There was no laughter in Quinn Gallagher now. There was no space for anything.
Quinn wasted no words. He left Fern doing what she was doing, instinctively trusting her professionalism, and worked round her, ripping Maud’s gay wedding dress apart as if it was tissue and attaching electrodes with the swiftness of an expert.
Her first impression of competence had been absolutely right, Fern thought fleetingly. Quinn Gallagher was attuned to emergency medicine with the skill of years of training behind him. His hands wasted not a second.
Leads attached, Quinn squatted back on his heels and pulled Fern back with him.
‘Now.’
He put his hand on the switch and Maud’s limp body jerked in spasm. Before she was still Fern was back breathing into her lips. Breathe, pump, one, two, three…
‘Again.’ Quinn pulled her back.
Breathe…
“Again…’
It wouldn’t work.
Please…
Fern breathed deeply once more into her aunt’s lips but then Quinn was hauling her back, his strong fingers holding Maud’s wrist and the defibrillator put aside.
‘We have a pulse,’ he said softly. ‘Give it a minute, Fern…’
Fern stared wildly down. Her own breath had stopped. She was scared to take the next breath.
‘Please…’
She said the word aloud. It echoed round and round the crowded room and suddenly there was an answer to her plea.
Maud took a rasping, ragged breath that was painful to hear but it was the sweetest sound that Fern had ever heard. She stared down as Maud’s chest heaved, hardly daring to hope.
Maudie breathed again, and again, and her breathing settled into a harsh but steady rhythm.
‘We have life,’ Quinn said with quiet satisfaction.
Without pause, he turned to the oxygen cylinder he’d dragged up the stairs with him and started to join a mask to the tubing. The next priority was to get as much oxygen into Maud’s starved bloodstream as he could. ‘How long without oxygen, Dr Rycroft?’
‘How long…?’
Fern bit her lip. There were tears streaming down her face and she wiped them away with a lace-trimmed sleeve. How long? Quinn was asking how long Maud hadn’t been breathing.
She didn’t know. Her uncle knew…
Strange how hard it was to get her voice to work. She had to…
‘Uncle…Uncle, how long was Maud unconscious before I arrived?’
Albert was still staring down with horror at his unconscious wife. He didn’t hear her.
Fern stood with difficulty and somewhere beneath her a piece of white satin caught and ripped. Her knees seemed to have turned to water. She crossed to where her uncle stood and gave him a swift hug, then stood back with him at arm’s length. She gripped his hands hard. ‘Uncle, we have Maud breathing again. It’ll take a while, though, before she regains consciousness…’
Depending on how long Maud’s brain had been starved of oxygen…
Fern didn’t say that. There was no use scaring her uncle even more than he already was.
‘How long was she unconscious before I came?’ she asked her uncle again, and Albert hauled himself together with a mammoth effort.
‘Only…only seconds,’ he stammered. ‘She was sick and then she slumped to the floor and I thought, what am I going to do, she’s dying, and then I heard your car…’
‘Then she might have only been ten minutes not breathing,’ Fern whispered across to Quinn. ‘Maybe even less. And I was breathing for her most of that time. You were so fast…’
‘Frank Reid’s place is just past here,’ Quinn told her. ‘I was almost outside the front door when your uncle phoned.’
‘Thank God for that.’
The oxygen mask was firmly in place now and Maudie was changing colour. The awful blue-white was fading to pink.
Then Maud’s body moved almost imperceptibly once and then again. Finally, the woman’s hand moved slowly up to touch the mask and her eyes tried to open.
‘It’s OK, Auntie.’ Fern sank quickly to her knees again, ignoring the ripping sound of satin, and gathered her aunt’s hands to her. ‘You’ve had a heart turn but you’re OK. Dr Gallagher has an oxygen mask on your face. Don’t try to fight it. Just rest and let us do the work.’
Maud Rycroft gave a feeble moan. She fought to free her hand from Fern’s grasp and her eyes rolled. Her lips moved as she tried to speak and Quinn lifted the mask a fraction.
‘What is it, Mrs Rycroft?’ he said gently.
‘Fern’s wedding…’ A tear of weakness and despair rolled down Maud’s wrinkled cheek. ‘My Fern…’
Quinn replaced the mask and touched Maud’s cheek. He was kneeling beside Fern but he didn’t look at her. His dark eyes held those of his frightened patient and they exuded reassurance.
‘Fern’s wedding’s a little delayed, Mrs Rycroft,’ he told Maud gently. ‘We seem to have a widespread case of tummy wobbles on the island. It seems, though…’ Laughter surfaced fleetingly as Quinn cast a quick glance at Fern. ‘It seems your niece has a while before she passes her “use-by” date. Most brides ache to wear their wedding dress more than once. Your Fern now gets the chance to put her finery on, walk down the aisle and be the centre of attention all over again-without the bother and expense of a divorce in between.’
Maud lay still. She took three rasping breaths, gathering strength. Then, slowly, the sides of her mouth twitched into the semblance of a smile.
‘Our Fern always was one for doing things different,’ she whispered and closed her eyes. ‘Keep her safe for me, Dr Gallagher.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Quinn promised, and the laughter faded.
By the time Fern finally rid herself of her crazy bridal apparel, Uncle Al and Quinn had settled Fern’s aunt into the back of Quinn’s station wagon. Racing downstairs, sensibly clad in jeans and blouse, Fern discovered her aunt secure in what seemed to be an amazingly equipped vehicle.
‘It’s as good as an ambulance,’ Fern said in astonishment, staring at the mass of equipment inside the vehicle. The island had never had medical gear like this. Maud lay comfortable and safe on a fixed stretcher, oxygen supplied from a tank fixed to the side of the van. There was room for two stretchers but, with only one needed, the other folded away to leave room for Uncle Albert to sit by his wife’s side.
‘It’s better than most ambulances,’ Quinn corrected her. He was adjusting a saline drip over Maud. Now he met Fern’s bewildered gaze and smiled. ‘I’m not prepared to practise medicine by halves, Dr Rycroft, and when I promised to stay long-term the islanders decided to set me up properly.’
‘But…’ Fern’s confusion was growing. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘Why wouldn’t I come?’ He was intent once again on adjusting his drip.
‘No one ever has before.’
‘Because it’s not a lucrative medical practice?’ Quinn threw her a quizzical look. ‘Is that why you won’t stay, Dr Rycroft?’
‘No. I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why I won’t stay has nothing to do with you, Dr Gallagher.’
‘There is that,’ Quinn said drily. He smiled down at Fern’s aunt, lying wan on the stretcher. ‘But I appeal to you, Mrs Rycroft. Your niece thinks her reasons for leaving the island are none of my business, yet she thinks it’s her business to know why I came. Is that fair?’
Maud’s eyes twinkled faintly and the sight made Fern feel better.
‘Fern was always contrary,’ Maud whispered. ‘Where…where are you taking me?’
‘To hospital.’
‘Hospital!’ Fern stared. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you’ve set up a hospital here?’
‘Of sorts.’ Quinn swung out of the ambulance and stood looking down at her. ‘Now, are you happy to leave your aunt in my charge?’
‘I…’ Fern looked dubiously at her aunt. Maud’s colour was improving while she watched but the first few hours after cardiac arrest were the most danger
ous.
‘I won’t leave her,’ Quinn said softly. His hand came up and he touched Fern’s cheek with a gentleness that was at odds with his brusque and competent exterior. ‘I promise.’
Fern nodded. She didn’t meet his look. She couldn’t.
The feel of his finger on the skin of her cheek was doing strange things to her.
Like making her want to weep again.
For heaven’s sake…Get a hold on yourself, Fern Rycroft…
She brushed his fingers away with impatience.
‘What do you want me to do, then?’ she snapped and then wished she hadn’t. She was the medical equal of this man. Why was she looking to him for orders?
Quinn seemed used to issuing them, though. His mind had obviously worked through priorities as he’d helped Fern’s aunt and he knew what was needed.
‘I want you to take my bag and check on the two patients I was going to see and then come back to the clinic,’ he ordered. ‘If this vomiting is making people dehydrated then we’ll need both of us at a central point.
‘I’ll ring the local police sergeant and have him find Lizzy Hurst. He can find out what exactly she’s done. I want an assurance that the oysters weren’t contaminated with anything else. You’re a trained doctor, Dr Rycroft, and too valuable now to go traipsing off searching for Lizzy yourself.’
With Albert and Maud within hearing, Quinn didn’t add the obvious. Fifteen minutes ago Maud had been clinically dead. She was likely to need all Quinn’s attention at any minute and if he was taken up with a cardiac arrest and others were dangerously ill…
‘I’ll be back at the clinic as soon as I can,’ Fern promised, taking his proffered bag. She hesitated. ‘But don’t…don’t send Sergeant Russell to find Lizzy.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because I can find her fast,’ Fern told him. ‘I…Lizzy and I are the same age and we were friends as teenagers. I know where she’ll go-and if she sees police looking for her…’
She bit her lip.
‘What’s on your mind, Dr Rycroft?’
Quinn wasn’t impatient. His eyes were intent, allowing her to think things through as she spoke.
‘Lizzy’s impetuous-even maybe a little bit crazy,’ Fern told him. ‘She’ll have done this in a fit of fury and then she’ll have gone home and thought about it. And she’s not stupid. She’ll start seeing the consequences almost at once. She’s already desperately unhappy and if she sees the police looking for her…’
‘She could suicide?’
‘Yes,’ Fern said bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
Quinn nodded. He turned to Fern’s uncle. ‘You know Lizzy Hurst, sir,’ he said. ‘Do you agree with your niece?’
Albert Rycroft nodded, his hand holding his wife’s as if he was afraid to let it go.
‘Fern’s right,’ he said heavily. ‘Lizzy Hurst’s a bit crazy but she’s not a bad kid. If she thinks she’s hurt someone as well as lost her Sam…’
‘OK.’ Quinn unclipped the telephone on his belt and handed it to Fern. ‘Take this as well. I’ll be by a phone or the car radio from now on so I don’t need it, but if I need you I’ll be able to contact you. Be fast. Check Frank Reid and Pete Harny first, though, Dr Rycroft. Even if Lizzy Hurst is intent on suicide, she’s done this herself and she has to be given a lesser priority. Move, though, Fern. I need you and I need you fast.’
I need you…
It was odd how those words rang through and through Fern’s head. They made her work speedily and they made the dreadful chaos of the day become almost bearable.
At the end of the chaos Quinn Gallagher was waiting.
So was Sam!
Poor Sam. Fern thought guiltily of her future husband as she pulled up outside Frank Reid’s place. Sam would be mortified that Fern hadn’t stayed by his side to hold his basin-but if she’d stayed with Sam, Maud would be dead by now.
Sam would just have to understand. He’d have gone home to his parents and Fern would get to him as soon as possible.
Odd that Sam’s need didn’t give Fern the same feeling in the back reaches of her heart that Quinn Gallagher’s demand for her presence gave her!
Frank Reid’s home was another farm half a mile from Fern’s uncle’s. Fern knocked twice, noting that Frank’s car was by the door but that the dogs were still tied. Usually when Frank was home his dogs were by his side. He’d come home in a hurry.
No answer.
Fern pushed the unlocked door inward and walked inside. Frank must know that she was here. The dogs were raising enough din to waken the dead.
‘Frank?’
‘I’m in here, girl…’ Frank’s voice came from down the passage, faint but distinct.
He was in his bedroom, huddled under a mountain of bedclothes. His elderly frame seemed to have shrunk and Fern felt her heart lurch in pity.
And in anger. How dare Lizzy play such a stupid trick. Frank didn’t deserve this!
‘I thought I’d better check on my favourite wedding guest,’ she smiled, swallowing her anger in an effort to reassure the farmer, and crossed to the bed. ‘How are you, Frank?’
‘I think I’ve stopped throwing up,’ he whispered. ‘Though I still feel I’m going to, and my stomach feels as if I’ve been kicked by a horse.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Fern lifted his wrist and was reassured by his pulse rate. Blood pressure a hundred and fifty on eighty. Acceptable…
‘When were you last ill?’
‘About fifteen minutes ago.’
Fern nodded. ‘And you feel like death?’
‘St Peter’s got his book open, girl,’ Frank groaned. ‘I can almost read it from here.’
‘Well, close your eyes and roll over,’ Fern ordered and chuckled as he groaned again. ‘You know what I’m going to do, then?’
‘Stick something in my backside, at a guess,’ he growled. ‘It’s what you doctors seem to like doing most. I always knew you had a sadistic streak in you, Fern Rycroft.’
‘It’s a requisite for medical school,’ she agreed, filling a syringe from the contents of Quinn’s bag. ‘I’m just giving you some metoclopramide to stop the nausea.’
‘I’m not sure I don’t prefer a bit of vomiting.’ Frank dug his head into the pillows and swore. ‘If I could just see what’s written on them danged pages I wouldn’t be so worried.’
Fern laughed. She administered the needle with care. ‘There. Pinprick, Frank. Admit it?’
‘Not on your nelly.’ Frank rolled back to look up at her, only the smile behind his eyes admitting that it hadn’t hurt too much. ‘I don’t encourage you lot one bit.’
Fern smiled. She left him for a moment to find a towel, soaked it with warm water and came back to sponge his face and hands.
‘Better?’
‘Yeah…’ He gripped her hands suddenly and smiled. ‘You’re a good kid, Fern. One of the best. It’s a darned shame you won’t stay…’
‘Can I do a blood sugar?’
‘If you must…’ He motioned to the bureau, grimacing as another spasm of nausea washed over him. ‘My diabetic gear’s over there. I knew I ought to do it myself but I couldn’t face the thought of getting out of bed.’
‘I don’t blame you.’ Fern crossed over and fetched Frank’s kit. Deftly she pricked his finger and produced a droplet of blood, checking it quickly for sugar. What she saw made her wince.
‘Frank…’
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘I was bloody stupid-even before the oysters. I had two glasses of beer and a lamington with lunch-things my dratted diet chart tell me to avoid like the plague-so I knew I was playing with fire. And then this…’
‘Mmm.’ Fern looked down at him, considering. He couldn’t stay here on his own and Quinn said that he had a hospital…
‘Don’t start looking at me like that, girl,’ Frank growled. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Fern held the monitor out for him to see. ‘You need a hospital bed, Frank Rei
d.’
She expected him to protest. Instead, Frank just sighed and pulled the quilt tighter.
‘Yeah, well, I thought you’d say that,’ he said weakly. ‘And they do look after a man there…’
‘You’ve been there before?’ Fern asked in astonishment, and Frank nodded.
‘I had a bad hypo and a fall a few weeks ago. Doc Gallagher took me in then-and they made me right proper comfortable, I must say.’
‘Them…?’
‘Them nurses he employs and that Jess girl, whatever she is. She’s not supposed to have anything to do with the hospital but she’s a real kind-hearted lady. And Doc Gallagher looked after me a treat.’
‘That’s great,’ Fern smiled. She was a little confused but whoever all these people were it made her job here a lot easier. ‘I’ll just let Dr Gallagher know what’s going on.’
‘Bring him in when you come,’ Quinn told her when she phoned. ‘Is he right to leave alone until you’ve checked Pete and seen Lizzy? I can send the police or Jessie for him if you like.’
‘He’s stopped vomiting for the moment,’ Fern told him. ‘An hour shouldn’t do too much harm and I’ve shifted his phone so it’s close to the bed. He’s well enough-and sensible enough-to ring if he gets worse.’
Who on earth was Jessie? She didn’t know the island had a nurse called Jessie. ‘I’ll go to Pete Harny’s place now and then to Lizzy’s,’ she told him. ‘See you soon.’
‘Be fast,’ Quinn growled and disconnected.
Fern clipped the phone back to her waistband and turned to find Frank regarding her with perplexity. Clearly the afternoon’s events were finally starting to be understood.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be married, girl?’
‘You’ll have gathered we didn’t quite make it,’ Fern said cheerfully. ‘Maybe next time.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re worth waiting for,’ Frank said drily. ‘Can’t say the same for that groom of yours, though, Fern. Puffed-up bag of wind…’
Puffed up bag of wind…
Fern thought of her fiancé with a slightly guilty start.
She should ring Sam’s house and find out how he was.
Fern looked ruefully down at the mobile phone as she started the car again.
She was in a hurry. Ringing Sam was wasting time.
Prescription-One Husband Page 3
