Bachelor Cure (8 page)

Hugh came to the hospital with his uncle.

‘I should 'a been there,' he said over and over again in a voice that trembled. ‘My room was just next to the old codger's. I should 'a…'

The boy stared down at Les's legs. They knew now that Les had been burned trying to get up the stairs to reach his nephew.

‘I didn't tell him I was going out,' Hugh muttered. ‘I mean…our families are so bloody righteous. Doreen uses a sleepout at the back of her folks' place. They thought I was staying at the hotel but after they went to bed I'd sneak back, like. I mean…' His voice grew defensive. ‘We are getting married next week. But then we heard the shouting and the bangs and sirens and everything and Doreen looked out and said the pub's on fire and I couldn't believe it. I came so fast…'

He stared down at his trousers. His fly was half-undone, and with a self-conscious shrug he hauled up the zipper. ‘Bloody fool,' he muttered, and it was unclear who he was referring to, but his hand came down onto his uncle's shoulder. ‘To try and get me out…'

‘I woulda still tried to get Sam out,' Les groaned, and grabbed his nephew's hand and held it. ‘Would 'a been burned anyway. Weren't your fault, Hugh. And I'll still make your wedding. You see if I don't.'

He wouldn't. Tess looked down at those charred legs and winced. Les had months of skin grafts ahead of him.

There were three solid hours of work before they could think of bed. Firstly they stabilised Les as well as they could, but there was little they could do for
his legs in Bellanor. Mike organised helicopter evacuation.

‘He needs a specialist burns unit,' he told a stricken Hugh. ‘We don't have the facilities here to cope with burns like this. He's burned about thirty per cent of his total skin area. I'd guess about twenty-five per cent is full-thickness burns. I can't guarantee his survival if he stays here.'

There was no more to be said, but it was a subdued Hugh who, an hour later, climbed into the helicopter with his uncle and the evacuation medical team.

‘Because I can't get it outa my mind that he did it for me,' he explained. ‘And he don't have a wife or kids to look after him. He's only got me. I'll look after the old bugger.'

‘It's probably true,' Mike said wearily, as he turned back to the queue of firefighters needing treatment—mostly for minor eye injuries. Dear God, he was tired, but there was also overwhelming sadness running through his fatigue. ‘And Les knows it. I doubt if Les would have crashed through a barrier of flames just to save Sam.'

‘Hey, Mike, don't think about it,' Tess said steadily, and her hand came out to touch his arm. ‘What's done's done. Our job is to make the best of what's ahead.'

It was true. He gave himself a fierce mental jolt—and her hand was still on his arm. Thank God for Tessa. She made his weariness and his sadness just a little bit easier. Bad but bearable.

There was little time for any more thought after that. There was too much work. They worked side by
side, washing out eyes and treating one firefighter after another for minor burns. The fire had been an inferno and the men had taken crazy risks to get Les out. By three in the morning Mike was so exhausted he could barely stand, and if Tess hadn't been there…

She was. That was all that mattered. Her presence seemed to be all that was holding him up.

‘You can go to bed now,' he told her, as the last of their patients disappeared back out into the night. The hotel was now nothing but a vast pile of smouldering ash. Somewhere inside was what remained of Sam Fisher, but Sam had built his own funeral pyre. There was little hope of finding anything recognisable.

But Tess was watching him closely, and she shook her head.

‘No.'

‘No?'

‘You're exhausted,' she said softly. ‘But me… I slept most of the afternoon. I'm still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to go.' Then her voice softened. ‘And I haven't just lost someone I was fond of in a fire.'

Mike's eyes flew to hers.

‘How—?'

‘How do I know? I can tell the signs,' she said gently. ‘You're quiet. You're too quiet for someone who isn't feeling pain.'

‘I…'

‘Want to tell me about Sam?'

He didn't. Or…did he?

‘Sam was…just a patient,' he said.

‘And?'

‘He's old and fragile and he feels…he felt the cold.' Mike's gaze turned inwards, remembering. ‘Sure, he's a drunk, but he's a likeable old drunk. I had him down for a nursing-home bed but we never have any spare when he's in the mood for coming and when I do have a spare bed then he's feeling independent and obstinate and tells me I'm fussing. Maybe I should have fussed more…'

‘You can't force people to do what they don't want to.'

‘No.' He stared bleakly into the middle distance and then shook his head. ‘Anyway, if Sam hasn't drunk all his pension cheque, he stays in the pub. And Les is lousy with the bedding. The hotel has…had south-facing windows and it's an old, old building.

‘It's April now and the nights are turning frosty. I organised Sam more blankets, but it's my guess he sold them. A decent blanket will fetch you fifty dollars. Fifty dollars equals ten bottles of cheap plonk. A cheap radiator costs you ten.'

‘Oh, Mike…'

‘I should have gone to see Les before this happened,' he said harshly. ‘Hell, I should have seen it coming. Last time he was in to see me…only three days ago…Sam was complaining of chilblains. He's so damned thin, he has no body fat to keep him warm. He
had
no body fat…'

‘Mike…'

She took two steps forward and lifted his hand in hers. She cupped it between her fingers and her gaze met his and held.

‘Mike, don't do this to yourself.'

‘Don't do what?' The feel of her hand was making things even more surrealistic. It was as if he were in a bad dream. Floating.

‘You're exhausted,' she said softly. ‘Go to bed.'

Bed. Ha! How could he go to bed?

‘The ambulance boys are still working. There'll be more people to see before morning.'

‘I can see them,' she told him.

‘You're not—'

‘Not registered to work here?' She drew herself up to her full five feet six inches and glared. ‘No, I'm not. But I'll tell you what, Dr Llewellyn. I'd rather be treated by me, an unregistered doctor, than by you, a doctor who's past his sleep-by date. You should be stamped, “This doctor has not slept the requisite number of hours in the past twenty-four.” Truck drivers in the States have a system like that, so I'm introducing it here. Now. Consider yourself stamped, Dr Llewellyn. Go to bed.'

‘I can't.'

‘Go!' She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved, a crimson powerhouse, propelling him out into the corridor. Before he knew what she was about, he was on the other side of the door. ‘Go on. Go. I'll bet your dog's asleep. You go and join him. Unless you think I'm incapable—which I'm not. If I want to do anything really hard, like the odd spot of neurosurgery, I'll call you. I promise.'

‘Tess…'

She softened then and smiled up at him, and her smile made his insides feel really strange. Weird.

‘OK. I'll call you for things a bit less complicated than neurosurgery. For anything I can be sued over if I muck up, I'll call you. I promise. But go to bed. Please, Mike.'

Her hands were still on his shoulders. He stared down at her and the twisting sensation in his gut got stronger and stronger. What was happening here?

He didn't have a clue. What mattered though… Hell, she was right. If he didn't sleep now he'd fall right over. It must be sleeplessness that was making him feel so strange.

What else?

‘OK,' he said finally—flatly—and his voice came out not as he'd expected. His voice sounded devoid of any emotion—and that was the opposite of what he was feeling. But he knew he couldn't stay standing here one minute longer. ‘OK, Dr Westcott. I'll go to bed.'

And somehow he managed to haul himself away from her hands. Somehow he made himself turn around and face the other way and take the few long steps to the bend in the corridor.

When all he wanted to do… All he wanted to do was to gather her into his arms and kiss her.

M
IKE
slept until eleven the next morning. He opened his eyes and stared at his clock—and then sat bolt upright. What the hell…?

He swung out of bed, and then paused as a knock resounded on the outer door of his apartment. That must have been what had woken him. He dived under the sheet again, and two seconds later his bedroom door swung wide and Tessa's face peeped around. When she saw he was awake, she beamed.

‘Well, good morning.'

He could only stare. A rejoinder just wouldn't come out. Tess was dressed all in white, like a super-efficient little medico. She had on a white lab coat over white pants and T-shirt, white sneakers and a big white ribbon was hauling back that riot of red hair.

‘You like my bridal outfit?' She whirled, a tray in hand, for him to inspect.

He did. He did very much. She looked just great!

She also smelled great. She stopped whirling and walked across the room to deposit her tray on his bedside table. The tray held fried eggs and bacon, toast and strong black coffee. It seemed an age since supper last night and the smell was just wonderful.

‘Here's your breakfast,' she said cheerfully. ‘I left it as long as I could, but any later and it'd have to be lunch. And that's the last egg you're allowed this
week, Dr Llewellyn. If you're not worried about your cholesterol then you should be, and as your new medical partner I feel I have to make a stand.'

‘But…' He stared up at the girl above him, and then he stared at his alarm clock. It must have stopped working. He'd set it for six.

‘I turned it off,' Tess said, seeing where he was looking. She smiled benignly, for all the world as if she'd done him a favour.

‘You—'

‘I sneaked in to check you were asleep about five a.m,' she told him blithely. ‘Didn't see me, huh? I'm a born sneak. And as for Strop! What a watchdog! He snored and rolled over and that's the only peep I heard out of him. When I opened the door just now, he took one whiff of the bacon and headed for the kitchen at what I can only suppose is what he thinks is a run. Good grief!'

‘But the clock…' Mike reached to lift the plate of eggs and bacon—and then thought better of it. He made a self-conscious grab at the sheet. Hell, why on earth didn't he wear pyjamas?

But Tess either didn't notice or wasn't fussed at him presenting his nakedness from the hips up. ‘Yeah. The clock. I saw what time you'd set it for,' she told him. ‘Six a.m.! What sort of a crazy time is that? I turned it off.' Her smile widened. ‘Aren't you glad I did?'

‘No,' he said tersely, hauling his scattered wits together and the sheet higher. ‘I'm not. I have surgery. Saturday morning's always frantic.'

‘I disagree.'

‘What do you mean—you disagree?'

‘I just did your surgery,' she said. ‘That's why I'm dressed like this—as opposed to you being dressed like you are. Very informal, I must say.' Then, as colour started mounting under his tan, she kept right on going. ‘I figured I had to make a nice efficient impression first off—before everyone gets to know the real me. And it wasn't frantic at all. It was great fun. I've met the nicest bunch of people.' She grinned down at his confusion. ‘Mind you, I may have prescribed wart medicine for angina, or vice versa.'

‘You're kidding,' he said faintly, and she took pity on him and chuckled.

‘Yep. I'm kidding. I'm pretty sure I got everything right. Maureen—your nurse-receptionist—is just the greatest. She sat in with me and we had a copy of
MIMS
, which told us the brand names for the generic medicines, so I don't think we've messed anything up. Maureen rang Ralph, the pharmacist, and you're to pop in this afternoon and countersign everything. That'll cover the legalities. But we did just fine.'

‘What…?' He shook his head, trying to wake up. This felt just like a dream. ‘What have you seen? Who…?'

‘Lots of things.' Tess hauled a chair from by the door and sat down beside him. ‘Lots of people. Eat your breakfast. It's getting cold.' She lifted the coffee-jug and poured two cups, one for Mike and one for her, then settled back like a visitor in a long-term hospital, here for the duration. Mike's sense of unreality grew even stronger.

‘I saw Mrs Dingle's arthritic knee,' she told him—
as though she'd really enjoyed the sensation. ‘I took out Susie Hearn's stitches. I listened to Bert Sharey's wheezy chest and his problems with his best heifer, and I gave him antibiotics and a lecture about smoking too much. I told Caroline Robertson she was pregnant, and then I had to tell her husband because they've been trying so long they didn't believe me…'

‘Caroline Robertson's pregnant?'

‘She's about three months, I'd say,' she said serenely. ‘It made me feel good to tell them. They're very happy.'

‘You're kidding.' Mike shook his head. ‘Tess, do you know how important this is? If you've made a mistake…'

‘I don't mistake pregnancy at three months.' Tess appeared miffed. ‘I agree that some things might be different between Australians and Americans—like their nasal twang and the things they do to peanut butter—but pregnancy shouldn't be included. I did a full examination and everything's fine.'

‘But…' Mike shook his head again in sheer disbelief. ‘The Robertsons have tried every treatment known to man, and then some. In January they finally stopped trying and applied for adoption.'

‘They can't have stopped trying entirely.' She grinned again, and then appeared once more to concentrate. ‘Who else? I can't think. There were heaps of patients booked in. I've left all their cards out so you can see who I've seen and what I've done.'

‘And…the patients in hospital? They need—' Mike was practically flabbergasted.

‘I've seen them, too,' she said blithely. ‘I let Mrs
Pritchard go home because she told me you'd promised she could today, and I couldn't see any reason to keep her longer. I decided to keep Hal Connor's drip in. It packed up about five a.m—that was when I checked on you—but I still think he needs the fluids.' She paused. ‘Oh, and Grandpa—'

‘He's OK?'

‘Yes. His electrolytes are almost back to normal and there's nerve function all along the affected side. And he's loving me working here.' She smiled her pleasure. ‘Which makes two of us. Me and him. So, how about you, Dr Llewellyn? Are you happy to have me working here?'

‘I don't seem to have a choice,' he said slowly, munching into toast without thinking. God, this felt good. Weird but good. To have a long sleep followed by breakfast…

The grey weight of exhaustion he'd been carrying had slipped from him and he felt ten years younger. He was confused, but at least now he wasn't bone-weary. ‘Is there anything you haven't done?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘What about what's happening at the hotel?'

Tessa's smile faded. ‘Yeah, well… Everything can't be good. But there's news from Melbourne. Les is settled at the burns unit at the Alfred. He has a long road ahead of him but his condition didn't deteriorate through the trip.'

‘But?' Mike could tell here was something else. Tessa's bright face had clouded.

‘I went down to what's left of the hotel at about seven this morning. They were pulling… Well, they
were pulling what may be the remains of Sam's body from the ashes. I've identified it as human remains and it was hard enough to do that. I've organised for him to be brought into the mortuary, but the formal identification…' She shrugged. ‘I'm afraid that might have to be up to you, Mike. You'll need dental records. Medical records… I don't know. I would have spared you that, but—'

‘Hell, you've done enough.'

‘No.' Tess shook her head. ‘I haven't done nearly enough.' She clasped her hands with the same restfulness he'd seen the night before on the ambulance trip to the fire, and her face grew earnest.

‘Mike, the more I see, the more I know this is my sort of medicine,' she said seriously. ‘In the States, medicine's so specialised. Even if I choose to do family medicine, I won't get to see anything like I saw this morning. I won't get to see surgery or gynaecology or trauma. But here I see so much. In one short morning I've seen it all.'

‘It can be pretty mind-deadening,' he told her flatly. ‘And it can be frightening. And sometimes it can be both. You're coping with coughs and colds and people's personal problems and life-threatening trauma all in the same day…'

She bit her lip and thought this through, and when she nodded he knew she was sure. ‘I know. I know it can be dreadful and I know it can be dreary,' she said finally. ‘But this is what I want. Probation or not, I want to work here, Mike. Regardless of Grandpa. This is where I want to be.'

‘Tessa…' He stared at her, troubled. He didn't
know the first thing about this woman. She seemed so sure, but he wasn't sure at all. All he did know of this woman scared him stupid.

‘I'm rushing you,' she said softly, standing up again. ‘Finish your breakfast, have another cup of coffee and think about it. You're on call for the hospital for the next couple of hours. That's another reason I'm waking you now. I've been invited to a football match this afternoon, and before that I'm off to do an obstetrician's house call.'

‘An obstetrician's…'

‘To Doris the pig,' she said cheerfully. ‘Doris should be up to receiving visitors by now. I'm taking the Polaroid to get baby snaps for Grandpa. I'll pass on your regards, shall I?'

‘Tess…'

‘Of course I shall,' she said warmly. ‘After your help in delivering all those babies, it'd surprise me if Doris hasn't named one of her sons Mike.'

She left him to his breakfast, and she left him feeling as stunned as he'd ever felt in his life before.

 

The day passed in a dream.

For the first time in Mike couldn't remember how long, he had little to do. He checked Tessa's medical records and found nothing to complain of. She'd been thorough and competent and careful, and there was nothing that he wouldn't have done himself. Baffled, he took Strop for a stroll down to the pharmacy to countersign Tessa's prescriptions.

‘Your new partner's a damned fine girl,' Ralph, the town's pharmacist, told him. ‘Our Wendy went in this
morning all stirred up because her periods are irregular. She's getting 'em every two months and she jumped at the chance of seeing a lady doctor.

‘Well, she's come home happy as a lark. Dr Westcott told her she'd have to be the luckiest fourteen-year-old girl in the district to get a period only every two months. It's what her mother's been telling her over and over, but do you think Wendy'd listen? But your Dr Westcott did the trick.'

The pharmacist sighed and dug his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat. ‘A woman doctor,' he said in satisfaction. ‘That's what this place needs. Plus…' He grinned. ‘I can read her handwriting. A woman doctor with legible handwriting. Make her sign on the dotted line this minute.'

Yeah, right…

Mike came out of the pharmacy still troubled by a sense of unreality. This wasn't happening.

There were the sound of car hooters from down by the river and he glanced at his watch. It was mid-afternoon. The local football game would be in full swing.

Football… ‘I've been invited to a football match,' Tess had said.

He paused in indecision. He had his mobile phone on his belt. The locals played rough and there were always one or two minor injuries, so any minute now the phone would buzz into life.

He didn't want to go back to the surgery.

‘I've been invited to a football match…'

‘What do you reckon, Strop? Do you feel like a football match?'

So Mike strolled the two blocks to the football field, telling himself all the time it was just to save the players the trouble of coming to the surgery. Not that he believed it for a minute.

The football competition here was a low-key, Australian Rules game. The ground had been marked out on the river flat, which meant whenever the river rose the games had to be cancelled. Four white posts were stuck in at each end of a roughly painted oval, and a players' tent had been erected for each team. There was also a beer and pie tent. That was it. As a stadium it left a bit to be desired, but what the locals lacked in facilities they made up for in enthusiasm.

There were cars parked all around the playing field. Saturday afternoon football here was a town ritual. The women watched from the cars, with Thermos flasks and picnic baskets wedged between them on the front seats. Many had travelled in from outlying farms, and this was their social contact for the week. The only way anyone knew they were watching football was when a goal was scored. Then the hooters blared out from every second car in the place.

The men were made of sterner stuff, though, than to stay in the cars. They didn't need the warmth—they left that to the women. Bellanor's male population spent the game clustered around the beer tent—a hundred or so males spread no further than carting distance for the next round.

The rest of the boundary was left to the kids and the teenagers.

First off, Mike released Strop from his lead. From past experience, Strop would either spend the match
hauling Mike's arm off, trying to reach the pie tent, or he'd spend the match staring soulfully at pie tent customers, so as far as Mike could figure there was no choice. ‘Don't eat too much,' he told Strop. ‘Any more than one pie and you're out of the car for a week.'

Strop gave his tail a majestic wave and departed at a waddle.

Strop-less, Mike made his way slowly around the ground toward the training tents. This was where he'd be needed, he told himself, trying hard not to keep a weather eye out for Tess.