her head out of the door, she summoned a nurse and got her to take the young man’s parents back to the interview-room and give them a cup of tea.
They cleaned themselves up quickly, instructed all the others to shower again as thoroughly as possible in view of the AIDS risk, and then went into the interview room to talk to Steve’s parents.
Jack was astonishing. All day long she had wondered how he had managed to bamboozle his way into a consultancy, but first the calm, unflappable way he had dealt with Steve and now here, with the devastated relatives, Kathleen had an opportunity to see at first hand the qualities that set him apart as a consultant.
He talked through the whole drama again with them, explaining the various problems their son had had, discussing the probable outcome of each of his injuries had he survived, and then, when there was no doubt left in their minds that he should have died, he gave them even more.
‘Whatever problems you’ve had in the past, remember that he loved you, and you loved him. No one can ever take that from you.’
It was a calculated tear-jerker, but delivered with great sincerity, and Kathleen found her own eyes misting over.
She escaped to her office as soon as the Blowers’ left, grabbing herself a cup of coffee on the way. Seconds later there was a tap on her door and Jack came in.
‘Are you OK? You looked a bit shaken up.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. It all adds variety. You know what they say—the spice of life, and all that …’
Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
He gave a grim little smile. ‘If you say so, Irish. Got any of that coffee left?’
She handed him the cup and he swallowed the remains with a gulp.
‘Home, I think. Fancy a drink on the way?’
She remembered their inauspicious start, and her somewhat ungracious behaviour during the morning. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to smooth things over, to apologise again and make a fresh start.
Her mouth was opening, the reply ready, when there was a tap on the door.
‘Ah, Mr Lawrence—there’s a young man who’d like to talk to you. His name’s Danny Featherstone. I think he’s a friend of Steven Blowers.’
He nodded at the receptionist. ‘Put him in my office. I’ll be along in a tick.’
He turned back to Kathleen and shrugged.
‘Sorry.’
She took a deep breath.
‘Maybe later?’
He shook his head slightly. ‘Some other time, perhaps. I don’t know if I’d be very good company tonight after all. I’ll see you.’
And with that, he was gone.
THERE was a strange car in the consultant’s slot the following day.
Kathleen found herself heaving a sigh of relief. If he had come by car, then she wouldn’t have to endure the sight of him in all that black leather gear looking like something from Star Wars. All he needed was a sweeping black cloak …
She hauled herself back to reality. Damn the man. He was persecuting her, and he didn’t even know it! She hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before for thinking of him, and some of her thoughts had been unprintable.
But then, yesterday had been a funny old day, clouded as it was by the memory of Steve Blower’s traumatic and tragic death and the image of Jack comforting his parents. It seemed inconceivable that the man who had teased her so unforgivably in the morning had been so filled with compassionate understanding later in the same day. She had had him pegged as an emotional lightweight, probably good at his job in a technical sense but untroubled by messy feelings.
Instead, he had proved himself to be capable of great human emotion. Odd, that. Jim had been good with relatives, but Jack had some extra dimension to add to it.
She had pondered on it all night—that and the image of his laughing eyes and the way his full, firm lips tipped so readily into that wickedly sexy smile.
Just a flirt, she chastised herself, and probably a married flirt for all that. After all, he must be pushing forty at the very least to be a consultant in A and E, although he didn’t look it by any stretch of the imagination.
Well, only the once, when Steven Blowers had died and he had looked up at the parents, and then a curious bleakness had stolen over his face and drained the life away. Then he had looked older.
With a sigh, she got out of the car and locked it, walking deliberately by his car to peer curiously inside.
It was a very ordinary car, a middle of the range Ford in deep blue metallic with a roof-rack on it and the back full of—ropes? How odd.
She made her way into the department, greeting all the staff with a smile and a friendly word. Amy Winship was on earlies, and flashed her a grin.
‘Morning, Sister.’
‘Good morning, Amy. Is Mr Lawrence in his office?’
‘No, he’s gone to get some breakfast. He arrived at four, apparently. There was a pile-up—they called him in.’
She nodded. Yes, he would certainly earn his keep in this job, she thought drily.
She went into her office and took the report from the night sister, then swung cheerfully into her routine.
She was busy taking off a back-slab and replastering a fracture when Jack appeared, sticking his head round the door and grinning.
‘Morning, Irish.’
She shot him a black look and squeezed the water out of a bandage viciously. ‘Good morning, sir!’ she said pointedly.
His grin widened. ‘Having fun?’
‘Absolutely. Want to help?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re managing just fine, I’d only get in your way. I’ll watch, though.’
And he did, propping himself up against the wall and chatting lightheartedly to the patient while she wound the plaster bandage round the broken wrist.
‘There,’ she said with a smile when she had finished. ‘We’ll let that set for a little while, then X-ray it again to check that it’s nicely lined up. OK?’
The patient, a woman in her forties, nodded. ‘Thank you both. It feels much better already than it did yesterday.’
Kathleen forced a smile, showed the lady to the waiting area outside the X-ray room and went back to clear up her mess.
‘Thank you both, indeed!’
