tried to work out what was bothering the girl. Was she surprised to find a stranger hovering by the door or was she trying to formulate an answer? Maggie suspected that something had happened and that this nurse didn’t want to be the one to tell her about it.
‘What happened? Is she OK?’
The nurse continued to stand there, mute.
Maggie recognised the nurse’s expression now. Something unexpected had happened in Theatre and Maggie had been right to come barging up here to find out what. Something had happened to Juliet.
There was a flurry of movement behind the nurse. Maggie peered over her shoulder and saw a patient being wheeled into Recovery. She shoved her foot in the doorway to prevent the nurse from closing her out and waited, trying to catch a glimpse of the patient on the barouche. Was it Juliet? She couldn’t relax until she saw her sister with her own eyes.
There was quite a crowd surrounding the bed, fussing about as they connected the patient to various monitors. It was difficult to see who was lying there but as the nurse backed away Maggie had a strong suspicion the patient was Juliet. She wasn’t waiting any longer—somebody must be able to tell her something. She looked around for someone, anyone, who didn’t appear to be busy.
She saw the nurse she’d spoken to approach one of the other theatre staff—a man—and saw her point at the doorway, at Maggie. Maggie focused on her as she directed her comment to the room in general.
‘Excuse me, I’m Juliet Taylor’s sister. Could someone please tell me what’s going on?’
The man looked in her direction, issued what seemed to be instructions to the other staff and started towards her.
There was no hesitation on his part. He walked confidently. He looked as if he was used to being in control; he looked like a man who could avert a disaster.
Something in his walk told Maggie that even if there had been a problem, he’d solved it. He didn’t walk like a man who was about to deliver bad news. Maggie felt herself relax; she could breathe normally again.
‘You’re Juliet’s sister?’
Maggie nodded. ‘I’m Maggie Petersen.’
‘Ben McMahon, Juliet’s plastic surgeon.’ He held out his hand, offering to shake hers. His grip was warm and strong. Comforting, Maggie thought as she put her hand in his and felt her heart stop its crazy hammering and return to its normal rhythm, calmed by this man’s touch.
‘Is she OK?’
‘Yes, she’s going to be fine but there were some complications.’
‘What sort of complications?’ Maggie’s heart skipped a beat and she took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, willing her heart to beat normally. Juliet had cheated death once before—could she be lucky a second time?
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down.’ He led her around a corner to a room with several recliner chairs lining the walls. It was obviously used for day-surgery patients but at the moment it was vacant.
Ben waited for her to sit in one recliner, then he sat on the edge of the next one facing her. It looked as though he was trying to work out how to phrase his words gently and Maggie didn’t have the patience for that. ‘I’m a nurse—just tell me what happened.’
He jerked back a little, perhaps surprised by her abruptness, but he recovered quickly and answered Maggie’s question without hesitating. ‘Juliet’s reconstructive surgery went well—I was pleased with that aspect—but as the anaesthetist was about to reverse the anaesthetic Juliet’s blood pressure plummeted. You saw her in recovery—’ he waited for Maggie to nod in assent ‘—so you know she’s pulled through but her heart did stop and we had to resuscitate her.’
Maggie recalled her dream—maybe it hadn’t been as strange as it seemed. Her voice was tight as she forced her next question out. ‘She’s fine now?’
‘We’ll keep a close eye on her, of course, but so far she’s fine.’
‘How long did it take to revive her?’ Maggie needed facts.
‘About ninety seconds.’
Within safe time limits, Maggie knew. ‘What triggered the drop in BP?’ she asked.
‘The anaesthetist suspects it might have been a reaction to the antinausea drug. That’s not uncommon but it’s reassuring to know that in patients who’ve experienced this reaction there have been no long-term after-effects.’
Maggie could hear what Dr McMahon was telling her—Juliet would be fine—but she’d had a sense of unease about this surgery from the beginning and now she wondered what else could go wrong. She hadn’t been convinced that Juliet had needed this surgery but it hadn’t been her decision and there’d been no way of stopping Juliet once she’d made up her mind. That had been the case their whole lives. Juliet didn’t wait for other people to make her decisions. She didn’t leave it up to fate either. Juliet did what Juliet wanted and when.
This operation was a perfect example, Maggie thought. Juliet had been diagnosed with breast cancer twelve months ago. She’d undergone a bilateral mastectomy even though the cancer had been in one breast only. When she found out that, due to a faulty gene, she had a high chance of getting cancer in her other breast she’d very quickly decided to have both removed. Now she had just completed the first step of breast reconstruction. Maggie hadn’t seen the point of a reconstruction but, as Juliet had pointed out, it wasn’t her body, and Juliet had been adamant that was what she was going to do. And now it had nearly killed her.
Maggie had always thought the surgery unnecessary and now it had almost cost Juliet her life. A life she’d fought so desperately to save just twelve months earlier. Maggie sighed, knowing that even this latest drama wouldn’t stop Juliet from going after what she wanted.
‘Are you OK?’
Dr McMahon’s hand on her arm startled Maggie out of her reverie. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. She lifted her head. He was looking at her with concern. Worried she was about to collapse too? She was quite OK. The only thing upsetting her equilibrium was Dr McMahon—he was seriously gorgeous and sitting far too close. She just remembered to nod in reply to his question even as she registered that his eyes were the exact same blue as his theatre scrubs.
‘Come with me—I’ll take you in to see for yourself. She’s going to be fine. Trust me.’
And for some reason she couldn’t explain, Maggie did trust this man. This man she’d only just met. Somehow she believed if he said everything would be fine, it would be.
She followed him along the corridor, back to Recovery. His back filled her field of vision. He was more than six foot by a couple of inches, Maggie guessed, solidly built, not fat but fit. He filled out his scrubs nicely—broad shoulders, narrower hips with his trousers tied loosely around them. Maggie was well aware just how unflattering theatre clothes could be but somehow, despite this, he managed to pull off the look. Some people would look good in a sack and Maggie suspected this man was one them. He could be a poster boy for tall, dark and handsome men.
Maggie stayed beside her sister, keeping one eye on the monitors that displayed her blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen levels, and one eye on the gentle rise and fall of the sheets as Juliet breathed in and out. Ben
