The Spice of Life

The Spice of Life

Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

KATHLEEN HENNESSY was spoiling for a fight.

She had just spent a weekend at home in Belfast dutifully admiring the latest Hennessy grandchild and enduring countless little digs about good Catholic girls and settling down to raise a family instead of racketing about the world enjoying herself—as if it was such a sin to enjoy life, for God’s sake, she thought angrily, and anyway six years as Sister in the accident and emergency department of the Audley Memorial in Suffolk hardly constituted racketing! Anybody would think she was a promiscuous little tart, the way her family reproached her for her single status …

All except Maria. She understood—mainly because she was only twenty-six and already had four children and another on the way. She had had such a promising career as a physio, Kathleen thought crossly, and now she was trapped at home with her children while her husband powered quietly on up the career ladder, leaving her behind.

And nothing wrong with it at all, if that was what was right for you, but it wasn’t right for Maria, and it sure as eggs wasn’t right for Kath!

She turned her little car precisely into a parking place in the hospital car park, climbed out and slammed the door. Damned dictators! Why couldn’t they just understand that she didn’t want to be married and settled with umpteen kids and a mortgage up to the sky and no life to call her own?

Selfish, they’d called her. OK. That was fine. So she was selfish. Perhaps that was why she worked the hours she did in the most gruelling part of the hospital, picking up the pieces—literally, sometimes—and putting them back together if possible, consoling distraught relatives if not.

‘They probably think I’m still carrying bedpans all day!’ she said to no one in particular, and locked her car door with a vicious twist.

As she did so she glanced towards the entrance of A and E, checking automatically for Jim Harris’s car—except it wouldn’t be there, she remembered with a twinge of regret. Jim had left, moved on to London and was heading up a new Rapid Response Unit there in connection with HEMS, the Helicopter Emergency Medical Service.

She wondered what his replacement would be like. Well, they’d find out soon, she thought, glancing at her watch, and then stared in amazement as a heavy black motorbike cruised lazily into the consultant’s slot and stopped.

‘Well, of all the nerve!’ she muttered, and, yanking her keys out of the door, she shoved them into her bag and marched across the car park, head held high.

‘Excuse me, you can’t leave that there!’ she said firmly, and looked him straight in the eye.

Her first mistake. Even through the streaky visor she could see that he had the most mesmerising eyes—laughing eyes—laughing at her. She looked hastily away—and found her eyes glued to a body that had no business being so magnetically attractive.

He was still sitting astride the bike, balancing it with his long, lean legs tautly encased in black leather. Hell, the whole man was tautly encased in black leather! His body flexed as he hauled the heavy bike up on to the centre stand, and her heart jerked and accelerated to a steady two hundred beats a minute. Well, that was what it felt like.

Ridiculous! She dragged her eyes up and watched as, unhurriedly, he stripped off his heavy gloves and laid them across the bike before lifting his helmet off and balancing it in front of him. His hair was dark, almost black, rumpled by the helmet but unruly anyway, and a heavy stubble covered his jaw, lending him a rakish and piratical air. His lips were firm and sensual—and twitching.

Ignoring the kick of her heart as she met his eyes again without the intervention of the visor, she tried again.

‘You can’t leave your bike here, it’s the consultant’s parking space! If he’s needed urgently and he can’t find anywhere to park, he could waste precious minutes while someone’s lying dying for want of his attention!’

A dark, slender brow arched tauntingly above the laughing grey eyes. Holy Mary, he had lovely eyes! She forced herself to concentrate.

‘Aren’t you being rather melodramatic?’ he said in a deep, cultured voice with a deceptively lazy lilt to it. It made her toes curl just listening to him, and perversely that made her even angrier.

‘No, I’m not, and if you knew the first damn thing about Accident and Emergency you would know I wasn’t!’ she snapped.

He inclined his head in a cheeky little salute and grinned. ‘I concede to your superior knowledge, Sister,’ he murmured.

Oh, that voice!

‘Good,’ she said, and was disgusted to notice that her voice was softening. She firmed it up. ‘So, please move your bike.’

His lips twitched. ‘I really don’t think—’

‘Are you going to move it, or am I going to contact the hospital security staff and get them to move it for you?’

The smile blossomed on his lips and, lifting his hand, he coiled a lock of her hair around his finger, drawing her closer. ‘You know, Irish,’ he said softly, his voice like raw silk sliding over her senses, ‘with a temper like that you really ought to have red hair …’

For a full second she was too stunned to move, but then she slapped his hand away, and, drawing herself up to her full five feet four, she glared at him furiously.

‘That just about does it!’ she hissed. Spinning on her heel, she stalked away with her head in the air.

In the midst of the morning rush-hour his laughter drifted after her, curling round her senses and inflaming her still further.

She marched into A and E, slapping the swing doors out of the way with the palm of her hand, and turned smartly into the cloakroom. Two nurses in there straightened away from the walls, murmured, ‘Good morning, Sister,’ and faded into the corridor.

Kathleen turned and studied herself in the mirror. ‘Red hair, indeed!’ she muttered. ‘Rude man.’ In fact, there was a trace of red when the sun was on it, but she didn’t want to dwell on that at the moment! No, it was plain old dark brown, cut in a blunt bob at her chin, easy to keep neat and tidy—unlike his wild tangle that was almost black, except at the temples where it was streaked with grey.

To match his eyes, she thought, and her own lost focus as she remembered the strange way the colour had seemed to change as he laughed. Like pebbles underwater, flickering with the light.

Yuck. She’d be reciting poetry next!

Her own eyes were a muddy green, and just now they were spitting fire, like a little cat. In fact it was a wonder there wasn’t smoke pouring out of her ears!

But, my God, he did look good in all that leather gear …

She turned away from the mirror with a sound of disgust. Imagine getting turned on by a biker! He was probably smothered in tattoos, for heaven’s sake! She ruthlessly suppressed a little shiver of curiosity. Perhaps her family were right; maybe it was time she settled down.

She took her frilly cap out of the locker and skewered it to her hair with the pins, adjusting it until she was satisfied that it was absolutely correct. Nothing got past Sister Hennessy that wasn’t correct—including That Man!

She glanced at her watch and pulled a face. There wasn’t time to report the bike to the security staff before hand over. She left the cloakroom and went to her office, took the report from the night sister and then went out of the office towards the nursing station.

However she didn’t get there. One of the nurses she had seen in the cloakroom was standing in the middle of the corridor, flushed pink and grinning like an idiot, while That Man lounged on one leg in all his taut leather and chatted her up.

Enraged, she marched up to them.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but you aren’t allowed in this area. It’s staff only. Nurse, are you here for a reason?’

The girl blushed even pinker, and stood up straight. ‘Oh—yes, Sister. I’m starting on A and E today.’

Kathleen eyed her up and down. ‘Are you, indeed? Well, you’d better come with me. The exit’s that way, sir,’ she added pointedly, and then marched the nurse into the CSSD store.

‘Right, young lady, there are a few things you need to know about how I run this unit, and the first is that my nurses don’t loll around in the corridors indulging in idle chatter with strange men!’

‘But, Sister, he asked me—’

‘I don’t want to know what he asked you! I’ve already had trouble with him today. The best thing you can do is keep out of his way until I get rid of him. Right, this place is chaotic. I want everything cleared up and sorted out before the rush starts again, all right? If you think we’re getting low on anything, I want to know, please. I’ll send another nurse in to help you. Here’s the check list.’

And she swept out, heading for the phone again.

There was no sign of him now, thank goodness. Security said they’d send someone over right away, and she busied herself for the next few minutes with the half-dozen patients in the waiting area.

There was a nasty sprain which needed an X-ray, a query appendix for the surgical reg and a couple of cuts and other minor injuries which needed cleaning up and suturing.

Mick O’Shea, the surgical registrar on take and one of her old SHOs, breezed in as she was cleaning up one of the patients with a cut hand.

Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Sister Hennessy!’ he sang, cheerful as ever, and she shot him a black look.

‘Good morning, Dr O’Shea,’ she said repressively.

He pretended to look chastened, and inspected the cut with great care.

‘Just a couple of wee stitches—sure you can manage, Sister?’

‘Probably a great deal better than you,’ she replied with a sugary smile, and after a reassuring word to her patient, she led Mick out into the corridor.

‘Your patient’s in here,’ she said shortly.

Mick stopped her with a hand on her arm.

‘What’s eating you today?’

She gave a strained little chuckle. ‘It shows?’

He grinned. ‘Only to an expert in family relationships—and I know you were away for the weekend!’

Her chuckle relaxed. ‘I’ve been home—got lots of grief about not being settled down with fourteen children—’

Mick laughed. ‘Why under God do you imagine I never go home?’

They shared a commiserating smile, and Mick put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly hug. ‘Of course you could always marry me and blame the lack of children on my war wound—’

She spluttered with laughter. ‘What war wound?’

He grinned cheekily. ‘Poetic licence, m’darlin’! We’d make a lovely couple, don’t you think? Can’t you just see your mother in a pink floppy hat with cherries on it? How about a quick kiss to seal the pact?’

‘Put me down, you lecherous old goat!’ she said with a laugh, and, pushing him away, she straightend up in time to see That Man emerge from Jim’s old office with Ben Bradshaw, the senior registrar.

He had obviously showered, the almost-black hair falling in damp curls over his broad forehead, and he had changed into casual trousers and a shirt. The stubble was gone, and he was even wearing a tie—well, nearly. It hung round his neck, the knot well below the open collar of his shirt, and in the vee she could see the cluster of damp curls at the base of his throat. He looked almost respectable—and very, very sexy. He was also in the wrong place again. Kathleen opened her mouth, and a lid drooped over one of those fabulous grey eyes in a wicked wink.

‘We meet again,’ he said with a grin.

‘Morning,’ Mick greeted him. ‘Good weekend?’

That Man shrugged. ‘Not bad—bit windy earlier. Good thermals, though.’

Thermals? As in underwear? Never! Kathleen glanced sharply up at Mick. ‘Do you know him?’

Mick nodded, and Ben Bradshaw stepped into the yawning void. ‘Have you met Sister Hennessy yet?’ he asked.

That Man’s full lips twitched. ‘Yes, we have—er—spoken,’ he said, and the smile won and tipped the corners of his lips, bringing an enticing little dimple to one cheek. He held out his hand. ‘Jack Lawrence,’ he said, and if the floor could have opened up and swallowed her she would have been delighted.

As the fiery blush mounted her cheeks, she shook his hand briefly, desperately hoping for a miracle.

Holy Mary, she thought, all these years I’ve been a good girl—can’t you do something?

Apparently not. The floor stubbornly resisted her prayers and imprecations. Jack Lawrence released her hand and turned to Ben.

‘So, how’s the rest of the weekend been? Sorry I had to desert you yesterday.’

‘Oh, not a problem. There wasn’t anything too drastic.’

‘Good. So, Sister Hennessy, how would you like to offer me a cup of coffee so we can get acquainted while these two young men carry on with their duties?’

Her mind flailed. ‘I—I have somebody to suture——’

‘Ben, would you? I think Sister Hennessy and I need to have a chat. We’ll be in my office.’

And that was the end of that.

She followed him numbly, still praying for that elusive miracle as they went into the staff rest-room and collected two cups of coffee and then out again, back down the corridor to the consultant’s room—his room.

On the way her mind ran over their conversation in the car park. One thing in particular sprang to mind. ‘If you knew the first thing about Accident and Emergency—’ Oh, Lord, let me be dreaming …

He opened the door for her, closed it behind him and indicated the chair, then lounged against the window sill and grinned. ‘Would you like to go first?’

Oh, sure—and say what? She almost laughed. ‘Not really—I’m still trying to swallow the rest of my feet,’ she confessed ruefully.

He chuckled, a wickedly delicious little chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine. She set her coffee down before she slopped it all and met his eyes defiantly.

‘Why didn’t you say something?’

He smiled slowly. ‘Such as?’

‘Well—I don’t know—anything. “I’m your new boss” would have done nicely. You just stood there and made a complete fool of me—’

He shook his head. ‘Oh, no, Irish, you did that all by yourself.’

She blushed again. ‘You could have said something,’ she repeated stubbornly.

‘Yes, I could, you’re quite right. It was unkind of me. I apologise.’

She shot him a keen look, quite sure he was laughing at her, but his face was sober and his eyes were gentle now.

‘You didn’t look like a consultant.’

‘No.’

‘You should have said—’

‘I should. You didn’t really give me much chance—’

‘Rubbish! You had every opportunity!’

He shrugged and grinned. ‘I suppose so, but it just seemed like a bit of harmless fun—and you know, Irish, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.’

She was speechless.

The phone rang, and he reached out a long arm and hooked it up. ‘Lawrence.’

He listened for a moment, a slow smile spreading over his face, and then held the phone out to her.

‘Security for you—something about a motorbike in the car park …’

Kathleen supposed there was some comfort to be gained from knowing that nobody had ever died of humiliation. Doubtless in later years she would be glad of that, but for now she was too embarrassed to care.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, of course, if it had only been him, but there was that second-year nurse whom she had accused of loitering with him in the corridor—that was going to take some fancy footwork to get out of without loss of face. Oh, well, at least she wasn’t Japanese. Good job too, as there wasn’t a handy sword to fall on. She didn’t somehow think a stitch cutter would do the trick quite so well!

In the end she screwed up her courage, took the girl into her office and apologised. ‘I made a mistake,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t realise who he was, and with the security problems hospitals have been having recently, you can’t be too careful.’

The nurse smiled. ‘I didn’t know who he was, either, but he asked me where he could find you, and I told him I didn’t know, and he said “Are you new too?” and then you arrived and …’ She trailed to a halt. ‘He didn’t look—well—like a consultant, did he?’

Bless her, Kath thought. ‘No, Nurse, he didn’t, but he is.’ She glanced at her name badge. ‘Amy, have you done any work on Surgical?’

She nodded. ‘I did some time with Sister Lovejoy last year, and I’ve done some orthopaedics.’

‘And how did you get on?’

She nibbled her bottom lip. ‘OK. I had a bit of a problem with Mr Hamilton when he first arrived—I did something rather stupid and he was furious, but the patient was OK and he was great after that. Sister Lovejoy was ever so kind to me over it.’

Kathleen groaned inwardly. That was all she needed, a nurse who made mistakes.

‘Well, Amy, if you aren’t sure about anything, you ask, OK? We can’t afford to make mistakes down here. I think you’d better work with me for the next few days, or if I’m not here, then with one of my staff nurses. Right. Do you know what triage is?’

‘Um—is that putting patients in order of priority as they come in so that you don’t leave people to bleed to death because they’re at the end of the queue?’

Kathleen winced and grinned. ‘Sort of. You’re on the right lines. It really comes into its own when there’s a big emergency involving lots of people. Then the triage nurse is perhaps the most important member of the team. It’s a tremendous responsibility, and challenges all your skills and training, but it also depends a lot on gut instinct. OK, now we’re going to go and have a look in the waiting-room and at the notes, and do a bit of triage there. If they’re all on a par, we take them on a first come, first served basis. Anyone with a suspected heart condition or serious bleeding or a major fracture or head injury comes first, though, and every time an ambulance brings someone, they get seen immediately in the trolley area.’

She took Amy down the corridor. ‘Here we have the cubicles for the walking wounded or minor cases, then the trolley area for the major cases, and then the resus. room for the crisis cases. Then down here we have a couple of day beds for patients who need to rest under observation for the day following treatment but who don’t really justify admission, and then over here we’ve got the two theatres for major suturing and cleaning up, and then down there at the end the X-ray and plaster rooms.’

Amy nodded, her eyes like saucers, and Kathleen remembered the first time she had worked in A and E.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’ll look after you.’

They checked the few patients in the waiting-room, and Kathleen got Amy to sort them into priority, talking through the decision-making process as she did so.

‘Fine,’ she said when Amy had finished. ‘No problems there. But don’t worry, you wouldn’t be asked to do it alone yet. The triage nurse is always qualified and experienced, but it doesn’t hurt you to see how it’s done.’

It was, in fact, a ridiculously quiet day with a steady trickle of bits and pieces, an ideal day to find one’s feet.

Unfortunately it meant that there wasn’t enough for the consultant to do to keep him out of her way, and every time she turned round she almost fell over him.

‘Are you checking up on me?’ she demanded half way through the afternoon.

‘Now, Irish, you know better than that,’ he said with a cheeky grin, and left her alone for a few minutes.

Then there was a call on the red phone.

‘OK,’ Kathleen said. ‘We’ve got someone coming in on a blue light, a young man who’s fallen under a train. Could be an attempted suicide, we don’t know. Anyway, there’s considerable loss of blood, massive lower limb and pelvic damage and some chest injuries. We’ll need plasma expander, and samples immediately for cross matching. Better have some O neg. sent up for immediate use as well. Right, let’s move.’

They prepared the resus. room, and when all was ready they informed the patients still waiting that they might have a slight delay due to an emergency that was being brought in. There were the usual grumbles, but they faded instantly as the ambulance backed up to the entrance, doors already opening.

He was screaming, the high-pitched, nerve-grating scream of agony that always turned Kathleen’s blood to stone, and the waiting-room fell into shocked silence.

They wheeled him rapidly into Resus., Kathleen snapping out instructions right, left and centre, but as they peeled back the blanket to examine him, even Kathleen after all the years she had been working in A and E was shocked at the extent of his injuries. Both his legs were severed completely, the right one mid-thigh, the left up at the hip. His head was cut and bleeding, and his jacket was torn and damaged, indicating possible chest injuries. His right arm was also lying at a funny angle and was probably dislocated or fractured.

Amy Winship took one look at him and disappeared quietly through the door, and Ben Bradshaw winced. Only Jack Lawrence appeared quite unmoved, glancing dispassionately at the damage that Kath revealed with her scissors. There was blood everywhere, more of it by the second, and nothing they did seemed to stop it. His left leg was particularly bad, the vessels refusing to co-operate. They slowed it to a steady well, but it wouldn’t stop, and through it all there was the awful screaming.

‘For Christ’s sake get an anaesthetist down here and shut him up,’ Jack Lawrence grunted, and moved to his head, checking his pupils automatically. ‘Have we got any ID?’

Kathleen shook her head. ‘No, nothing. The ambulance men checked his clothes.’

‘Damn. We need to get his relatives in fast.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t say?’

He grinned ruefully. ‘Any sign of a surgeon? And we need cardiothoracic and orthopaedics, too.’

‘Before or after the mortuary technician?’ Ben said under his breath.

Kath glared at him, and he shrugged.

‘Just being realistic, old thing.’

‘Well, don’t bother—and don’t call me old thing. Just do your job, please. Have you stopped that bleeding yet?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s leaking from the abdomen—I think he needs a bit of surgical attention.’

Kath shot him a dry look. ‘You guys are really sharp today, aren’t you?’

Jack was inspecting the young man’s chest dispassionately, watching the ragged rise and fall of the ribs as he dragged in a breath between screams, and he shook his head thoughtfully. While he ran thorough hands and eyes over his shattered body, Kathleen started cleaning up the chest area ready for the heart monitor after checking the IV line that was running in Haemacel and taking blood for cross-matching, dodging round the radiographer who had brought the portable in and was taking X-rays.

When his chest was clear, she put on the pads for the heart monitor, frowning slightly as she did so at the feel of the chest wall under her hands. As she watched his breath jerked in, and a large section of his chest wall moved in instead of out.

‘Flail chest,’ she said quietly, and Jack nodded, drawing her to one side.

The lung’s collapsed, I think. Probably where he was hit by the train. His pelvis is shot to hell, too, and judging by the feel of the abdomen, he’s got massive haemorrhaging.’