A Perfect Hero (6 page)

Tina White had gone, transferred to Stoke Mandeville over the weekend by helicopter, and Pete Sawyer was progressing well, although it was too soon to tell if the bone graft would do its job.

Danny, as usual, had been a total pain in the neck.

‘The sooner we get him up and out the better for everyone, I think!’ Sister Price said with a laugh. ‘Apart from that, there are two new admissions—Mrs Wright, a fifty-seven-year-old lady with a fracture of the left femoral neck following a fall, which Mr Mayhew pinned yesterday, and Mr Jones. He’s forty-two, and was brought in with cracked ribs and a clean fracture
of the radius which has been immobilised in a cast. He’ll probably go home today. Right, I think that’s it—I’m off to bed. Have a lovely day!’

Sister O’Brien detailed Clare to do a training round with the two first-year nurses on the care of patients in traction. She was in the first bay with the elderly patients discussing the importance of meticulous treatment of pressure areas when Michael appeared.

‘Everything all right, Staff?’ he asked with a wicked grin.

‘Fine, thank you, Mr Barrington.’ She made herself smile normally.

‘Good. I’ll catch up with you later—there’s a new procedure I’ve been wanting to try out—perhaps we could discuss it over lunch?’

She struggled against the blush and failed. ‘I would think that would be fine.’

‘Excellent. One o’clock in the coffee lounge?’ He gave her flushed skin a sympathetic glance. ‘Warm in here, isn’t it?’

He sauntered off, whistling, to say hello to the lady who had been his first patient. The nurses watched him adoringly. Clare was disgusted and insanely jealous. Damn it, they were almost drooling!

‘If I could have your attention, ladies?’ she said with rather more sarcasm than she had intended, and they apologised and gave her their undivided attention—which actually made things rather difficult, as Clare’s thoughts had gone off at a decided tangent.

‘Sue, perhaps you could recap for us?’ she said in a moment of inspiration.

The morning dragged. Clare switched her lunch break with Sister O’Brien, and was in the coffee lounge waiting when Michael came in with Tim Mayhew at
five past one, deep in conversation. He saw Clare, excused himself and came over to her.

‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘Sorry I’m late. Have you eaten?’

She shook her head.

‘Come on, then, let’s go and get something.’

When they were seated, she asked, ‘So what was this new procedure, then?’

He gave a short, husky laugh. ‘I though we’d discuss that later over supper at my place——’

She flushed as his meaning dawned on her. ‘I changed my lunch break to come down here and meet you!’

He reached out and took her hand, ignoring all the interested glances they were getting. ‘Didn’t you want to have lunch with me?’

She snatched her hand away. ‘Of course I did—what are you doing, holding my hand here? It’ll be all round the hospital by half-past one!’

‘So? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?’

She sighed, and smiled at him. ‘No, of course I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.’

‘Good. Look, I’m operating until after six tonight—have you got a car?’

‘Uh-huh. Just a little Fiesta, but it does OK. Why?’

‘Can you remember the way to the cottage?’

‘Of course!’

He fished in his pocket and came up with a set of keys. Taking one off the ring, he slid it across the table towards her. ‘Here, let yourself in and start supper—I’ll be home about seven. Is that OK?’

She nodded and slipped the key into her pocket. ‘Anything in particular you fancy?’

His smile widened, and she blushed a fiery red.

‘I thought we were going to talk about that later?’ he
said, a thread of laughter in his voice, and she shook her head in despair.

‘You won’t behave, will you?’

He chuckled. ‘Life’s too short. I must go, I’ve got a clinic and I need to go through the notes. See you later.’

He stood up, leant forward and dropped a kiss on her startled lips.

‘Well, well! What have we here?’

‘Oh! Hello, Lizzi. How are you? Got over the dunking?’

‘Oh, that! Yes, I’m getting used to it! Mind if I join you? Ross is still in Theatre.’

She settled herself beside Clare, turned towards her and studied her thoughtfully. ‘You look different,’ she said finally, and Clare felt her skin heat again.

‘Sorry,’ Lizzi said contritely. ‘It’s just that in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had that smug, mellow look you have now.’

‘Snap.’

Lizzi laughed. ‘Oh, well, mine’s due to love, among other things.’ She prodded the food around on her plate. ‘So, are you and Michael seeing each other?’

Clare was suddenly struck by the need to tell someone of the momentous events of the weekend. Only then, she felt, would it all become real.

‘I spent the weekend with him,’ she stated bluntly.

‘Good God,’ Lizzi said quietly. ‘Was that wise? You hardly know him!’

‘Probably not. It was all pretty sudden. He asked me to marry him.’

Lizzi’s fork stopped in mid-air. ‘He did
what
?’

‘Asked me to marry him. I said yes. See.’ She fished
in the neck of her uniform and pulled out the ring, suspended on the gold chain that had held her locket.

‘Oh, Clare, it’s beautiful! Oh, love, I am so pleased for you!’

‘Don’t tell anyone yet—I’m not sure how public he wants it just yet.’

‘Can I tell Ross?’

‘Tell Ross what?’

Ross, still dressed in Theatre greens, pushed Michael’s plate out of the way and sat opposite them.

‘Hello, darling. Nothing. You’ll have to wait.’

‘How boring. Have you missed me?’

‘In four hours? Dreadfully!’ Lizzi laughed.

Once again, Clare felt as if she was intruding, and excused herself to hurry back to the ward.

As soon as she was off duty she ran up to her flat, showered and changed, and put a clean dress into a carrier bag for the morning—just in case. She arrived at the cottage just after five, fed the cat, threw together a casserole and took a cup of tea in the garden to wait for Michael.

He was back just before seven and found her pulling up weeds in the shrubbery.

She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. ‘Hi! You’re early!’

‘Easier than we thought. Makes a change. How’s my favourite girl tonight?’

She stood up, brushed her grubby hands on her jeans and kissed him. ‘Wonderful. Are you hungry? There’s a casserole in the oven.’

‘Fabulous. Let me shower and change and I’ll be right down. Would you like to open a bottle of wine?’

Over the meal he asked her if she had told her parents about him yet.

‘No, I haven’t. I wasn’t sure how public you wanted to make it yet.’

‘Public as you like, darling. We’ll put an announcement in the paper if you want.’

‘Are you sure?’

He laid down his knife and fork. ‘You keep asking me that. Are you sure yourself? If you aren’t, then do say so.’

‘Oh, no, I’m sure—I just can’t believe my luck!’

He chuckled. ‘I know the feeling. This is delicious—any more?’

And so they settled into the routine. The first one home prepared the meal, and they tackled the clearing up together. For the first few nights Clare got up and went back to the hospital to satisfy convention, but by the weekend they decided it was ridiculous.

On the Saturday morning Clare rang her parents and told them she was moving in with him. They were a bit surprised, but so pleased about their little girl finally taking the plunge that they said nothing.

They met him on Saturday evening after she came off duty, and fell under his spell as she was sure they would. On Sunday he took Pop sailing while she was working, and on Monday she tackled the housework while he went in to the hospital. He was home very late, having had to operate on a hang-glider pilot who had come a cropper, and slid into bed beside Clare with a contented sigh.

She was on an early on Tuesday, and took the report from Sister Price in the absence of Sister O’Brien, who was on days off until Thursday.

Danny Drew had been playing up in the night again, and had kept Pete Sawyer awake. He was still suffering with his arm, although his pelvis had healed well and
his patella was well on the way to recovery. Mrs Wright, who had fallen the previous week, had also had a restless night and Clare made a note to get the SHO to have a look at her.

There’s one interesting new admission,’ Sister Price told them. ‘Barry Warner. He’s a young man of twenty-four whose hang-glider folded up on him. He’s got extensive fractures of just about everything, and needs very careful nursing. I suggest anyone coming into contact with him should look at the X-rays first. He had a compressed fracture of L4, and a right sacro-iliac strain, but otherwise no spinal injuries. Severe dislocation of the left shoulder, cracked acetabulum on the right due to the way he fell, but mostly it’s lower leg fractures with external fixation on the right leg because of the soft tissue damage. Oh, and he cracked some bones in his right hand and wrist but they don’t seem to be giving him much trouble. Apart from that he’s a mass of cuts and bruises, and feeling thoroughly sorry for himself, but who can blame him with that lot?’

‘I should say he’s lucky to be alive,’ Clare commented, and Sister Price laughed.

‘Just now I don’t think he’d agree with you, Staff. Mr Barrington’s done a wonderful job of sticking him back together again. He was working on him until very late.’

‘I know,’ Clare said without thinking, and then rushed on, ‘I spoke to him this morning, he told me about it.’

She blushed, and Sister Price raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realise he was in yet. Any questions? No? Right, I’ll be off. See you tomorrow.’

Clare could have kicked herself. The other nurses were exchanging speculative glances, and she sent them
all off about their duties with rather more speed than was strictly necessary. Michael stuck his head round the door minutes later and blew her a kiss.

‘Morning, gorgeous. Thanks for leaving me the coffee.’

‘You’re welcome. Sister Price thinks you’re wonderful.’

‘Of course! It’s only to be expected. I am wonderful!’

‘Modest, too,’ she said with a smile. ‘I gather you did amazing things to the young hang-glider.’

‘Barry Warner? God, he was a mess. Have you seen him yet?’

‘No, I was just going to go and have a look and make sure he was all right.’ On their way to the little side-ward where Barry Warner was being nursed, she told him all about putting her foot in it, and he laughed.

‘I don’t know why you don’t just tell them. Perhaps we should fix the date—how about a month? That give you long enough?’

She stopped in her tracks. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious—I want to marry you. How many ways do I have to say it?’

‘Shh, keep your voice down!’ she hissed. ‘I have to work here, and they’re all bug-eyed with curiosity as it is.’

‘So put them out of their misery,’ he said with a grin. ‘Tell them we’re getting married on the first of August. That gives you six weeks or so.’

‘Are we?’ she said, surprised.

‘Well, I don’t know, but we could. Why not?’

‘Why not, indeed!’ she said with a laugh. ‘Come on, Mr B, our patient awaits.’

He was a mess, Michael was right. His right leg was in traction to keep the pressure off the hip joint, and
his left arm was strapped across his chest to immobilise his dislocated shoulder.

He was staring blankly out of the window, and turned listlessly towards them as they went into the room.

‘Hello, Barry, how are you feeling?’ Michael asked, picking up the charts from the foot of the bed and scanning them quickly.

‘Everything hurts.’

‘I’m afraid it will for a while. It’s good news in a way because it means your nerves haven’t suffered too much damage. I’ll increase your pain relief. Let’s have a look at your legs.’

He turned back the bedclothes and studied the mangled limbs in front of him in silence for a while. The left leg had a neat incision just beside the shin, and had been plated and pinned after open reduction. It was immobilised in a split cast to allow for swelling.

The right leg, which had extensive skin loss and so was unsuitable for internal fixation, had an external fixator in position, with threaded screws passing through into the bone fragments, holding them in line. It looked gruesome, but Clare knew that most patients tolerated the system very well. Because of the lower leg injuries, he was on skin traction to relieve the pressure on his hip joint, and his lower leg was resting in a ‘gutter’.

‘Looks good,’ he told the young man. ‘Can you wriggle your toes for me?’

He grimaced and managed to move them all slightly.

‘Fingers? Excellent. Well done. The physiotherapist will be round to see you shortly so we can get things moving as soon as possible. You’re lucky you didn’t
smash your heels, you know. That’s the most common result of your type of landing.’

Barry turned his head away and didn’t respond.

With a shrug Michael headed for the door. ‘I’ll come and see you again later, and we’ll increase the pain relief now. I’ll write it up in the office.’

They walked back to the nurses’ station together, deep in conversation about the complicated management of Barry Warner’s extensive injuries. As they reached the door of Sister’s office, Tim Mayhew appeared and hailed them.

‘Ah, this is the young lady!’ he said in his penetrating voice. ‘I gather you’ve captured my SR!’

Clare gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Something like that.’

‘Or was it the other way round?’

He turned his deceptively soft brown eyes on Michael.

Michael grinned. ‘A little of each, let’s say. And captivated, rather than captured.’

‘Well, whatever, I wish you both the very best. Now, tell me all about this young hang-glider. I gather from David Blake that you’re a better surgeon than I am.’

‘I wish!’ Michael said with a laugh. ‘He’s too kind and not nearly observant enough if he thinks that, sir.’

Mr Mayhew shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. You’re a damn fine surgeon, Michael. Given time and experience, you’ll be world class. Of course you’re not as conservative as me—I probably would have put the right leg in a gutter and left it at that, with a Steinmann’s pin for the acetabulum, and tackled the tib and fib later on when the skin had healed. However, no harm in getting the healing process under way if
possible. Shouldn’t be surprised if we don’t end up with a non-union. Got the X-rays?’