Katy watched him leave, then turned her attention to the caller. It was a reporter from an international news-gathering service who thought her charm and persistence would find a weakness in Katy's carefully worded statements. Katy fended her off, but she was relieved when the call was over. Until the next one came in! The switchboard must have had a backlog of them, for no sooner did she hang up than the phone would ring again.
Someone brought her a cup of tea, and Ron poked his head in at one stage to say there was no change but Stewart Anderson had finally arrived. A wardsmaid brought her a sandwich and she ate it while she talked, repeating over and over again the limited litany of facts.
At seven o'clock, James Carlyle came in.
'Come on, Katy, I'll drive you home.'
She'd been warily eyeing the phone, wondering why it hadn't rung for three minutes, and she looked up in surprise.
'Siege over?' she asked.
He nodded.
'I've given orders to the switchboard to tell all callers that this hospital will issue a news bulletin at seven tomorrow morning and no further information on the Carstairs' family is available until that time. I've also instructed the people on duty to hang up if a caller persists.'
'Good for you!' Katy applauded, knowing how wary James usually was about taking a firm stand with the press. He hated to think anything he said or did might dim the shining reputation of 'his' hospital.
'Yes, well...' he said, looking a little embarrassed by her mild praise. 'We discovered Mrs Carstairs's sister, who's been with her since she was admitted, has a cellular phone. She's the one who's been relaying all the information, slipping into the bathroom to make her calls. We can't stop her visiting her sister, nor can we prevent her using her own phone, but let's see what happens when word leaks out that she's the only contact. My guess is, she'll turn the damn thing off.'
Katy smiled at him.
'And will word leak out?' she asked.
'Just about now, I would say,' James told her, and moved towards the window. 'We can't see from here, but Jake Cartwright is about to do his "cleaner" routine and walk out muttering about how impossible it is to get work done in the place and fancy having to phone Miss Johnson's mobile to get access to the Carstairs room. As Miss Johnson featured largely in the television presentation of the birth, it shouldn't take the media people too long to work it out—or find out .the number.'
'I could print it on a placard and hang it out the window if you like,' Katy suggested, wondering if Jake had thought of the plan to relieve pressure on the hospital phone lines.
James smiled at her.
'Let's hope that won't be necessary,' he said. 'Now, shall we go?'
For a moment she hesitated. While she'd been in the office there'd always been a chance Jake would call in for a few minutes and she'd see him. Now she was stupidly disappointed because he hadn't. She wouldn't even see him in the corridor or ward foyer if he was parading downstairs in disguise.
'Okay,' she agreed, hoping James didn't sense the reluctance in her voice.
Jake rang at nine, his voice a husky murmur over the phone, as if all his energy had drained away and the sounds were being formed by memory, not effort.
'I heard you'd been seconded this afternoon, but by the time I came up to see you James had whisked you away. Did you handle it okay, Katy?' he asked, his voice so flat she guessed he was depressed as well as tired.
'My job was the easy part,' she told him. 'How are you coping?'
'Just!' he muttered.
There was a pause, and then he said, 'Talk to me, Katy?'
She knew then that he'd rung because talking to her had, in the past, helped him think things through. He wouldn't talk about his problem right away, but would order her to talk while his mind sorted it into order. She began to speak, telling him of their trip to the pool, of Julia's diving for the rings.
'You were going to ask me something about her yesterday—about her sensory perception,' he reminded her. 'Want to ask me now?'
She would have loved to talk about it now, but would discussing Julia's abilities and reminding Jake of his own 'special' status link him to her in such a way he'd suspect their relationship? Just at the moment she couldn't think through all the implications of that particular discovery!
'No, I'll sort it out. She missed you at the pool,' Katy added, and heard him sigh.
'And you, Katy? Did you miss me?'
'Helen was there,' she said, skirting the question. 'She told me of your fun and games so I knew what was going on before James rang.'
They'd come full circle now. Was he ready for questions? She took a deep breath, then asked anyway. 'How's Mrs Carstairs?'
'Stewart Anderson is back, thank heavens,' Jake replied. 'He's with her now. The drugs weren't working and surgery is the only answer. He'll try tying off blood vessels, but, given the suspected severity of the atony, he may have to opt for a hysterectomy. He mentioned that possibility to Mrs Carstairs, and she's dug her heels in and refuses to allow him to take her to Theatre.'
'Is a hysterectomy such a problem? She's got five babies—surely that's enough for any woman?'
Another sigh filtered into her ear.
'You'd think so!' he said. 'Unfortunately I rather suspect she's had so much fun with all the publicity she wants to do it again. Although with new guidelines about fewer fertilised eggs being implanted the possibility of another multiple birth is unlikely.'
'But no one would put her on another IVF programme,' Katy protested. 'It would be...'
'Unethical?' he suggested. She could almost see the shrug which would have accompanied the word. 'The problems of ethics and IVF are so immense we haven't begun to sort them out. There are ethical and legal battles raging in countries all over the world over the destruction of frozen embryos. And, if you consider that a doctor should do his best to comply with the wishes of his patient, would it be so unethical to put Mrs Carstairs on another course of fertility drugs?'
'Yes!' Katy replied without the slightest hesitation. 'The programme was initiated for couples who had problems conceiving. There are waiting lists of people wanting to get on to the programme at Lake Shore North. If it had been a single birth, then fair enough—put her on the bottom of the list and let her work her way up to the top for a second child—'
'Hey, I happen to agree!' he interrupted, and his voice had lost the strain she'd detected earlier. In fact, he was probably laughing at her vehemence. 'But Mrs Carstairs still has the right to refuse surgery—for whatever reason—and so far that's exactly what she's doing.'
Katy groaned with disbelief.
'I'm glad I'm not a doctor,' she said. 'How can you hold back when you know the patient may die if you don't operate?'
'With a great deal of difficulty, Katy!'
There was a moment's silence, then he went on, 'I'll have to go back down to the ward and see what's, happening. Thanks to you, my best, best girl, at least I feel halfway normal again.'
Her heart contracted, but she knew she couldn't let him get away with it.
'I'm not your girl, Jake,' she said quietly, denying her heart.
'No, Katy?' he murmured. 'Are you quite sure of that?'
'I have to be sure,' she told him sadly. 'Good luck!'
She turned on the television news next morning and learnt, with the rest of the population, that Mrs Carstairs had experienced some post-partum problems, had had some minor surgery and was resting comfortably. All five babies were progressing in a satisfactory manner.
James Carlyle had faced the cameras himself, and his calm demeanour had come across more strongly than the media's emotive questions, defusing much of the hype that had been associated with the Carstairs' family since before the birth.
Katy headed for work, hopeful that sanity would have been restored. She wanted the upperlevel powers in the hospital to be thinking about her new unit today, not about quintuplets. As she walked along beside the lake she hid a sense of disappointment that Jake hadn't
come to meet her. It was stupid to feel that way, because she knew how hectic his weekend had been.
But he was in the office—standing just inside the door! She jolted to a stop and stared at him, transported back to Saturday night, when they'd kissed. Memory fired her blood.
'Still not my best, best girl?' he murmured, then he moved so his foot kicked the door closed. His hands grasped her shoulders and his lips met hers in a kiss of such hunger she gave herself up to the reaction she'd denied him a week ago.
Every cell in her body came to life—completely, joyously, throbbingly alive. She moved so their bodies fitted, complementing yet completing each other, and when the emotion he aroused began to drain the strength from her legs she let him ease her back against the closed door and hold her, so her body seemed suspended in the same unreality as time.
Then the phone rang, his pager bleeped, and her speaker phone told her she was needed in 'B'. Somehow the combination of demands broke through the spell and they released each other slowly, moving automatically to silence the ringing and buzzing.
She answered the phone, assured Sue Gates she could keep the extra staff and was heading for the door to answer the call to 'B' when Jake spoke.
'You can't love him, Katy!'
She turned back and frowned, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
'Julia's father!'
Oh, but I do, she thought, and panic began to shiver through her body.
It was like standing on the edge of a landslide—feeling that first downward slip and knowing if you turned around, if you tried to go back, half the hillside was likely to come tumbling down on top of you. Only it was Julia's happiness which could come tumbling down!
'I've got to go,' she mumbled, and hurried from the room.
Helen wanted some information on a patient dredged up from records. The woman had given birth in the hospital eight years ago and the records were no longer in the computer's data bank.
'I hate to ask you to do it, but the woman's in labour now and she's sure she had some problem last time but can't remember what,' Helen said. 'I rang Records and they've three staff off with the summer 'flu that's going around, and because it's a manual search they won't be able to get the information to me until later in the day.'
'I'll go down and see what I can find,' Katy told her, taking the slip of paper Helen handed her with the patient's details on it.
She made her way down to the records room in the basement of the newer part of the building. She'd worked here when she'd first come to Lake Shore North, so was familiar with the quiet surroundings.
The rooms were well sealed and air-conditioned, the temperature and humidity maintained at a set level to protect the records. They were stored on disk here, although Katy knew abbreviated hard copies were also kept in a second room.
She found the disk she needed, popped it into a computer and scanned it for the information she wanted. Information was cross referenced, so you could follow up an admittance date, a name, or even a condition. She used the search command and found the woman's name.
She was right when she said she'd had problems! There'd been a secondary arrest of dilation during her active labour, when dilation of the cervix had ceased for three hours. The doctor in charge had diagnosed inadequate uterine contractions rather than malposition of the foetus or foetal disproportion. He had allowed the patient to rest, then augmented the labour with oxytocin and the patient had delivered vaginally.
Katy typed in a 'print' command, and while she waited for the machine to spit out the information for Helen she studied the disk cabinets lining the walls— each year with its own divisions into departments. Obstetrics, Gynaecology, Neurology, Orthopaedics.
Orthopaedics! Jake had been in this hospital—his record would be in there. .
Why should she care?
She couldn't answer, but knew she wanted desperately to see his name, to read the medical description of that time of such great pain.
She glanced towards the printer, which was still chattering busily, then crossed to the file drawer for the year of the accident. She found the disk and slipped it into a second computer, again using 'search' to find Jake's name. As the bare clinical details rolled down the screen she recalled the shock and pain—even the sterility of the air in the ICU.
Head wound, mangled hip, fractured left femur, tibia and fibula, spinal cord compression, lacerations—
Spinal cord compression?
She went back and found the reference, demanding more information. Paralysis of lower limbs, word after word that meant little to her now, descriptions of tests carried out, of the lack of response to stimuli.
And three final words—'possible outcome paraplegia'.
'I had my reasons!'
Jake's voice echoed in her head, but the anguish she'd felt for him back then was blown apart by anger. She shut down the program, slammed the disk back into place, tore the reams of patient information from the printer and raced out of the room. Then she remembered the second disk and returned, telling herself to calm down. With shaking fingers she exited the program then returned the file.
Helen thanked her for her help, but Katy barely heard the words. She wanted to get back to her office and confront Jake Cartwright—confront him with his cowardice. For that was how she saw his action in cutting her off from him.
He wasn't there, and she remembered he would be at the directors' meeting. A note on her desk confirmed that fact and a string of messages kept her busy for the next few hours.
He'd have seen it as the 'right' thing to do, she realised, when she allowed herself to think about the new revelations. Bathing himself in a rosy glow of nobility while he broke her heart! The anger seethed and burnt within her, but she had to push it back—to think about work, not Jake.
Impossible!
She did what she could, but the rage persisted, and when he opened the door, walked through it and smiled hesitantly at her, it was ready to erupt.
'I'm sorry, Katy, but we didn't have time to discuss the new unit.'
'Didn't have time!' The banked fires blew upward in a cataclysm of flame. 'No doubt there were far more important things to discuss! Well, I wouldn't want you putting yourself out for me—or for the people I feel are important. It's what you think that must come first— your perception of what's important and what isn't!'
She was nearly crying with rage, but the stunned look on Jake's face brought its own satisfaction.
'I'm going to lunch!' she added, grabbing her handbag and storming past his immobile figure and out the door.
He caught up with her as she waited, toe tapping in seething impatience, for the elevator.
'Would you mind explaining what that little outburst was all about?' he asked, speaking in a breathy undertone that whistled out through gritted teeth.
'No!' she snapped. 'Why should I? Since when did anything I think matter to you?'
'That's nonsense, Katy!' he argued, loudly enough for the little group of hopeful passengers to hear. 'Do you think I'd have disrupted my life like this if what you thought and felt didn't still matter to me?'
The lift arrived and the doors slid open.
'It didn't matter what I thought six years ago,' she flung at him, heedless of the onlookers. She plunged into the compartment as his pager sounded again. He began to follow her, then turned away to answer the call.
CHAPTER NINE
Katy headed for the crèche, intending to collect Julia and take her across to the park to eat their lunch by the lake. She forced herself to relax, to put Jake and the past right out of her mind before she saw her daughter.
'She's asleep,' Nan greeted her. 'My fault, I suppose, I let her stay up a bit late last night to watch a video with my kids.'
As she left the building on her own Katy's disappointment was diverted by thoughts of how often 'sight' words were used in conversation. 'Look at this.' 'Watch me.' 'Do you see?' Although Julia followed television by listening to words and sound effect
s, even she talked about 'watching' it.
Katy reached the park and found a seat by the lake. The sun burned into her skin but she relished its warmth—hoping it might banish her inner coldness.
The enormity of what Jake had done made it too difficult to consider logically. Earlier she'd reacted with anger over something else—but now it blotted out all thought processes, so she ate her sandwiches and stared out over the water.
The office was deserted when she returned, but a messenger came down from Admin only minutes later with the typed notes of the department directors' meeting.
She flicked through the printed pages. Jake had obviously had a legitimate excuse for not raising the new unit—the entire meeting seemed to have been devoted to discussing ways and means of handling 'celebrity' patients.
She turned to the last page and saw a recommendation that new procedures be put in place. Among the suggestions was one for a public relations office to be set up, headed by a person experienced in dealing with the media. Katy liked the idea. It would take pressure off units already under siege because they were housing the 'celebrity'.
And an official bulletin would be released at a specific time each day—which might stop the press from camping outside the front entrance hoping for a lucky photograph or a snippet of gossip.
The list continued and Katy could see sense in all of it. Bigger hospitals might already have such precautions in place, but Mrs Carstairs had been Lake Shore North's first experience of a media feeding-frenzy. At least the powers-that-be had learned from the experience.
She worked through the afternoon, her disappointment about the new unit very real—but blunted by thoughts of Jake's diagnosis, by wondering what she would have done if their situation had been reversed.
A sick feeling in her stomach told her she should understand his actions, but that didn't make them acceptable.
With a conscious effort, she set aside all thoughts of Jake. Her last duty for the day was always pleasurable, a quick visit to the wards to collect roster sheets and discharged patient files, and check there were no problems requiring her attention.
To Dr Cartwright, A Daughter Page 12
