The Italian's Touch. Carol Marinelli

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      Running through the theatre checklist, Kane continued with his nonchalant demeanour, but when Fleur came to the bit where she asked about any prostheses she saw a glimmer of a smile.

      ‘No, no false teeth.’

      ‘Or a wig?’ Fleur asked, giving him a wink. ‘And you’re not wearing any nail varnish, are you?’

      He really grinned this time. ‘Not the last time I looked, though I had that much to drink last night you’d probably better check. Who knows what the lads got up to?’

      Fleur flicked back the blankets. ‘No, you’re all right.’ She looked up. ‘I bet you’re not feeling the best, apart from your hand, I mean?’

      ‘I just feel an idiot.’ Kane blushed. ‘My mum’s going to kill me when I get home, she said as much. I don’t usually drink, well, not that much anyway. I guess I’ve learnt my lesson.’

      Fleur gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Pretty painful lesson, huh? I’m sure your mum was just upset, but once she’s calmed down things will be better. Now, if you need anything, just call. The porters will be here to take you to Theatre soon.’

      Very soon, as it turned out. Fleur had just got some paracetamol for Hilda’s headache and set up her breakfast tray when the porters arrived with the trolley to take Kane for his operation. As Fleur couldn’t leave the ward unattended, she buzzed on the intercom. ‘Danny, can you spare someone to take a patient to Theatre or watch the obs ward while I go?’

      It was Felicity who came, young and chatty and just the tonic for Kane, Fleur decided. She handed him over, running through the theatre checklist yet again.

      ‘Thanks, Felicity, here’s his X-rays. How is it round there?’

      ‘The cubicles are filling but Resus, where I am, is empty. I hope it stays that way.’

      ‘You’ve just jinxed yourself.’ Fleur grinned. ‘Good luck, Kane. I’ll arrange for a porter to bring your stuff up to the ward.’

      Stripping his bed, Fleur placed the linen into the skip and removed the name card above the bed then sorted all Kane’s belongings into one of the hospital’s blue property bags, deciding not to ring the orderly to wash the bed until Hilda had been discharged.

      Collecting a couple of towels and a wash cloth on the way, she walked over to Hilda.

      ‘Mrs Green?’ Fleur gently patted her arm. At first glance Hilda appeared to be dozing, her knitting resting in her lap, her glasses on the edge of her nose, but the bottom set of her false teeth was slipping out of her slack mouth and with alarm Fleur noticed her darkening lips.

      ‘Mrs Green!’ Fleur’s voice was louder, more insistent as she felt for a pulse. Hastily she let the head of the bed down and removed the pillows, grabbing the emergency tray situated on each shelf above the bed. Removing the false teeth which were obstructing Hilda’s airway, she deftly inserted a small plastic tube to keep her airway clear and pulled Hilda onto her side, placing an oxygen mask on before making the short dash to the desk and hitting the panic button which would summon help immediately.

      Before she’d even made her way back to the bedside a doctor appeared, immediately sensing the urgency in Fleur’s actions as she raced back to Mrs Green.

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘I was just about to take her for a shower when I found her unconscious.’

      Not waiting for the rest of the staff to appear, he kicked the brakes off the bed. ‘We get her to Resus now.’

      The imperfect English and stunning looks could only mean that this was the man Kathy had been describing. But there wasn’t time for niceties as they pushed the bed along the highly polished floors, the staff standing back to let the all-too-familiar sight pass by.

      Gliding into Resus, Fleur immediately attached Hilda to an array of monitors.

      ‘Her oxygen sats are low and her respiration rate is only six.’

      Mario flicked on his torch. ‘She’s blown a pupil. I’ll bag her—you page the anaesthetist and neurosurgeon.’

      A couple more staff had joined them now, working on the inert body, setting up IV infusions and an intubation tray. Fleur ran for the telephone and put out the emergency pages but, replacing the receiver, in that instant it hit her— it was all too soon, much too soon. ‘I’ll get Danny.’

      ‘He’s in his office and Felicity is up in Theatre. I need some IV dexamethasone now.’

      Like a deer caught in headlights, she stood there for a second as Lucy rummaged through the drug trolley.

      ‘Now!’ Mario demanded more loudly.

      Her hands shook as she located the drug. Just preventing stabbing herself with the needle, she pulled up the solution into the syringe and handed it to Mario’s impatiently outstretched hand.

      ‘Run through some IV mannitol.’ He looked at the closed resuscitation doors expectantly. ‘Where the hell is the anaesthetist?’

      ‘I only just put out the page,’ Fleur replied quickly. ‘They’ll all be up in Theatre.’

      ‘Then I need you to help me.’ Giving Hilda several swift pumps of oxygen, he removed the ambu-bag and slid a laryngoscope into her slack mouth.

      ‘Size seven ET tube.’

      Two years ago he wouldn’t have needed to ask. The intubation equipment would have been handed to him before he’d even thought it. But this wasn’t two years ago, this was today, her first day back…

      Shaking, dropping tubes as she frantically located the correct size, she attempted an explanation. ‘I’m not supposed to be in Resus, I don’t do Resus…’

      He looked up, just for a second. The sapphire blue of his eyes seemed out of place with his dark Mediterranean looks, but they were blazing with frustration and anger as he addressed her curtly. ‘Then just what the hell are you doing, working in Emergency?’

      His words echoed Fleur’s thoughts exactly.

      ‘Fleur, what’s going on?’

      Gratefully she swung round at the sound of Danny’s voice. ‘My quiet morning just ended.’ Glancing over at Hilda lying flat and lifeless, tubes and wires crowding her body, it might just as well have been Rory lying there. Overwhelmed, overwrought, with a sob Fleur fled the room.

      ‘G’day, there, sweetie—time for your morning break?’ Beryl, the domestic, made no comment about Fleur’s reddened, watering eyes. It happened all too often in this place. ‘Why don’t youse sit down and I’ll bring you a brew? Now, what would you like—a cappuccino or a caffè latte, or just an espresso?’

      For a second Fleur thought Beryl was having a joke, but she started when she saw the huge stainless-steel contraption Beryl was lovingly polishing. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’

      ‘Dr Mario bought it for us, his first week here. ‘‘How am I supposed to function on this slop?’’ he said, all Latin like, as he threw СКАЧАТЬ