Harlequin Medical Romance December 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (25 page)

Lorna had brought in sandwiches around midday. She'd eaten two. The other plus her untouched mug of coffee still sat on her bedside table.

Two days' rest. ‘That's enough,' she told herself and headed across to the bathroom and showered—just a little grateful for the hand rail—and then tugged on jeans and a T-shirt and pulled a comb through her curls.

Hamster was still under her bed. The rest of the house was in silence.

She ate her remaining sandwiches—yeah, she did have to be careful—checked her blood sugars and felt smug again and then headed to the kitchen.

No one.

There was a note from Lorna on the kitchen table.

I've had to go, Dr Hargreaves, but Dr Denver thinks you'll be okay. My number's on the pad by the phone if you need me. Ruby's staying at Talia's for a sleepover. Dr Denver has some emergency over at the hospital. He says help yourself to what you need and he'll see you as soon as he can. Fridge is full. Good luck.

She hardly needed
good luck. She opened the fridge and stared in and thought it would take a small army to eat their way through this.

She meandered through the empty house feeling a bit intrusive, a bit weird. It was still very much Hugo's parents' home, she thought, furnished and decorated over years of raising a family. There were pictures of Hugo and a girl who was evidently Grace as babies, as they grew up. There were pictures of high school graduations, Hugo's medical graduation. Happy snaps.

Though Polly could see the telltale signs of early depression on Grace's face as soon as she reached her teens. Hugo smiled obediently at the camera. Some of his smiles said he was long-suffering but Grace's smiles seemed forced.

As were the smiles Grace produced in later photos, taken with Ruby.

Depression...
Aagh.
It was a grey fog, thick sludge, permeating everything and destroying lives.

And now it had destroyed Hugo's.

But had it been destroyed? He'd had to leave Sydney, commit himself to his family.

It'd be the same if Polly had to stay in Sydney, commit herself to her family.

‘He has the bigger load to bear,' Polly said out loud, though then she thought of Hugo ruffling Ruby's hair and saw there would be compensations. And this did seem like an awesome place to live.

‘But people probably think that about the six-star places my parents want to cocoon me in,' she muttered and thought:
enough
.

What she needed was work. Or at least an introduction to work.

She thought back to the note:

Dr Denver has some emergency over at the hospital...

Work.
Excellent.

She found one of Hugo's white coats. It was a bit too big—okay, it was a lot too big, but with the sleeves rolled up she decided she looked almost professional.

‘See you later,' she told Hamster but Hamster heaved himself to his feet and padded determinedly after her.

‘Are you my minder?' she demanded and he wagged his tail and stuck close.

‘Has he told you to bite me if I'm not sensible?'

Hamster wagged some more and she sighed and gave up and headed across to the hospital, her minder heading after her.

CHAPTER NINE

S
URGEONS
WEREN
'
T
TRAINED
to cope with human conflict. Surgeons operated.

Yes, surgeons consulted pre-operatively. Yes, they visited their patients at their bedsides, but consultations were done within the confines of appointments, and patient visits were made with a nurse hovering close by, ready to whisk away all but the closest of friends or family.

Death, however, observed no such restrictions. Max Hurley had passed away peacefully in his sleep, aged ninety-seven. He'd been in the nursing home section of the hospital for the last twelve months, during which time his daughter Isobel had been a constant visitor, having nursed him at home for years. His wife had died ten years back. Hugo had assumed there was little other family.

Two hours after his death, he'd learned how wrong he was. A vast extended family had descended on the place like a swarm of locusts. Isobel, seventy years old and frail herself, was jammed into a chair at the edge of the room while her family railed around her.

One of the older men in the group looked almost ready to have a medical incident himself. He was red in the face and the veins on his forehead were bulging. ‘I can't believe it!' he was shouting. ‘He's left her the whole blasted farm. She's seventy. A spinster. What the hell...? It's a family farm. It's hard up against my place. The old man always intended the farms to be joined. We'll be contesting...'

‘There's no need!' another man snapped. ‘Isobel will be reasonable, won't you, Isobel?' The men were standing over her, obviously furious. ‘But, as for your farms being joined... We'll split, fair down the middle. You get half, Bert, and I'll get the other half. Isobel, we can organise you a nice little retirement unit in town...'

Isobel was surrounded by her family, but what a family! She had a buxom woman sitting on either side of her. One was even hugging her, but she looked...

Small. He could think of no better adjective. Her father's death seemed to have shrunk her.

Any man's death diminishes me...
It was a quote from John Donne and, looking down at the helpless Isobel, he thought, even though her dad had been almost a hundred, that diminishment was just as powerful.

‘Do you want everyone to leave?' he asked Isobel, thinking she needed time to be alone with her father, but she shook her head.

‘N...no. These are my family.'

Family. This was her call, but oh, he felt for her. Trapped by loving...

But then, suddenly, standing at the door was Polly. Her white coat reached her knees, with the sleeves rolled up two or three times. Her freckles stood out in her still pale face, accentuating the flame of her curls, but her green eyes were flashing professionalism—and determination.

She was wearing a stethoscope around her neck. A red one. It was inscribed, he thought, fascinated.
What the heck...?

Who had a personally inscribed stethoscope?

‘I'm sorry but I need you all to leave,' she said and he stopped thinking about personalised stethoscopes and stared at her in amazement.

He'd thought of her as small, frail, ill.

She sounded like a boom box with the volume turned up full.

‘I'm Dr Hargreaves and I'm here to organise the death certificate,' she said so loudly that she cut across arguments, squashing the gathering that was threatening to become a riot. ‘Dr Denver has asked me to confirm his diagnosis and I have limited time. I need the immediate next of kin. Who's that?'

After a moment's stunned silence Isobel put up a timid hand.

Polly nodded. ‘You can stay. Everyone else must leave.'

‘Why?' the oldest of the arguing men demanded. ‘What the...?'

‘If you wish to avoid a coroner's inquest and possible autopsy then this is what has to happen.' Polly glanced at her watch. ‘My time is precious. Could you leave now?'

‘You're the doc who got bitten by a snake.'

‘Yes, which has pushed my workload to crazy limits before Dr Denver leaves on vacation. Go now, please, or I'll be forced to request an independent assessment from Sydney.'

‘When can we come back?'

‘When I've made my assessment and, since I've never treated this patient, it may be a while. I suggest...' She hesitated and looked at Isobel, and then at Hugo.

‘This is Isobel,' Hugo told her, starting to enjoy himself.

‘I suggest Isobel will tell you when it's possible,' Polly continued smoothly. ‘Meanwhile, my apologies for the inconvenience but you have two minutes to say your goodbyes before I must start work.'

‘We're family,' the closest guy muttered and Polly nodded.

‘I can see that, and my condolences, but I'm afraid Isobel needs to face this alone.'

And then she stood back and crossed her arms and waited.

She was superb, Hugo thought. If he didn't know she was talking nonsense—in truth he'd already signed the death certificate—he'd have been totally taken in.

‘Why do you need to worry about a death certificate?' one of the men demanded. ‘He just died of old age.'

‘That's nonsense,' Polly snapped. ‘How old are you?'

‘I...seventy-two.' There was something about Polly that said
Don't mess with me
, and the guy clearly got it.

‘So you're older than your prescribed three score years and ten. If you drop dead now, surely you'd expect us to dignify your death with a diagnosis. Not just dismiss it as old age.'

‘Yes, but...'

‘But what? Do extra years mean fewer rights, less respect?'

‘No, but...'

‘Then please leave and let me get on with my work.' And, to Hugo's further astonishment, she stared at her watch and started toe tapping. Less than one minute later the room was clear and the door closed behind them.

As the door closed Isobel gave a muffled sob and crossed to the bed and hugged her father.

How had Polly understood this? Hugo thought, stunned. How had she figured so fast that Isobel desperately needed time alone? That sometimes family wasn't wanted.

‘We'll come back in an hour,' he said gently and touched Isobel's shoulder. ‘Or earlier, if you want. The bell's here. Just press it if you need it.'

Isobel's tear-stained face turned up to them. ‘Thank you. I didn't think... When I got the call to say he was going I rang Henry to ask him to feed the dogs and suddenly they were all here. I didn't even know they knew the contents of the will. And...'

‘And it doesn't matter,' Hugo said gently. ‘All those things can be sorted later. I think it'd be a good idea if we got Ron Dawson—he's your dad's lawyer, isn't he?—to take responsibility for any questions. If anyone asks, just say Ron's in charge. No more questions, Isobel. No more worry. For now it's simply time to say goodbye to your dad.'

And he ushered Polly out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Wherever Isobel's obnoxious family were, they were no longer here. The silence after the din was almost tangible.

Joe came round the corner from the nurses' station, his arms above his head in a gesture of triumph. ‘You're a champ, Doc Hargreaves,' he boomed. ‘A clean knockout. You can come and work here any day.'

‘Did you set that up?' Hugo asked faintly and Joe grinned.

‘All I did was tell Polly that you and Isobel were surrounded by a rabid pack of mercenary relatives and she went off like a firecracker. I listened from out in the corridor. Did you ever hear anything like it? A couple of them asked how long before they could go back in and I said our Doc Hargreaves is known for thorough work. A detailed examination, pathology, maybe even scans. It could take until tomorrow.'

‘Scans...' Hugo managed and Polly grinned happily up at Joe and Joe high-fived her with her good hand and suddenly Hugo was left feeling a bit...

Jealous? Jealous of his fifty-year-old head nurse high-fiving his colleague? He had to be kidding.

‘Of course, scans,' Polly said happily. ‘You have to scan a patient very thoroughly when you're looking for cause of death.' She tugged up her jeans and held up her still swollen foot. ‘If you hadn't scanned me you might have missed the snake bite. See? Two little holes. Scans are vital and they can take as much time as Isobel needs.'

Hugo choked. Joe guffawed and high-fived Polly again then a bell rang down the corridor and Joe took himself off and Hugo was left with Polly.

She was amazing.

She was gorgeous!

‘So,' she said, turning brisk again. ‘Are you going to show me your hospital?' And she was back to being a colleague, purely professional, except her coat was too big and her hair was too red and her toenails were crimson and...

And she was a colleague.

‘Sure,' he said and managed to do a decent professional tour of his hospital without once—or maybe once but that was professional, as she bumped her leg on a trolley and he had to make sure the swollen ankle was still okay—looking at those amazing toenails.

And she was terrific. Any doubts he might have had about her ability to care for the medical needs of Wombat Valley were put to rest fast. She was just...right.

He now had four patients in his nursing home beds—yes, Max had just died, but over the last twenty-four hours he'd had two new admissions. Christmas often did that. The family was heading away for the holiday, Dad couldn't cope on his own and the easiest solution was respite care. Or a lonely senior citizen was suddenly overwhelmed with the memories of Christmases past and got chest pain or stopped eating, or even forgot normal care and fell...

Hazel Blacksmith was one such lady. She'd fallen chopping her firewood last night. Her hip had proven to be badly bruised rather than broken but she lay in bed, a ball of misery, refusing to be comforted.

But Polly didn't acknowledge misery. ‘Hey, how lucky are you?' Polly demanded as Hugo introduced her and explained the diagnosis. ‘Just a bruised hip? If someone made me chop wood I'd probably end up suffering from amputation from the knee down.'

‘I've chopped wood all me life,' Hazel told her in a firmer voice than Hugo had heard since her neighbour had brought her in. ‘I don't cut meself.'

‘And you don't get bitten by snakes either, I'll bet,' Polly said. ‘Wise woman. Look at this.' And she stuck her leg in the air for Hazel to see her snake bite.

‘I heard you got bit,' Hazel said cautiously.

‘It was Dr Denver's fault.' Polly cast a darkling look at Hugo. ‘He trapped the snake with his shenanigans in the truck, so when I went to rescue them it was ready to attack.'

And Hazel's lips twitched. ‘Shenanigans...'

‘Men,' Polly said. ‘You can't trust them to do anything right. Holding snakes by the tail is the least of it. Would you mind if I had a look at your bruise? I've much gentler hands than Dr Denver.'

They were gentle. Hugo watched as Polly performed a careful examination of the old lady—a scan? She gently probed and teased and by the end of the examination the old lady was smitten and Hugo was getting close himself.

What a gem! He would be able to go away for Christmas and leave the hospital in her charge.

But...why did going away for Christmas suddenly not seem as desirable?

‘Are you staying in for Christmas?' Polly asked cheerfully as she tucked Hazel's bedclothes back around her and Hazel looked brighter than she had since Hugo had admitted her.

‘Dr Denver thinks I should.'

‘Then I concur,' Polly said warmly. ‘But I need to warn you, the Christmas dinner menu here is looking a bit dodgy. However, we have three more days. I'll see what I can do. I'll ring my mother's chef and get some advice.'

‘Your mother has a chef?' Hazel sounded stunned.

And Hugo was stunned as well. Not only did this woman come from a privileged background, she was happily admitting it.

‘Doesn't everyone's mother?' Polly said happily. ‘Left to my own devices, I'm a beans on toast girl, but this is Christmas. We all have to make some sacrifices, and ringing Raoul might be the least of them. Just as long as he promises not to tell my mother where I am.'

* * *

She wasn't making
sacrifices at all, Polly thought happily as she sat on the veranda that evening. She was about to have a very good time.

Her ankle still hurt. Her hand ached, but not so much as to mess with her equanimity. This was a beautiful little hospital, full of easy patients, and she was pretty sure she could cope.

Her silver tree was up in the living room, surrounded by origami gifts and a few real ones as well.

Hamster was lying by her side on the top step. He was due to head back to his temporary carer's but she intended to have a word with Hugo about that. She wouldn't mind Hamster staying here for Christmas as well.

She'd do a bit of online shopping, she decided. If she paid enough for express postage, she could get heaps of good stuff here. Lots of treats for her coterie of oldies in the hospital.

Would Isobel like to come too? Maybe she could take her tree over to the hospital and have Christmas dinner over there?

Maybe she could wear her little red alpine dress and the wig with the blonde pigtails. And her crimson boots and the Santa hat. She just happened to have packed them.

She grinned. Three suitcases... A girl could never be prepared enough.

The screen door opened behind her and Hugo emerged carrying two mugs of tea. She nudged over on her step, heaving Hamster to the side as well, and he sat down beside her.

Ma and Pa Kettle, she thought, and the feeling was sort of...okay.

More than okay. Good.

She liked this man.

Actually...

Um...don't go there.
He'd be gone before Christmas. He'd come back in the New Year, she'd do a quick handover and then she'd have no reason to see him again.