Flying Doctors

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘No, she’s not in yet.’

  Startled, he glanced at his watch while Jodie continued talking. It wasn’t like Emily to be late.

  ‘Jason and Daniel dropped in at three a.m. with coffee and some food they’d sneaked out for us. They regaled us with stories.’ Jodie swept some paper plates and disposable coffee-cups off the desk and into the bin as the doors opened.

  ‘Jodie, please grab an ophthalmology kit from the supply room.’ Emily walked in, issuing orders and supporting Daryl Heath, the police sergeant. She glanced at Linton, her grey eyes flicking over him, their expression neutral. ‘It’s good that you’re here, Linton, because Daryl needs a doctor.’

  She walked past with their patient toward the resus room, her shimmering cobalt blue hair vivid against her regulation-issue green scrubs.

  Linton stood bolted to the floor, staring after them and blinking rapidly. Bright blue hair. Subconsciously he’d known Emily wouldn’t be in a figure-hugging ballgown at work but he hadn’t expected this, not after last night. What was going on? He quickly picked up his stethoscope and followed them.

  Emily had placed an eye patch over Daryl’s eye and was taking his blood pressure, the stethoscope in her ears conveniently preventing any conversation. Not that he could talk to her about anything other than their patient, and from the defiant tilt of her chin she knew that.

  ‘What brings you in to see us this early Sunday morning, Daryl? I thought after last night you’d be having a sleep-in.’ Linton shook the well-respected officer’s hand.

  ‘The Red Cross know how to throw a good bash, don’t they? But I must have done something to my eye because this morning it’s throbbing so hard it feels like it might pop out of my head.’ His hand formed a fist by his side, as if he was trying hard not to rub his eye to soothe it.

  ‘It got so sore so fast I thought I better come in and see you.’ He glanced around at all the equipment and shivered. ‘I don’t think I’m so sick that I need to be in here, though.’

  Linton grinned. ‘We need a room that we can darken so we can examine your eye properly. That’s why Emily sat you in this chair, rather than getting you up on the trolley.’ He leaned forward and lifted the eye patch.

  The area around the eye was puffy and the eyelid was swollen. Red lines criss-crossed the sclera, which should have been white. The whole area looked angry and sore.

  He turned on his ophthalmoscope and peered through the small aperture, the tiny globe providing the light to examine the eye. The conjunctiva, the thin, transparent covering of the eye, was also swollen and red.

  ‘He’s got a slight temp of 37.8 Celsius.’ Emily read out the digital display the moment the ear thermometer beeped, her voice professional and clipped. ‘Other observations are within normal limits.’

  He didn’t miss the fact she’d given the observations information when he couldn’t look at her, or that every action of hers seemed stiff and starchy this morning. Last night’s Emily seemed a figment of his imagination in more ways than one.

  Daryl’s pupil, which should have contracted to a small black disc in reaction to the bright light, reacted sluggishly. A red flag waved in Linton’s brain. He switched off the ophthalmoscope and put a new eye patch over the good eye. ‘What line can you read on the chart?’

  ‘Your glasses were so dirty that everything would have been out of focus,’ Emily gently chided as she passed Daryl his glasses, which she’d cleaned with a soft cloth.

  The patient leaned forward, squinting. ‘Hell, can I start at the third line?’

  ‘Sure, start where you can.’ Linton caught a sudden flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Emily nibbling her bottom lip in concern. The memory of the touch of those lips on his mouth blasted through him in a wave of heat.

  Daryl’s recitation of the third line of the chart grounded him and he fished his pen out of his top pocket. ‘I want you to follow the pen for me with your eye, not your head.’ He held it in the midline of vision and slowly moved it to the left.

  Daryl’s eye started to move but he suddenly raised his palm to cover it. ‘Fair go, Doc, that doesn’t tickle.’

  Emily silently handed him a bottle of fluorescein, an eye dye to expose a damaged cornea.

  ‘Thanks.’ He smiled at her and caught a shadow darken her eyes to a cloudy grey before she turned to pick up a bottle of solution.

  ‘Daryl, I need you to tip your head back and as soon as I’ve put these drops in I need you to blink to distribute the dye.’ He carefully administered the single drop to the lower conjunctival sac.

  Daryl blinked rapidly.

  Emily leaned forward and tucked a towel around Daryl’s shoulders. ‘Now I’m going to squirt some saline in your eye to remove the excess dye and see if something has gone into your eye and caused some damage.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a rigmarole, isn’t it?’ Daryl obediently tilted his head back and held the edge of the towel to his face.

  ‘Now I need you to rest your chin here.’ Emily pointed to the chin rest on the slit lamp and helped their patient get into position.

  Linton explained the procedure. ‘I’m looking for blue dye. There’s quite a bit of it about today and not all of it is in your eye.’

  Emily smiled sweetly and ignored him. ‘Daryl, what Linton is trying to say is that if you’ve done any damage to your cornea the dye will stick to it and show up as blue.’

  Linton leaned into the slit lamp, putting his eye against the aperture and muttered, ‘Pretty much like the damage Emily’s done to her hair.’

  He heard her sharp intake of breath. Good. At least he’d got a reaction rather than the cool, distant nurse persona.

  ‘All set.’ Linton leaned into position, his eye up against the aperture.

  Emily flicked off the lights, plunging the room into darkness.

  Using the blue light filter, Linton examined the eye but he couldn’t detect any blue dye at all. He sighed. Seeing the dye would have been a nice easy diagnosis but that wasn’t going to happen. Meanwhile, he had a patient whose vision was less than normal, had a pain on eye movement and a sluggish pupil response. It wasn’t looking good. ‘You can turn the lights on again, please, Emily.’

  He moved the slit lamp out of the way and sat again, facing Daryl. ‘The good news is the cornea isn’t damaged.’

  ‘And the bad news?’ the sergeant responded instantly. He obviously knew the ‘good news, bad news’ scenario, as he had probably used it himself in his job.

  ‘I’m working on a diagnosis.’ Linton’s brain whirred, delving into stored knowledge. ‘Have you had a cold lately?’ He gently tapped Daryl’s face around the sinuses. ‘Any pain here over the last week?’

  ‘Yeah, I had a few headaches last week. I was taking horseradish and garlic tablets and Nance had me on eucalyptus inhalations. I even tried the cold tablets—you know the ones that dry you up.’

  The blurred edges around the symptoms suddenly sharpened into crystal-clear focus. ‘I’m pretty sure you’ve got orbital cellulitis.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Daryl’s brow creased at the unfamiliar words.

  Linton translated. ‘The infection from your sinuses has gone across to your eye.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘It is if we don’t treat it. Orbital cellulitis is one of those things that comes under the heading of “Act fast”. I’m afraid you’re going to be spending a few days with us while we put in a drip and give you IV antibiotics. The visiting ophthalmologist is due in next week so he can see you then, but meanwhile I’ll talk to him by teleconference to confirm my diagnosis.’

  Emily patted Daryl’s arm reassuringly. ‘You did the right thing coming in and in a few days you’ll be feeling a lot better.’ She slid a tourniquet up his arm, tightening it against his biceps. She glanced at Linton. ‘If you write up the order now, I’ll set up the antibiotics and give him some analgesia.’

  A spark of irritation skated through Linton as he clicked his pen and pic
ked up the chart. What she really meant was, I’ve got it covered, you can leave. Well, he wasn’t leaving until he was good and ready. And not until he’d talked to Emily on her own.

  ‘Are you allergic to penicillin, Daryl?’

  ‘Nope, had it before with no side effects.’

  ‘Great.’ He put the authorised drug chart on the trolley, giving Emily a long questioning look.

  She busied herself inserting the IV.

  Linton swallowed a sigh. ‘Daryl, I’ll ring Nancy and tell her to pack you a bag and then you can give her a ring when you get settled up on the ward.’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Thanks, Doc. She’ll get a surprise that I’m here. She was still asleep so I sneaked out when the pain got a bit much.’

  ‘You probably shouldn’t have driven with your eye like that,’ he gently rebuked the experienced police officer.

  A chastened expression merged with one of affection. ‘I didn’t want to wake her.’

  Linton marvelled at the care and consideration Daryl had shown his wife, despite the pain he must have been in. He couldn’t remember a single moment when his parents had shown any sort of thoughtfulness toward each other.

  ‘Emily, give the first dose of antibiotics now, and then Daryl can go upstairs. Get Jason to transfer him when you’re ready.’

  She nodded her understanding. ‘Yes, Doctor. You can make your call now. Daryl and I are just fine.’

  In other words, you can leave now. Well, two could play at that game. ‘Catch you later, Daryl.’

  He strode out of the room, his steps purposeful and determined. Emily might think he was leaving but he had another plan entirely.

  He made the call to the ophthalmologist in Sydney, confirming his diagnosis and treatment plan, and then he walked out the front door of the hospital.

  Town was still very quiet. The only people joining the keen cyclists were parents of young children who were out walking slowly and closely examining every insect, flower, tree and cat they came across. How did they do it? It would take an hour to walk the length of the street. Being a parent wasn’t something he spent any time thinking about. His parents’ botched job hadn’t made him want to have a long-term relationship, let alone be a parent.

  He passed a couple who stood holding hands while they indulgently watched their toddler pointing excitedly to a butterfly. Their exchanged glances, so full of devotion and love, punched him unexpectedly in the gut, making him stagger.

  He needed coffee.

  He went to the bakery, which had just installed a brand-new coffee-machine imported from Italy, along with an Italian cousin, who at twenty-five had the local girls flocking to watch him barista with flair and drool over his accent. Cosmopolitan Milan had collided with Warragurra.

  ‘Buon giorno.’

  ‘Morning, Paolo. I need a decaf latte—’

  ‘No, Dottore, it is Sunday morning. You do not want decaf.’

  Linton laughed. ‘Very true, Paolo, I want an espresso but Emily usually has a decaf, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Not on a Sunday. On Sunday mornings I only serve strong coffee, and especially this Sunday after the ball. You take one sugar for Emily. I see she has an accident with her hair. She needs sugar.’

  ‘She needs something,’ Linton muttered to himself as he grabbed the Sunday paper and some freshly baked Danish pastries. With the paper under his arm, his coffee-cups stacked and his free hand clutching the brown bag of pastries, he headed back to A and E.

  By the time he arrived, Daryl had been transferred to the ward, Jodie had gone home, the board was empty again and he found Emily furiously cleaning the pan room, her blue hair almost neon under the fluorescent light.

  He deliberately stood in the doorway. ‘I’ve got coffee.’

  She stopped and turned, her smile losing a tug of war with the rest of the muscles in her face. ‘Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘I meant real coffee, from Tatti’s. Paolo’s made it for you just how you like it. Come now or it will be cold and he’ll never forgive you.’ He stayed still until she peeled off her gloves with a resigned shrug.

  He moved back to allow her though the door, unable to stop himself from breathing deeply, wanting to catch a waft of the perfume that he now associated so strongly with Emily. He followed her back to the desk, admiring the way her scrubs moved across her bottom as her hips swayed.

  You’re pathetic.

  Shut up.

  The war of words spun in his head but he felt strangely disconnected from them, his attention fully on Emily. He popped the top off her coffee and passed it to her. There was no point beating about the bush. ‘What have you done to your hair?’

  Her cup stalled at her cherry-red lips. ‘I told you, I never liked red hair.’ She put the cup down and rummaged through the filing cabinet. ‘What have you done with the roster?’

  ‘What have you done with the woman I danced with last night?’ The question he’d wanted to ask since she’d walked into work this morning shot out of his mouth uncensored.

  Her busy hands froze on top of the files, her shoulders rigid. She turned around and faced him, her face working hard to be free of expression, but her flashing eyes gave everything away.

  ‘Cinderella’s gone and now you’re left with the real me. Last night wasn’t real, Linton. Last night was a bit of fairy dust and make-believe. Granted, it lasted two hours past midnight but then life went back to normal.’ She pointed to her head and plucked at the V of her top. ‘This is me.’

  The confusion he’d battled with since her arrival won out. ‘No, I don’t think it is you. I don’t understand. I thought you enjoyed coming out of your chrysalis and emerging into the light.’

  Grey eyes the colour of a summer storm flashed at him. ‘Don’t presume to know me, Linton, because you don’t have a clue who I really am.’ She took a long slug of her coffee and then breathed in deeply, her breasts straining against her top.

  His gaze immediately fell to her chest, seeking the image of creamy breasts from last night, which burned so brightly in his mind. Seeing an imagined image of her in a bikini top. Clearing his mind of everything except that. ‘Come to Ledger’s Gorge this afternoon and I can get to know you. We can swim up under the waterfall and—’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She pulled out the roster and slammed the filing-cabinet drawer closed.

  The coolness of her voice whipped him. He shook his head, not quite believing he’d heard correctly. ‘We don’t have to swim. What about a walk?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Obviously he was missing something. Perhaps she wanted to have a say in the destination. ‘What would you like to do?’

  She tilted her pert chin upwards, as if slicing the air around it. ‘Linton, I don’t want to do anything with you except work.’

  An alien emotion circled him. ‘You’re dumping me?’

  Incredulity creased her brow. ‘How can I be dumping you? We weren’t even on a date. Besides, you’re not known for a follow-up call and you’re especially not known for a follow-up date, so you should be relieved.’

  The barb hit him in a place usually so well protected that nothing penetrated. He ignored her comment, focusing on his need. He smiled a knowing smile. ‘But you have to admit we had a great time together, especially on your veranda.’ His voice deepened of its own accord. ‘Don’t you want to explore that further?’

  Her eyes darkened to the colour of polished iron ore.

  He knew that colour. A self-indulgent thought warmed him. Whatever was going on behind that blue hair, she couldn’t deny the attraction that simmered between them.

  Silver immediately glinted in the grey depths, flashing at him like the light from a welder’s torch. The abrupt change, so unexpected, startled him.

  She drew herself up onto the balls of her feet, her body almost vibrating. ‘You’ve known me for a year, Linton. In all that time you’ve never seen me as anyone other than a reliable nurse who made your life easier. The one time I p
ut on a slinky dress, you suddenly see me.’

  Her voice trembled. ‘Except that wasn’t really me. I showed you what you wanted to see. You obviously prefer to see me that way but the problem is, I don’t agree.’ She hugged her arms around herself. ‘I thought you understood me but I got that so wrong. Last night was all about you and nothing to do with me. You are so…so shallow. Everything I’ve every heard about you and wanted to ignore is true. You really are the playboy doctor. Well, sorry, I don’t want to play.’

  Her words cut and ripped, the truth stark and unrelenting. I showed you what you wanted to see. Anger surged in to soothe the pain. ‘I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am. I have never made a promise I haven’t kept.’

  A flush of colour stained her cheeks. ‘That doesn’t make you honourable.’ She picked up the roster and, hugging it close to her chest, walked away from him.

  His anger staggered under the weight of her accusation. He wanted to yell at her to come back, that she was wrong, that she knew nothing about him, but he kept hearing the same words over and over. You are so shallow.

  He wasn’t shallow. He was nothing like the man that had destroyed her confidence, telling her she was unattractive, telling her what to wear.

  You told her what to wear.

  No! His rage stampeded over the ugly thought. What he’d done had been totally different. It had been concern for her that had made him encourage her to come out from behind her baggy clothes and wear that dress. It had been the action of a friend.

  But the memory of her taste, the touch of her lips against his, the feel of her head against his chest, the vision of her curvaceous body in that dress—all of it whipped him like a cat-o’-nine-tails.

  Hell, a friend didn’t kiss another friend to the point of exhaustion.

  You’ve known me for a year, Linton.

  What had he done? His head pounded and he rubbed his neck as he tried to make sense of it all.

  The unpalatable truth trickled through him. Emily was right. He’d admired her as a nurse, he’d seen her as a mate and nothing more. Last night he’d let raging, unchecked hormones turn a friendship on its head. He’d let lust for her body ride roughshod over their camaraderie, totally ignoring the woman inside the gorgeous body. A woman who was still hurting and emotionally raw from the abuse she’d had levelled at her by her ex-boyfriend.