of will, but Polly managed not to look at her new colleague, fearful of becoming trapped by the inexplicable pull he held on her. ‘He’s joined the medical team today, and is sitting in on a few consultations to familiarise himself with the practice system. Is that all right?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Mr Murray agreed with a smile and a nod towards Luca.

  ‘Dr Donnelly—Adam—suggested I take over from him in providing your care,’ Polly continued, again ensuring that none of her inner feelings showed in her expression, ‘but if you would rather see someone else, I—’

  Mr Murray was swift to interrupt her. ‘Goodness, no! Dr Adam gave me the choice, and when I heard you were back in Penhally as a GP, I asked to see you.’

  ‘You did?’

  The information took Polly completely by surprise and a lump formed in her throat as she absorbed his words, unable to doubt the sincerity of them. So thrown was she by the knowledge that anyone had specifically asked for her that her mask momentarily slipped before she could regather her composure.

  She cleared her throat and tried to find her voice. ‘Thank you, Mr Murray.’

  ‘Please, call me Sandy,’ he requested, encompassing them both, before a coughing fit overtook him, stripping the smile from his face and replacing it with evident discomfort.

  This time Polly couldn’t help but glance at Luca, noting that the same concern she felt was reflected in his dark eyes. As she passed Sandy a couple of tissues from the box she kept on her desk, Luca rose to his feet and crossed the room to pour a glass of cool water. When he returned, he rested his hand on the man’s shoulder, a gesture of silent support and comfort, waiting until the coughing had subsided and he had gathered himself together before passing over the glass.

  Polly’s insides warmed at Luca’s instinctive caring. It would be so much easier to harden her heart and ignore the fizzing attraction if he wasn’t so damn likeable!

  ‘Thanks.’ Sandy’s voice was rough after the bout of coughing. ’Sorry about that.‘

  ‘There is nothing to apologise for,’ Polly reassured him, sending Luca a grateful smile as he returned to his chair, her heart jolting as he smiled back.

  She had studied Sandy’s notes after Adam had spoken to her the day before he had left, and now she handed them to Luca, hoping he would see what she did. As Luca looked through the medical history, Polly gathered her thoughts and focused on the patient.

  ‘Sandy, have things been much the same since your last appointment with Dr Donnelly?’ she asked now, eager to hear the patient’s point of view.

  ‘Worse, if anything. This is as bad as it’s ever been. I feel I’ve aged about twenty years in the last two,’ Sandy confided, his raw chuckle at odds with the tiredness and flicker of fear in his eyes.

  Luca caught her gaze and signalled that he would like to ask a question. Appreciating his consideration and grateful for his input, Polly nodded.

  ‘How did all this start, Sandy? Have you always had chest problems, or is it something that has come on gradually?’ Luca queried. ‘A quick glance at the notes now tells me you used to be a smoker.’

  ‘Aye, I’m afraid so. Forty a day since the age of fifteen. Back then we didn’t know it was bad for you,’ he admitted with a sigh.

  Polly listened as Sandy told them about his job, which had involved him welding in confine
d spaces—a known trigger for chest problems—and how he had taken early retirement when it had become apparent that the work was having a detrimental affect on his health.

  ‘My chest has worsened over the last two years. The cough has become more persistent and I can’t ever shake it off. In the last few months I’ve had recurring bouts of bronchitis. Dr Adam convinced me that smoking was contributing to my health problems and persuaded me to stop. I haven’t had a cigarette since.’

  ‘Which is a fantastic achievement,’ Luca praised him.

  Polly added her agreement. ‘Well done, Sandy. It’s not easy breaking a lifelong habit.’

  ‘Aye, well, I can’t say that I’ve noticed much benefit from it.’ His smile was wry, his voice maintaining a trace of his Scottish ancestry. ‘I’ve gone from being an active man who enjoyed life to one who gets breathless after walking even a short distance. And then I get these chest infections on top of the wretched cough.’

  Polly could see how much it was taking out of him, physically and emotionally. ‘It must be very wearing. I’m not surprised you’re fed up with it.’

  Unable to resist, Polly’s gaze was drawn to Luca. A tingle feathered down her spine as she looked into sinful dark eyes, and it was a struggle to drag hers free from his magnetic hold. She sucked in a shaky breath. Then promptly lost every scrap of air her lungs had managed to inhale as Luca touched her. One fingertip rested on the inside of her wrist. That was all. Yet her skin was on fire. Her pulse throbbed in her veins and a current of electricity sparked to every nerve ending. Luca apparently felt it, too, as he snatched his hand back as if scalded. Again her gaze clashed with his, the flare of awareness frightening in its suddenness and intensity.

  Luca cleared his throat and looked down. Polly followed suit and saw the notepad he turned towards her. She bit her lip, trying to force away the strange and unwanted responses to the man as she concentrated on her job. She was unsurprised to discover that the four letters he had written with a question mark after it them mirrored her own thoughts in terms of Sandy’s diagnosis. Nodding, she turned back to her patient, focusing on him and trying to ignore the way the pad of Luca’s finger seemed to have permanently branded her.

  Polly picked up her stethoscope and, after taking Sandy’s blood pressure and his pulse, she listened to his chest, unsurprised by her findings. Next she discovered some swelling in his ankles, which he told her had been happening over the last couple of months. A gentle press with her fingers produced pitting in the skin that confirmed the oedema.

  ‘Did Dr Donnelly talk to you about what might be wrong, Sandy?’ she asked, not wanting to scare the man but needing him to be informed and actively involved in making decisions about his care.

  Frowning, Sandy took another sip of his water. ‘The last time he said that if things hadn’t improved he would send me for a chest X-ray.’

  ‘That’s right. It would be wise you for to have that X-ray, Sandy. And I’d like to book you in for a few other tests as well.’

  ‘Like what?’ he queried, anxiety making his breathing sound faster and rougher.

  Polly perched on the edge of the desk close to him. ‘I’d like to do a blood test, and I want you to have a lung-function test. It’s called spirometry—it’s a bit like a breath test—and it accurately measures the air-flow obstruction and gauges the severity of the problem.’

  ‘And what is the problem?’ Sandy asked, his tension obvious.

  Polly reached out and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD, is the rather grand umbrella title used to cover diseases like chronic bronchitis and emphysema. The symptoms can be like asthma, but it’s a completely different condition. It’s common, especially among those who are, or have been, smokers, exacerbated by certain jobs like yours. Put in simple terms, it causes a narrowing of the airways, preventing you from breathing properly. COPD is classified in stages, and we need to assess which group you fall into so that we can plan a proper course of treatment to help you.’

  Sandy released a raspy breath. ‘And can this COPD thing be cured?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ she told him honestly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. ‘Any damage already done can’t be repaired, but what we can do is try to prevent things getting worse and help keep the symptoms in check.’ Polly paused a moment, her gaze sliding of its own accord to Luca, her heart skipping as he smiled, approval and support foremost in his eyes. Feeling breathless herself, Polly continued. ‘There are various things we can do in terms of medication, inhalers and shortor long-acting drugs. You’ve already taken a big step by stopping smoking and preventing further damage. Once we know what w’re Edealing with, we can talk again and decide what is best for you.’

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Sandy murmured with a shake of his head.

  Polly smiled in sympathy. ‘I know. But you can come and see me, or phone me, at any time if you have questions, and we’ll be here to work through this with you, Sandy,’ she promised him.

  ‘My wife will be worried when I tell her,’ he said, a frown creasing his brow.

  ‘By all means bring her with you next time and I’ll be happy to explain to her.’ Polly straightened and went to her filing cabinet, removing a couple of leaflets from a folder. ‘These will give you both the basic information. Once we’ve put a treatment plan in place, I’d like you to have the annual flu vaccination and also an immunisation against pneumococcus, which is a germ that causes a chest infection. We want to guard against you picking up anything else,’ she explained. ‘It’s also important for you to do some regular exercise once we have things under control—a brisk walk each day would be good. Anything that helps to improve your breathing. Lauren, our physiotherapist, will help you with that.’

  Polly returned to her chair and jotted down a few notes. ‘Are you able to get to the hospital in St Piran for the X-ray?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, that won’t be a problem,’ Sandy confirmed. ‘My wife or son will take me. I’m not looking forward to telling my daughter what’s going on. You remember Dawn, don’t you, Dr Polly, love? She was in your class at school.’

  ‘Yes, of course. How is she?’ Polly asked, her guard in place, her smile polite.

  ‘Grand, she is! Married now and living in Canada. She’ll be pleased to have news of you.’

  Conscious of Luca listening in, Polly hurried to bring the subject back to Sandy and his health. ‘We’ll make an appointment for you to see one of the practice nurses for the blood test and the spirometry, and when we have the results of those, and the X-ray, I’ll see you again and we can discuss the options. In the meantime I’m adjusting your prescription to help relieve some of your symptoms.’

  ‘Thanks so much, you’re a grand girl,’ Sandy told her with a smile.

  Embarrassed, Polly rose to her feet to escort him out. ‘I’ll see you in a week or so, Sandy. But don’t forget I’m here if there is anything troubling you.’

  ‘I won’t forget. You’ve both been very kind and helpful.’ At the door, he paused and shook her hand, then nodded to Luca. ‘Welcome to Penhally, Doctor.’

  ‘Thank you, Sandy. I am already finding my time here very interesting and enlightening.’

  Luca’s response made Polly tense. His huskily accented voice affected her, but his words made her wary as she very much feared he was referring to more than his interest in Sandy’s condition. Having stopped by the reception desk to ensure that Sandy made an appointment to see practice nurse Gemma as soon as possible, Polly asked Sue to send the next patient through. Then she had no excuse not to return to her consulting room. Her nerves were jangling as she prepared herself for seeing Luca again.

  He was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. Polly paused, drinking in the imposing sight of him, so masculine, so attractive, so disturbing. She didn’t know what was happening between them, but as Luca turned and his gaze met hers, a surge of electricity shot throug
h her. If the expression in his dark eyes was anything to go by, he was as confused and wary and unwelcoming of the attraction as she was.

  She knew nothing about him, had met him only a short time ago, and yet she very much feared Luca d’Azzaro was going to turn her already turbulent life upside down.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I’M FULLY aware of the pressure on beds but that doesn’t excuse discharging a patient so soon after an open cholecystomy, especially when they live alone and have no back-up assistance whatsoever. It isn’t going to help the hospital’s bed situation if the patient is brought back to St Piran’s A and E department in an ambulance with complications requiring readmission, is it?’

  Luca smothered a grin as he listened to Polly politely but firmly express her point of view. With the patient’s cordless telephone in one hand and the other sketching occasional gestures in the air, she paced the bedroom in the small bungalow, looking for all the world like a brave and bold Valkyrie throwing herself into battle—well, she would if she had a few more inches in height and considerably more weight on her tiny frame.

  Glancing at their patient, a fifty-five-year-old widow who had undergone an emergency operation to remove her gall bladder, Luca agreed with the stand Polly was taking. Sitting on the side of Delia Hocking’s bed, he held her clammy, trembling hand, sharing Polly’s anger that some error or misjudgement had caused Delia to be sent home without adequate analgesia and before she had even eaten anything. Now, aside from the pain, Delia was nauseous—not uncommon after such an operation—and there was some bleeding from the wound. Thankfully, there was no sign of infection. Yet. The risk was there, however, so he and Polly had erred on the side of caution and prescribed some prophylactic antibiotics.

  ‘Maybe you consider that nibbling on half a digestive biscuit is eating proper food, but I’m afraid I don’t,’ Polly said now, resuming her pacing, a frown on her face as she listened to the person on the other end of the line.