by Ramsay, Anna
Just then, one of the masked and gowned nurses moved aside, and there Tom lay, attached to all manner of equipment. Kate's tired eyes noted IV infusions, a urinary catheter, electro-encephalogram monitoring brain activity; and Tom himself—at such a time she couldn't think of him as Mr Galvan, the invulnerable professional—covered only by a sheet from under which clear plastic tubes snaked down into Redivac containers already filling with the seepage of blood-stained fluids draining from the liver repair.
But he was breathing for himself and seemed to be in a drugged post-operative sleep, his face partially obscured by the naso-gastric tube taped across his left cheek.
'Looking for someone?' demanded a sarcastic voice. Kate gave a start, glancing round for an instant before her eyes travelled back to Tom Galvan's still form. The anaesthetist clicked her tongue impatiently. The last thing she needed was lovesick nurses trooping in and out all day to gawp at the hospital heart-throb. But she softened a bit when this drained, weary staff nurse explained that she'd been there when they operated on Mr Galvan and she'd popped up for a moment to see how he was.
'Torn liver, shattered arm… he's as well as can be expected. Bit of an alarming sight at the moment, of course,' acknowledged the doctor, 'but that's just superficial bruising and oedema. Got two lovely black eyes.'
The ashen-faced staff nurse couldn't raise even a ghost of a smile.
'Must have had quite a whack on the head, but we're monitoring that. Of course he's not out of the woods yet,' she said, repeating Frank Davy's words, 'and I shouldn't like to be there when he wakes up and realises that arm's been well and truly plastered.'
'Thank goodness it was his left,' sighed Kate in weary relief.
'Well he's left-handed! I dread to think what this is going to do to Tom's career.'
* * *
Dr Mallory was coming over for supper. The usual arrangement when Kate started her nights off. Her routine was to sleep till mid-afternoon then take a brisk walk to the shops and stock up with eggs, cheese and plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables. A malted wholegrain bloomer from Ye Olde Bakehouse completed her list. And a couple of bottles of red wine.
Today she cycled wearily back from the hospital, her legs aching from being on her feet most of the night. She put her bike away in the empty garage at the bottom of the garden. Sometimes on a really wet day Kate did think about getting a car, but the fresh air revived her after night duty and she really did want to manage without because she had to think about James. If he moved in, he wouldn't be want to leave his Toyota in the narrow side-street.
Kate was never too tired to experience that little thrill of pleasure at unlocking her gloss-green front door. 'Hello house, have you missed me?' she called, stepping over the pile of post on the mat.
Her very own home, a proper house not a flat, decorated and furnished just as she wanted. Of course, she only owned half the cottage. It was semi-detached, dating back to the early 1800s with walls so thick you would never know someone lived on the other side of the dividing wall. Her neighbours were a dear old couple with a picture-perfect garden that mirrored Kate's. Thanks to Henry and Hetty the dreaded carrot fly shouldn't be able to find her neat rows of carrots. She'd nap for a couple of hours, then pop round and see if there was anything they wanted from the shops.
She picked up her post and found a chunky envelope hidden among the usual unwanted circulars. With eager fingers she ripped it open. Photographs of little Ben, proudly showing off his new grey-and-red nursery-school uniform, his happy face smiling up at her. A more typical one of him looking cheerfully messy with chocolate smeared round his mouth and on his fingers. Pictures that turned her heart over … and a letter that began: 'Kate darling, more pictures for you. I never want you to feel Ben is growing up a stranger to you. As you see, your Easter egg caused enormous pleasure and even more mess! Yes, he's so much like his father and that is understandably painful for you. But, Kate, I see so much of you in Ben too …'
* * *
James was unfortunately starting a cold, expressing, between noisy blasts with mansize tissues, grave concern over Tom Galvan's catastrophe. Though Kate made light of her own part in the drama, news had raced through St Crispin's with the speed of a forest fire.
'Just when everything seemed hopeless, Professor Davy whipped off his jacket and plunged straight in,' recalled Kate admiringly. 'It was awesome.'
James was stuffing endless used tissues into a supermarket carrier. 'You poor love,' she murmured sympathetically, 'you need looking after. Who've you caught this from when you've been stuck in the labs all week.'
'One of the technicians,' sniffed her hero, dabbing at his dripping nose. 'I'll live. The question is, will Tom Galvan?'
Kate's eyes glistened with sudden tears which she hastily blinked away. Not that James noticed.
'Don't like the sound of that shattered humerus. No, I really don't.' James's intake of breath hissed through his teeth. 'Neurosurgery's a tricky field, you know. Galvan may never operate again. Ruptured liver too—hmmm. Going to be hors de combat for some while.' He blew his nose yet again. It looked so red and sore. 'God help his department. They'll have to send the really tricky stuff to Murray over at Southampton. I suppose if all goes well they'll transfer him to the Maynard Wing. And then of course he'll be convalescent for months.'
'Oh dear,' sighed Kate, 'let's have some food and talk about something more cheerful.'
She vanished into her little kitchen—all pine cupboards, cooking-apple-green walls and pale wood worktops—and within minutes food was on the table by the window were they could look out into the garden. This room was as unfussy as the rest of the house—nothing flowery, no clutter, no ornaments, no bits and pieces. It was interesting, thought James, sitting down on the cane-backed chair, that Kate's home was so indicative of her state of mind. Severe, almost; nothing without purpose. A total rejection of what her privileged upbringing must have been like.
'Mmm, good soup. You make this yourself?'
'Course I did. Red pepper and tomato. Try it with some chilli oil, it'll help your cold.'
Kate disappeared through the stripped-pine door then returned moments later bearing a golden-topped macaroni cheese spiked with crispy bacon and slivers of fried onion, and a bowl of green salad glossy with walnut-oil dressing.
'Smells great. You're cooking's amazing. I've been looking forward to this all day.'
Kate beamed. She was self-taught and had had her fair share of disasters - but this wasn't going to be one of them.
Pudding was a bowl of sweet clementines, which Kate peeled for James in her snug little sitting room, kneeling at his feet on the coral Afghan rug and resting her head against his knobbly jean-clad knees. Not too close because, as James sensibly pointed out, she shouldn't risk catching his germs. She looked about fifteen, he thought fondly, her hair in a loose ponytail, beige capris revealing ankles so fine his fingers could circle them …
Aware of his scrutiny, she smiled up at him, glad to see him relaxed and at ease in spite of his unfortunate cold. Kate longed to suggest James should move in with her, but he was a bit under the weather and the moment wasn't right. She would wait for a warm summer's evening, sitting outside, sharing a bottle of chilled white wine …
'We've got the perfect arrangement, haven't we,' smiled James, looking fondly down at her glossy head. With meticulous care he was removing every trace of white pith from each peeled segment of fruit. His hands were quite beautiful, the fingers long and tapering. 'You in your little place, me in mine. Getting together two or three evenings a week.'
Kate swallowed hard. 'Yes,' she said in a jolly voice. Perfect.' She rested her chin on her knees and waggled her feet nonchalantly.
'We both like our bit of space, don't we.'
'Oh yes!'
James watched her thoughtfully. Her sweet face had such a sad crushed look. Poor little Kate, last night must have been a bit traumatic. 'Honestly Kate, with all that money your father left you, you don't even n
eed to work. Let alone in such a tough, demanding profession as nursing.'
He squeezed her shoulder, feeling tension in the taut muscles and delicate bones beneath the white cotton tee shirt.
'But I love nursing. Nursing's what I was born to do! I love it. I'll never give it up, never do anything else. Except of course when I have the - ' Just in time she stopped herself from saying, when I have the children. 'I'll get the coffee. You choose a dvd. Won't be long.'
* * *
It had been clear to Kate when preparing Tom Galvan's unconscious body for emergency surgery that the man she had seen in the car park was strongly-muscled, fit and healthy, with an olive-skinned physique any athlete would be proud of. If he pulled through … for a moment Kate held her breath in silent prayer. If he pulled through, then recovery should be swift: a strong body coupled with a strong will, determined to throw off physical incapacity.
Draping his nakedness with sterile towels, she had hesitated, biting her lip beneath the mask that concealed all but her wide brown eyes, pupils darkly dilated. Not if, but when. When Tom Galvan came safely through surgery his positive attitude to recovery would make him the perfect patient.
'What news of Mr Galvan?' she asked Sister Hall on her first night back. James was on a two-day course in Southampton and she hadn't heard a recent bulletin other than that Tom continued to hold his own. Sister Hall's hesitation was therefore a bit odd. And there was a wary look in the senior nurse's eyes. As if Sister wanted to warn her about something, but knew she must not…
'Mr Galvan? Well, Staff, I understand everything's —er—satisfactory. And of course he's such a big strong chap, isn't he, and that's always a plus. And he's getting VIP treatment, as you'd expect. It's only natural that - '
'Ah, Sister! Good, you're still here.'
Simon Brownley hurried in to the office filling its cramped space with the vigorous odour of Hibiscrub, and whatever it was Sister had been about to divulge got lost in an urgent discussion that didn't concern Kate.
She, having plenty to get on with, beat a hasty retreat. And it was only in the cafeteria at one in the morning that the latest rumour reached her horrified ears.
'Brain damage?'
'That's what I said—brain damage!' repeated Sharon Collis, a good-looking blonde staff nurse from Obs.and Gynae who had once been taken to a doctors' party by Tom Galvan—a brief fling that never got off the ground for reasons lost upon the self-centred Collis.
'Sort of ironical, isn't it. And him a neuro-surgeon. Surely you've heard? Oh no, of course, you've been off. Didn't your James tell you?' she added curiously.
Kate's manner sometimes disconcerted colleagues. Some nurses thought her a bit stand-offish, a bit aloof. It was only normal to be interested in what everyone else was up to, wasn't it. And of course she was quite old, wasn't she. Twenty-six or something.
Collis would have loved to get hold of some delicious titbit to spread around St Crispin's. Something which would take Wisdom down a peg or two. Second best was this intriguing chance to ruffle Wisdom's smooth feathers, watch with spiteful satisfaction that high clear brow furrow in alarm, two spots of colour appearing like splodges in a magic painting book on Wisdom's pale cheeks.
She's just like the rest of them—mad about Tom Galvan! crowed Collis to herself. Not that I think Tom's anything special. Because I've had more chance to find out what he's really like. A snob, that's what. Ordinary nurses aren't good enough for him now he's with Dr Diamond!
'Oh yes,' she said aloud in drawling tones that attracted the attention of the group of nurses seated at the long refectory table, 'it's true, isn't it, girls? They've decided Tom Galvan must have bashed his head in that car smash, speeding down the motorway for another h-o-t session with Diana Diamond.'
'That's not possible,' retorted Kate sharply, pushing away her plate of rapidly congealing beef stew, her small appetite now completely gone. 'James told me the CT scan showed no significant head injury.'
'But he hit the bridge with such an impact it would have bounced the brain inside the skill,' chimed in another voice. 'That's known to cause irrational behaviour– bruising to the tissues and blood vessels.'
'Could have a developed a clot,' said another gloomily.
Heads swivelled back to monitor Wisdom's evident dismay.
Sharon Collis made a fresh bid for the limelight, announcing self-importantly that she'd overheard two radiographers discussing the surgeon-patient. 'Seems he's been carrying on like a raging bull since they took him over to Maynard. Sounds like brain damage to me.'
'Cerebral injuries can give rise to major alterations in personality,' put in a male nurse. 'I've had quite a lot of psychiatric experience, and let me tell you—'
Kate had heard quite enough. Her chair scraped across vinyl tiles as she rose hurriedly to her feet, pulling her navy cardigan across her shoulders. 'Time I went back.'
'I'll walk with you,' said Helen Anstey, 'I'm going over to Geriatrics. Hate trudging back on my own in the dark. Though it's not so bad as in winter.'
'Must confess I shan't be sorry to get back on days,' confessed Kate. 'I never seem to have any appetite on nights.' She'd eaten very little of her meal and almost nothing since midday but a cup of tea and a sandwich. All that rubbish about serious head injuries. Collis doesn't know what she's talking about.
Helen's next words dispelled that hopeful illusion. 'One of the girls on my corridor is working on Maynard.' She nodded up at the tall block of the private wing. 'Came off duty crying this evening. She'd been told to special Mr Galvan, but he'd been so awful to her she swore she wasn't going back. Apparently the agency nurses are scared stiff of him—and you know what they are, they just don't turn up if they don't like a job.'
Kate raised her eyebrows—she'd never nursed private patients and felt rather sorry for those who must. She couldn't help wondering behind which of those darkened windows lay the dynamic Mr Galvan. And did he sleep sweetly, or toss and fret in his prison of a hospital bed …
'I don't know about brain damage, though,' mused Helen. 'Collis is a right little stirrer. But when I said to Angie it was hard to imagine a lovely chap like Tom Galvan being so—well—difficult, Angie told me it's like nursing Dr Jekyll.' She nudged Kate with a friendly elbow and added, 'No one making that much trouble can be dying, can they!'
They both chuckled, and Kate said she'd always had the impression that Tom Galvan was very popular and well liked. Of course she only knew him by sight, and to be sure he was a rather attractive man. Till the night of his accident she'd never even spoken to him.
'Everyone's heard about you saving his life. That's what's making Collis so bitchy.'
'What rubbish, it was the Prof who saved Tom. I saw it all. Here we are, Helen, will you be OK now? I'll keep watch till you're in the building.'
'That's really nice of you, Kate. It's stupid, I know, but the grounds are so creepy at night. Do you blame me?'
'No, I do not, I feel just the same. You go on now. I'm watching.'
As she stood there, one of the night sisters came bustling over from the main building, off to do her second rounds of the sleeping wards. 'Hello, Sister, are you coming to us first?' asked Kate, ready to accompany Sister Roper on the brief visit that would suffice for Casualty.
'Message for you, Nurse. Mrs Harris wants to see you in her office first thing before you go off duty.'
At last!! … 'Of course, Sister,' said Kate, filled with relief at the long-awaited summons. She had shown herself willing, proved she wouldn't refuse any work offered, and now she had her chance. A staff job must have come up on one of the medical wards and she, Kate Wisdom RGN, was considered a worthy candidate: Mrs Harris was about to invite her to apply for a permanent post at St Crispin's!
Chapter Three
'Hell's teeth, woman!' The bellow was accompanied by the sound of breaking china and a muffled shriek.
The door of Room 27 burst open and an agency nurse tottered breathlessly on the threshold, a wet coff
ee stain spreading across the skirt of her white dress. From inside the private room, came a full-throated masculine roar:
'Is a decent cup of coffee too much to ask for?' the voice snarled. 'Have I got to discharge myself and get back to civilization?'
Something thudded against the back of the door. The nurse leapt out of the line of fire and leaned her shaking body against the corridor wall. When she felt able to speak she went straight to the office and told them that her patient was impossible.
Then she gave in her notice and left.
* * *
'I'm sorry to be moving you again, Staff Nurse, but it's a delicate situation over on the Maynard Wing. We've had yet another agency nurse refuse to special this particular patient. We just can't carry on like this.' Mrs Harris leaned confidentially across her desk, voice lowered as if the outside world might hear. 'And the problem patient happens to be one of our own consultants! Well, I'm sorry to have to say it, but Mr Galvan really is behaving very badly.
In spite of her disappointment, Kate was tickled. Tom must be 'out of the woods' for sure, and if the poor man was behaving badly it didn't take a psychotherapist to work out why.
'I've discussed the matter with the Senior Nursing Officers and we're all in agreement. In these exceptional circumstances we need an experienced nurse of strong character. Someone unlikely to crack under pressure must be assigned to help on Maynard with particular responsibility for Mr Galvan.'
Kate took a deep breath. Seeing this, and fearing S/N Wisdom might be about to say she'd prefer to stick it out working nights on A&E, the CNO resorted to a bit of emotional blackmail: 'It's such a worry for poor Sister Carter—nurses bursting into tears and refusing to go into his room!'
'I can imagine,' murmured Kate, looking down at her neatly folded hands so that Mrs Harris shouldn't notice the twinkle in her eyes.
Tom Galvan was creating a right old pantomime, by the sound of things. Couldn't they appreciate how frustrating it must be for him? Stuck in a hospital bed while his theatre lists built up and his team struggled to carry on as best they could without their neuro-surgeon chief.
