Return of Dr Maguire

‘Oh, God! Sorry! I fell asleep after my shower...forgot you were coming.’ His austere expression changed to a wry grin. ‘I’d have put something on to hide my modesty if I’d known it was you.’

Christa flicked a glance over the lean and athletic body before her. Good God, was ever a man in such superb shape! She wondered crossly why the sight of his bare chest should affect her when it was something she saw routinely in the surgery—but, then, of course, not many of her patients had torsos like Lachlan Maguire!

She tore her glance away and said blandly, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before... If it’s inconvenient, I’ll come back another time.’

‘No time like the present...’ He held the door open and motioned her in. ‘If you’ll wait in the kitchen I’ll put some clothes on—won’t be a minute.’

He stepped away as Christa passed him and she caught the faint fresh smell of soap and shaving lotion. She watched as he bounded up the stairs, holding onto the towel, and grimaced to herself when she remembered the way she’d harangued him about being nothing but the scum of the earth! That was the last thing he looked...he had to be the sexiest male on two legs that she’d seen for a very long time. Not, she reminded herself sharply, that she was at all interested in sexy males—they were too sure of themselves, too confident by half and far too duplicitous.

She sat down in the ramshackle kitchen with Titan curled up on an old rug under the window. There were ancient cupboards with broken hinges, an old-fashioned stove on four cast-iron legs and a few dusty shelves with bottles and jam jars jostling for space. Isobel had been a lonely person, living on her own in this big house, and patently had had no interest in cooking if the look of the kitchen was anything to go by. It was almost shocking that she had allowed the house to get into this state—odd, too, when she had been a well-organised and efficient doctor.

If Lachlan was married and came to live in Errin Bridge, how would his wife take to living in a time warp like this? Indeed, would she relish the thought of leaving Australia and coming up to a Scottish backwater?

Engrossed in her thoughts, Christa didn’t notice Lachlan at first when he appeared at the door. She was gazing out of the window, her shiny bob of auburn hair framing a profile of a determined little chin and a tip-tilted nose. She was feisty with decided opinions—rather like he was, he acknowledged. He guessed she wasn’t about to defer to him in any discussion about the practice.

‘I’ve looked in the drinks cupboard,’ he said from the doorway. ‘All I can find is whisky and more whisky... Would that be OK?’

Christa jumped with surprise and looked round at him, relieved to see that he was now more modestly attired in jeans and a T-shirt under a corduroy jerkin. ‘Yes, please, with a splash of water.’

She watched him as he poured out the drink, his movements neat, unfussy. He handed her a tumbler and she twirled the amber liquid around in her glass, watching the light catch it, and then looked at him warily.

‘So. When are you going to decide on whether or not to follow your mother’s wishes?’

‘I’ve almost decided, although I do have some matters to discuss with the solicitor,’ he admitted. ‘If those matters can be resolved and I can find a way to pay for the repairs to the house, then I’m tempted to come back.’

‘That’s a big decision—to give up your life in Australia,’ commented Christa. ‘Did you like it there?’

‘Certainly I did...’ A slight change in expression flickered across his face. ‘But I’ve been there a good while and perhaps it’s time to come back to my roots.’ He looked across the rolling fields to the side of the house and the sea beyond, lacy with white breakers, and smiled. ‘Who wouldn’t want to live in the beautiful surroundings of Errin Bridge?’

‘And are you married—would your wife mind you moving away from Australia?’

Lachlan laughed. ‘No—I’ve no ties, I’m entirely free... And you? Are you someone’s wife or mother?’

Christa took a gulp of the whisky and it trailed fire down her throat. ‘Oh, no,’ she said airily. ‘I’m not into commitment—far too much to do with my life first.’

‘How very wise,’ he murmured.

Christa changed the subject abruptly—she certainly didn’t want to dwell on the past, especially her relationship with Colin Maitland. She drew out her list of bullet points from her bag and looked at Lachlan challengingly.

‘Now, can we get down to business? I have to say bluntly I’m not happy that you can just leap into the practice here as senior partner—I can’t believe that Isobel wouldn’t understand how I’d feel about it all.’

Lachlan put his hands up. ‘Hey! Not so fast! You have a habit of jumping to conclusions, don’t you? I’m certainly not proposing to leap into anything, but if I’m to have full responsibility for the buildings, I need to have at least an equal say.’

‘Fair enough...but, to be blunt, I’d like to know what experience you have. I know nothing about you.’

‘Of course!’ The austere face broke into a grin. ‘I’ve been with the Flying Doctor service in Australia for a few years, and I’m quite brilliant at small ops...a dab hand at dealing with every imaginable situation, from snake bites and childbirth to extracting teeth and acute dehydration...’

Christa couldn’t resist smiling at him, her cheeks dimpling. He certainly had all the Maguire charm of persuasion, and underneath that sometimes dour expression he seemed to have a sense of humour. But there were still questions as to why he’d leave his life in Australia so easily.

‘You have an interesting job there—why give it all up, even if your mother has left you Ardenleigh?’ she asked curiously.

He swirled the whisky round in his glass, the smile fading from his face. ‘Time to move on, I guess. I’d been thinking of leaving for some time—it was a great life, but it wasn’t Errin Bridge. I think I always hoped to come back here some day.’

But not while your mother was alive, thought Christa, puzzled as to why that should be. She tapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. ‘We’d have to get on with each other...’

A raised eyebrow. ‘You’re bound to be able to get on with an easygoing guy like me!’

She looked at Lachlan sardonically. ‘You think? Suppose we don’t, and incredibly I find you’re impossible to work with? I’m certainly not going to be the one leaving the practice.’

‘Let’s give it six months—if the incredible happens and you find you can’t work with me, then I shall go!’ He took another swig of his drink. ‘I’ll give you the e-mail address of my boss near Sydney—I can guarantee he’ll give me a good reference.’

Christa nodded coolly. She wasn’t about to go overboard and welcome him with open arms yet. ‘I imagine it will be very different from the Australian Outback. You ought to know something about the practice here...’’

‘People still have the same illnesses, I suppose. What about local hospitals?’

‘St Luke’s, about eight miles away, is the nearest, but we have a small cottage hospital in the town, mostly for post-operative use when patients living in outlying districts have no one to look after them. And we have a minor injuries unit at the surgery.’

‘Sounds good. Anything else?’

‘You’d have to be good at walking up mountains. We’re the back-up team if things go wrong up there—and you’d be amazed how often that happens in the summer with the tourists.’

He raised an impressed eyebrow. ‘You’re a Jill of all trades, then. I remember going out to help before I went to medical school. I enjoyed it, so you can count me in.’

‘You sound as if you’ve made up your mind!’

‘I suppose I have,’ he said cautiously. ‘A germ of an idea came to me when I was resting upstairs about how I might raise some money to restore Ardenleigh House—and that makes me feel quite excited about the future here.’

‘So that’s a yes, is it?’

He nodded and smiled. ‘Probably. As I said, there are just one or two things I need to clarify, but I think they can be resolved.’

‘Then we’ll need to hammer out some sort of an agreement for the partnership...’ A moment’s misgiving as Christa flicked a glance at his self-assertive face—she could imagine he’d want his own way on quite a few matters, and she certainly wouldn’t give in easily! ‘When can you start? How much notice do you have to give?’

‘I’m due a few weeks’ holiday—I’ll use that in lieu of notice.’

‘What about your stuff—won’t you have to go back and pack?’

He shrugged. ‘I travel light so I’ve brought all I need. I’ve a friend who’ll arrange to have things shipped out if I need them.’

Christa bit her lip. Was she being foolish, leaping into work with someone she knew nothing about? Then she gave a mental shrug. The man was here and available and she was desperate for help, and in any case how could she stop him? She’d just have to hope he was efficient.

‘I’ll see you, then, in a week, with the proviso of a six months’ probationary period to see if it works, and that we’ll be equal partners. I’ll put it in writing.’ She looked at her watch and stood up. ‘I’ve got to fly and see my mother. I usually pop in on a Sunday evening.’

‘Your mother still lives in the area?’

‘Oh, yes. She has a little flat near me and she loves it there. She’s made a good life for herself since my father died.’

Christa got up and Lachlan went with her to the door. It was getting dark now and the courtyard light made deep shadows against the walls. Drops of rain had started to fall, and there was a soft, sweet smell of damp earth on the cool air. Autumn was on its way, and soon the soft purple heather and greens of the glens would be replaced by sparkling frost and snow on the hills.

He’d missed those definitive seasons, and although he’d had a ball in Australia, there had been times when a certain tune, the waft of scent of the sea, or a Scottish voice passing him on the street, would stir a longing in him to be back in Errin Bridge. He should have come back before, he thought sadly, and not allowed his stubborn nature to dictate his life.

Titan, standing beside Christa, suddenly stiffened, the hackles on his neck rising. Then he gave a low growl before breaking into a cacophony of barking.

‘What is it, old boy? Calm down...’

Titan took no notice and suddenly darted across the yard, still barking at full pitch.

‘There’s someone there,’ said Lachlan in a low voice, putting a restraining hand on Christa’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if this turns out to be one of your pesky thieves.’

CHAPTER TWO

THEY STOOD FOR a moment on the doorstep, looking towards the barns, the outside light from the surgery casting a beam across the courtyard and the ladder that Lachlan had been using. It was raining heavily now and the sound of it drummed on the roof and made huge puddles across the yard.

Then above that sound there was a muffled crash as if something heavy had fallen. A scream came from one of the outbuildings, and a hooded youth ran out into the beam of light, the raindrops silver as they landed on his frightened face. He looked wildly around and then darted back into the building. Titan barked excitedly and rushed after him.

Christa drew in a sharp breath. ‘I know that boy—it’s Carl Burton. He’s a patient! What’s he doing in the barn?’

‘I’m not waiting to find out,’ growled Lachlan. ‘Is there a torch anywhere?’

He ran quickly across the yard and Christa flew to the surgery, scrabbling round in a drawer to find a torch, and instinct telling her to grab the emergency medical bag she kept locked in a cupboard by her desk. She was back in the barn inside two minutes.

The light in the outbuilding was dim, but in the torch’s beam they saw a boy lying on the floor, ominously still, his legs splayed at an awkward angle. His face was so pale that the large gash over his forehead looked as if it had been painted on. A piece of wood had fallen from the roof and was wedged above him at an angle. Carl Burton crouched by the victim’s side and he looked up at Christa and Lachlan with a mixture of fear and bravado on his face.

‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Lachlan, darting forward and pushing Carl out of the way. ‘Let me see what the damage is.’

Carl backed away from the victim. ‘Is he dead?’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Has he been killed?’

Lachlan put his fingers on the boy’s neck to feel his carotid artery. He raised his eyes to Christa’s questioning look and nodded. ‘He’s still with us...better get some help, PDQ.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Carl blurted out. ‘Greg saw that ladder. I told him not to climb on the roof, but he did. He was being stupid, standing on one foot and waving his arms about. Then he...he...dropped, like a stone...’ He stopped, putting his hands over his face.

‘That’s why he’s got to be treated as quickly as possible.’ Lachlan’s voice was brusque. ‘It’s lucky we were here.’

Christa pulled her mobile out of her pocket and flicked it open, punching out numbers. She walked over to the doorway as she spoke, glancing back at Lachlan bent over the victim’s body. Christa felt an almighty surge of thankfulness that she wasn’t alone in having to cope with things.

‘Ambulance and the police services, please—Dr Lennox here from the Ardenleigh Practice in Errin Bridge. I need the air ambulance for a serious leg, head and possible spinal injury to a youth who’s fallen from a roof just by the practice. My colleague and I will try and stabilise him, but he needs hospitalisation without delay. If you could inform St Luke’s to have an orthopaedic surgeon and anaesthetist on standby, please.’

‘We’ll have to do our best until they get here,’ observed Lachlan. He pulled back the upper lids of the boy’s eyes. ‘Pupils dilated,’ he murmured to himself, then examined the victim’s body, checking his head and other visible injuries. ‘He’s not bleeding too much from this head wound...’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Carl looked up at Lachlan hopefully.

‘I’m afraid it’s not the same as just banging your head on a cupboard. Hitting your head at speed can give rise to arterial bleeding, and he’s had a tremendous crack to his forehead, besides his possible back and neck injuries and a broken leg.’

Christa bit her lip. Had the boy’s spine survived the impact of falling from the roof? Could they keep him alive until the paramedics arrived with their specialist equipment? She looked closely at the young boy’s face, where a bruise was developing around the gash on his forehead.

She drew in her breath. ‘Oh, God, I know this guy too...he’s Gregory Marsh, aged about sixteen.’ Her eyes met Lachlan’s. ‘Are you thinking acute subdural haematoma?’

He nodded and bent low over the boy, saying clearly, ‘Do you know where you are, Gregory?’

After a few seconds the boy whispered, ‘I’m in the barn, aren’t I?’

‘That’s right, Gregory, well done. Now, where does it hurt? Can you tell us?’

The boy’s eyes fluttered open, his breath rasping, his face contorted with pain. ‘My leg...bloody hell, it’s my leg,’ he muttered.

‘You can feel your leg, then?’ A measure of relief in Christa’s voice.

‘Of course I can feel my effing leg...’ he croaked. ‘It’s agony...’

‘Let’s look at this leg,’ said Lachlan briskly. ‘Can you cut his jeans?’

Christa used a pair of scissors from the bag to cut the leg of the jeans very gently from the distorted leg. They both looked down at the limb, which was gashed and swollen. Protruding through the gash was a white piece of bone.

Christa grimaced. ‘A compound fracture, not very nice...’

‘Poor blighter—it needs splinting.’

‘That’s OK. We’ve got some we use for the mountain rescue work. I’ll get them.’

‘Give me your bag of tricks and I’ll put some sterile dressings on these open wounds, and give him a ten-mil shot of morphine for the pain.’ Lachlan looked down reassuringly at Gregory and laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. It was a gesture not lost on Christa. Physical touch was an incredibly important and soothing thing, and reassurance could reduce the severity of shock—it was as important a medical tool as any conventional treatment.

‘Don’t worry, Gregory, you’re in good hands and we’ll soon have you in hospital.’

Christa went to get the collapsible splints and returned swiftly, snapping the splint joints into place and laying them out. The two doctors worked as gently as possible to immobilise the leg by strapping the limb to the splint, but Lachlan kept flicking a wary look at the beam above them, jammed across most of Gregory’s body. Christa heard him suck in his breath.

‘Bloody hell—can you hear that beam creaking?’ he muttered. ‘The whole damn thing could fall on top of us. It has to be moved.’

‘I don’t know how...’ began Christa.

He turned to Carl, watching them mutely, his face as white as a ghost’s. ‘I tell you what, Carl—you can help me try and push it out of the way.’

‘Don’t even think of doing that!’ Christa’s voice was sharp. ‘The helicopter will be here soon—’

‘And that could be too late. If I could get underneath it, I could lift it out of that gap in the wall and with Carl’s support we could push it to one side.’

She stared crossly at Lachlan. ‘Suppose you get crushed?’

‘If we wait for that damned air ambulance to come, the boy will need more than a spinal brace and a leg splint.’

Christa got up from Greg’s side and pulled at Lachlan’s arm. ‘Do you want there to be two casualties, for heaven’s sake?’

He shook her arm away irritably. ‘I’ll be OK. We haven’t got a choice—look, it’s swaying again...’

For a second they looked at each other stubbornly then Christa shrugged, acknowledging that Lachlan was right. They couldn’t just ignore the situation—something had to be attempted. She looked around the barn desperately. There were some old packing cases and dust sheets by the wall near Carl. She began dragging them across to Gregory and shouted to Carl.

‘Come on! Help me get these over Gregory to protect him before you start tampering with the damn beam—put the sheets over him and then the packing cases like a cage. It might just take the shock if the beam falls.’

‘Why can’t we just pull him away from it?’ asked Carl.

‘Because,’ said Christa in a low voice, ‘we don’t know what damage Gregory’s done to his spine. If he’s damaged it in the fall, we could sever it.’

They worked feverishly to construct some sort of barrier between Gregory and the chunk of wood wedged over him, then Lachlan slid his body underneath it to the side of the injured boy, so that he could try and shift the beam from where it was so precariously perched. There was a tense silence: Gregory’s eyes fluttered open again and he focussed them on Christa.

‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.

Christa’s voice was calm. ‘Nothing to worry about, Gregory, just making sure the beam’s secure. Everything’s under control.’

She hoped devoutly that that was the case, and indeed something told her that if anyone could handle an emergency like this, Lachlan Maguire could. She watched him tensely as he manoeuvred the beam, calm but concentrated, no sign of panic. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised by his competence—someone who worked with the Flying Doctor service had to be able to think on his feet, quite an asset for someone she was going to work with.

Lachlan pulled the rag from his pocket and wound it round his hand to try and get more purchase. ‘Come on, Carl—I know you’re in shock, but you’ve got to help me, for your mate’s sake.’ His voice was tough, uncompromising. ‘Give me a hand to try and shift this. While I push it up, get your arms round it to pull.’

Both men grunted with the effort of trying to shift the wood away from over Gregory’s body, and eventually, with a final push and a shout of warning from Lachlan, it fell harmlessly to one side.

‘Thank God,’ whispered Christa, blowing out her cheeks and closing her eyes in relief. Lachlan climbed stiffly to his feet with a relieved grin and dusted his hands together.

‘There you are—nothing to it!’ He went across to Carl. ‘Thank you for helping there,’ he said quietly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you. Now, tell me how all this started.’

Carl hung his head and muttered, ‘We...we were trying to get at the guttering—we saw the ladder and Greg thought it would be easy. I told him not to, but he started pretending he was a high-wire act and just fell from the beam up there.’

‘Were you trying to nick the lead?’

‘We didn’t think nobody would miss it. We didn’t mean any harm, we just needed a bit of cash...’ The boy started to shake at the memory of the accident, wrapping his arms round his thin body, rocking slightly on his heels.

Lachlan looked at Carl’s white face. ‘You feel all right?’

The boy shook his head helplessly as if unable to express just how he felt. ‘I...I just can’t believe it... Seeing it happen...’

His voice petered out, not equal to describing what he’d just seen, and Lachlan nodded, recognising all the signs of violent emotional shock in the boy. What Carl had witnessed had happened with appalling swiftness, with no time for him to prepare or adjust to the situation. His senses were stunned by the events and Lachlan recognised all the signs of ‘onlooker reaction’. He put his arm round Carl’s shoulder and drew him to the wall.

‘I want you to sit down here. Your body’s got a touch of shock, just as much as if you’d had a physical injury. After a nice hot cup of sweet tea you’ll feel much better.’

The boy’s face relaxed slightly. He hadn’t been expecting any kind words, but they helped to calm him, bring back something of normality to his fractured emotional state. There’d be plenty of condemnation later, thought Lachlan wryly.

Christa attached an oximeter peg to Gregory’s finger to get a readout of his vital signs.

‘What’s it like?’ said Lachlan.

Christa grimaced and murmured, ‘BP’s low, eighty over fifty. Not surprising, and his pulse is thready. How’s the pain, Greg?’

The boy stirred slightly but didn’t speak, and Lachlan looked at his watch.

‘How long are they going to be?’ he growled.

Then through the beating of the rain on the roof there was the sudden clatter of a helicopter’s rotors overhead, the sound increasing in volume as it descended somewhere near the surgery. Christa sent up a silent prayer—they’d arrived just in the nick of time.

‘Where will they land?’ asked Lachlan, as he and Christa exchanged relieved glances.

‘There’s a field beyond the woods at the end of the garden, they’ll put down there. It’ll only take them a few minutes to get here now.’

Lachlan got to his feet and went to the door to meet them, and very soon three men in bright orange outfits and luminous jerkins with ‘Doctor’ and ‘Paramedic’ labels across them came running across the courtyard. Lachlan gave a quick résumé of Gregory’s visible injuries and what he and Christa had done so far to stabilise him.

‘He’ll get a full body scan, and the theatre’s on standby,’ said the doctor accompanying them. ‘He was damn lucky that he had you two near him when he decided to do his sky-walking exploits.’

The paramedics set up a drip and strapped a spinal board on Gregory, with an oxygen mask over his face, and Carl started to sidle surreptitiously towards the door. One of the paramedics stopped him, looking at his pale face and trembling hands.

‘Have you hurt yourself?’ he enquired.

‘No. I’m OK.’ The voice was sullen, uncooperative.

‘Why don’t you come with us for a check-up, eh?’

A vehement shake of the head. ‘I’m OK, I tell you. I’m going home.’ He jerked his head in Gregory’s direction. ‘He’ll be OK now, won’t he? You don’t need me.’

‘Oh, yes, we do, my friend.’ A burly policeman had appeared at the barn door and stood in front of the boy. ‘We need a few names and addresses, young man. A little bit of information as to how this happened, if you please.’