eyebrows had risen, a look of pure disbelief on her face. If this was the difference between getting another job or not, it was time to put on the performance of a lifetime.
Sam took a deep breath. ‘Obviously, I know all the basics as a nurse. But my sister is diabetic, diagnosed as a child. I know about hypos, high blood sugars, adjusting insulin doses and all the risks and complications.’ It was true. She did know more than the average nurse. Living with someone with diabetes as a child was a whole different ballgame from looking after a patient for a few days in a hospital.
Trish was still studying her carefully. ‘How do you feel about working with someone who’s just been diagnosed? You’d have to do the entire education package and training with them.’
Sam licked her lips and nodded slowly. The fundamentals of diabetes hadn’t changed over the years. She’d watched her sister change monitoring systems and insulin regimes many times. The most important factor was always going to be steady blood-sugar levels. ‘I think I can manage that without any problems. What age is the patient?’
Trish was still shuffling papers on her desk. ‘Do you have a current passport? And how do you feel about signing a non-disclosure agreement?’
‘A what?’ Trish still hadn’t answered the previous question. Was the patient a baby, or maybe a toddler? Some kids could be diagnosed when they were really young.
Trish was looking a little shifty. She waved a piece of paper from the file. ‘A non-disclosure agreement. You’d need to sign it.’
Now she was getting confused. What kind of job was this? ‘Why would I need to sign a non-disclosure? That seems a little odd. All nurses are bound by confidentiality anyway.’
‘This is different. It’s not a kid. It’s an adult. And he’s a well-known adult.’
Something had just clicked into place in her brain. ‘Passport? Is the job not in the UK?’
Trish pushed the file across the desk towards Sam. ‘The job is in Innsbruck, a ski resort in the Alps. You’d need to fly there tonight. And this is all the detail I have. I can’t tell you any more. You sign the non-disclosure and leave tonight. You don’t find out who you’re working for until you get there.’
Alarm bells started ringing in her head. ‘What do you mean?’ She scanned the piece of paper in front of her. It looked as if it had come from some sort of agent. And it was only the basics. An adult male, diagnosed with diabetes less than forty-eight hours ago. Assistance required in helping him learn to manage and deal with his condition over the next three weeks.
Her gaze reached the bottom of the page. The fee. For three weeks’ work. Her eyes were nearly out on sticks. How much??
‘Is this safe?’ Her voice squeaked.
She was trying to think rational thoughts, even though her brain was moving to rapid calculations of exactly how many months’ worth of nursing-home fees that sum would cover.
It was all her own fault. When her mother had had the stroke over two years ago she’d spent the first few months trying to care for her mum herself. When it had become clear that she couldn’t care for her mum and work at the same time, she’d changed jobs, swapping from a sister in an ITU, working shifts, to a school nurse with more regular and shorter hours. But the pay cut hadn’t helped, particularly when she’d had to pay two mortgages and supplementary day care for her mother. And when the day-care assistants had failed to show for the seventh time and her mum had had an accident at home, she’d finally faced up to the fact that her mother needed to be in a home.
Picking a nursing home that was up to her standards hadn’t been easy—and when she’d finally found one, the fees were astronomical. But her mother was happy, and well cared for, hence the reason she needed to work for the agency to supplement her salary.
Trish stood up. ‘Of course it’s safe, Samantha. I wouldn’t send you anywhere you need to worry about. Now, can you be on a flight out of Gatwick at seven tonight?’ She held out the non-disclosure agreement again, along with a pen.
Sam hesitated for only a second. How bad could this be? It was probably some aging actor who needed some basic guidance and hand-holding for a few weeks. She’d heard of Innsbruck before—hadn’t the Winter Olympics been held there? The money was just too good to turn down. She grabbed the pen and scribbled her signature before she started asking any more questions that might make her change her mind.
She stood up. ‘Innsbruck—that’s Austria, isn’t it?’ She wrapped her scarf back around her head, trying to ignore the fact that she and skiing didn’t mix. She shot Trish a beaming smile and held out her hand to shake it. ‘A ski resort at Christmas? What more could a girl want? This’ll be a piece of cake.’
Mitchell Brody felt terrible. He wasn’t even going to look in the mirror because then he’d know that he looked terrible too.
The timing couldn’t be worse. This was the last thing he needed right now. His tour kicked off in three weeks. He had to be fit and well for that. He needed to be able to perform. He had to get this under control.
The consultant was still shaking his head and frowning. ‘You can’t sign a discharge against medical advice. I won’t allow it.’
Mitchell planted his hands on his hips. ‘You can’t stop me. Find me someone who can get me through this.’
‘I’ve already put in a call to an agency in London. But it’s a difficult time of year, staff are at a premium, and it will be hard to find someone with the skills you’ll require.’
He sighed, frustration was building in his chest. ‘Just find me someone, anyone, who can do this for me. I can pay. Money isn’t a problem.’
The consultant narrowed his gaze. ‘You don’t understand. This isn’t about someone “doing this” for you. You have to do it for yourself. You have to learn to take care of yourself with this condition. This is twenty-four hours a day, for the rest of your life. And it isn’t an issue of cost. At this time of year staff come at a premium price. You have no choice but to pay it.’
Mitchell threw up his hands. ‘I get it. I just don’t have time for it. Not now. I’ll learn about it later. I’ll take the time then—in six months when this tour is over.’
‘No.’ The consultant folded his arms across his chest. ‘If you don’t do as I ask for the next three weeks, I’ll notify your tour insurers. You won’t be covered.’
For the second time in two days Mitchell was shocked. He wasn’t used to people saying no to him. He was used to snapping his fingers and everyone doing exactly as he said. That was the joy of being a world-famous rock star. Once you earned beyond a certain point, people just didn’t say no any more.
He could almost feel the blood draining from his body—as if he didn’t feel sick enough already. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’ His voice cracked as he spoke. This nightmare was just getting worse and worse. First the weeks of feeling like death warmed over. Then the ill-timed diagnosis of diabetes. Now a threat to his tour.
‘I would, you know.’ The consultant’s chin was set with a determined edge. Mitchell recognised the look because he so frequently wore it himself. ‘A sick rock star is no insurer’s dream. You need to be healthy and in control to take part in the tour. To be frank, I don’t think three weeks
