Seventh Daughter

Book 14: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

Dr Delyth Price was stunned by her reaction to her new boss, the intriguing Dr James Owen. He was everything she?d ever wanted in a man. But Delyth was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and had a gift that not everyone understood. James, at least, seemed prepared to listen, if not to believe ? and he asked her out, even if he was clearly holding something back. Then she discovered his light-hearted side, and fell even more deeply in love.

Release date: March 13, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 157

Sample

Chapter One

It only happened occasionally, which made it hurt more. And when it did Delyth was never wrong. She knew with an absolute certainty that the young man in the bed in front of her was dangerously ill. He might die before morning. And yet she could find little wrong with him.

It was midnight, and she had been bleeped to admit him to Gregory Ward – a surgical ward – from A and E an hour ago. He claimed his name was Birdie Jones, one of many young street-dwellers, and he’d been knocked down by a hit-and-run driver and brought in by ambulance. Apart from shock, abrasions, and general bruising, he had a closed fracture of the radius – a broken arm.

‘Don’t think there’s much seriously wrong with him,’ the A and E registrar had cheerfully told her. ‘We’ve put a plaster on his arm and patched him up. But keep him in for a couple of nights for observation.

Feed him a bit, and then he can go out on the streets again.’

This was a hospital in the centre of London and there was something she had been told more than once: ‘We provide medical care only. We cannot concern ourselves with social problems – we are not funded to do it.’ Delyth knew this was a harsh but necessary doctrine.

Now young Birdie was in her care. She had clerked him carefully and followed the set procedures, keeping a close eye on blood pressure, pulse, abdominal signs. All was as expected. Although thin, he wasn’t malnourished.

But the knowledge had come with the strength of a physical blow. Birdie was in real danger. She checked all her findings again – what had she missed? Apparently nothing.

Delyth sighed. She was the humblest of doctors, a mere house officer. She had only qualified a few weeks ago. The correct procedure in case of doubt was to refer upwards, in this case to James Owen, the specialist registrar. But she knew James had been at work since six that morning, and he wasn’t going to like being disturbed.

So far she hadn’t met him. For the past fortnight he had apparently been away at a conference. Earlier today she had seen him in the distance, walking rapidly across the ward, white coat flying behind him. Even from a distance he gave an impression of energy, of determination. If it was possible to work out such a thing from just one glimpse, Delyth decided he didn’t look a man who easily put up with fools. She sighed again.

She had been told that she could learn a lot from the senior nurses, that their opinion was always worth asking. So she asked Sue Ashton, the staff nurse in charge at night, what James was like. How would he react to being disturbed?

Sue was fortyish, married with three children who always phoned to wish her goodnight before they went to bed. She smiled amiably. ‘Dr Owen? He’s gorgeous, Delyth. Sort of tall and lean and dark. He’s a good doctor but he frightens me – he’s all intense. Are you going to get him out of bed? I hope you’ve got a good reason.’

As Delyth thought of it, the conviction struck her again, stronger than ever. Birdie was ill. Whatever James Owen thought, she was going to call him. ‘If he’s in bed he’ll have to get up,’ she said. ‘Can I use your phone?’

The phone was picked up practically at once. ‘My house officer, Dr Delyth Price,’ a dry voice said. ‘Dr Price, you are talking to a very tired man. He is also stark naked, dripping wet from the shower, and has a mug of cocoa in his hand. He’s on his way to bed. I hope this is important.’

It was an attractive voice. It was deep, with just a touch of humour to it which she suspected could easily become cutting. He didn’t sound angry – yet.

The feeling flashed back. Birdie was ill, she knew she was right. But how to explain this to the SR? ‘I’ve just admitted a young man from A and E. He’s a road accident victim, just generally knocked about and with a fractured radius. He’s in for observation.’

‘What have you done for him?’ She detailed the necessary procedures, knowing that she had done everything properly.

‘And there are no adverse signs? No cause for worry? Why have you called me?’

This was the difficult part. Drawing a deep breath, she said, ‘I think I’ve missed something. I don’t know what, but I have. So I called you.’ There was a pause. Then he said, ‘You are a doctor now, you know. There are decisions that you have to – that you must make. You can’t have your hand held for ever.’

She could hear the iron in his voice, but didn’t think he was angry with her – yet. ‘I’m making a decision. I’m calling you.’

Now his voice was neutral. ‘I’m on my way. Expect me in about ten minutes.’

Gregory Ward was on the fourth floor and Delyth waited near the entrance, expecting to hear the lift sighing upwards. But instead there was the patter of fast feet on the stairs – he was running upwards. In the dim light of the hallway she could see his open white coat, and underneath it a white T-shirt, jeans, trainers without socks. He had come in casual clothes. He moved well, like an athlete. Then, too quickly, he was up to her, facing her.

He wasn’t even out of breath. She felt his presence and it was a shock to her. Inside her that distant voice which was never wrong told her that this man would have an effect on her. She was not sure what – it could be a bad one. But she knew it, just as certainly as she knew that Birdie was ill.

The voice was never wrong. Her life and this man’s would be somehow intertwined. The knowledge frightened her a little.

He was tall, lean, his hair dark brown and cut short. Even when perfectly still, as he now was, there was that impression of poised energy. His face was unsmiling but he wasn’t angry. She felt him assessing her, waiting to give judgement. And she knew she wanted this man’s good opinion. Not just because he was her senior. She wanted him to … like her. Delyth blinked. She had never felt this way about a man so soon after meeting him.

‘I don’t really need to sleep,’ he said wryly. ‘What have you got for me?’ Hearing him speak again, it was yet another thrill for her. She thought a voice was more affecting than simple good looks in a man. James’s voice was deep, musical, with a tiny trace of a northern accent.

He held out his hand. ‘Missed meeting you this morning, Dr Price. I’m sorry. I’m James Owen. I hope we’ll work well together.’

‘I’m sure we will,’ she murmured. His handshake was firm but not forceful; it was their first bodily contact. The thrill of it ran through her.

Now he was closer she could see his eyes were dark grey. She saw them flick across her, noting her trim body, the black hair now tied tightly in a French plait.

‘Don’t tell me, you’re Welsh,’ he said.

‘You get no points for that diagnosis, not when I have a name like Delyth Price.’ She had to fight back.

‘True. But doctors should never trust what is apparently obvious. You have a Welsh voice, and if there is a Celtic facial type then you’ve got it.’

This could turn into an interesting conversation, she thought. He might have thought the same, but instead he said abruptly, ‘Let’s have a look at this young man.’ He yawned as he spoke, and when she remembered what he had already done that day she felt guilty. But, no, she was certain.

They strode down the ward corridor together, she conscious of how she had to step out to keep up with him. She went through Birdie’s story and offered him her neatly written notes, telling him which tests she had conducted, what observations she had made. They reached Birdie’s bedside.

‘You seem to have followed every procedure absolutely correctly,’ he said, ‘and the results you have don’t seem too worrying. Why did you call me out?’

‘I’ve missed something,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m certain I have.’

He looked at her but said nothing for a moment. Then he shrugged and said, ‘Well, let’s take a look.’ His examination was as thorough as hers had been. And his results were exactly the same. There was nothing life-threateningly wrong with Birdie.

‘Let’s go to the doctors’ room and have a coffee,’ he said, after one last sharp look at the comatose form between them.

She poured him a coffee and he sipped, before saying, ‘There was no need to call me out. Possibly there might be something wrong with your patient, but it isn’t obvious from any signs.’

He looked perplexed. ‘Quite frankly, I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind of person to call for help unnecessarily. You seem both confident and competent.’

She thrilled to the compliment but there was nothing she could say. She still had that sense that something was wrong, but there was no way she was going to tell him now. She realised how easily he was letting her down: other registrars would have been angry.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Don’t be. You did what you thought best.’ He yawned again. ‘Bedtime but, don’t forget, you can call me any time. Goodnight.’

He was gone, at the same speed with which he had arrived. Again, he didn’t take the lift. She went over to the window and watched him walking quickly across the outside quad. He turned to see her looking at him and raised an arm in farewell. She blushed as she waved back.

‘How did he take being called out?’ asked Sue as Delyth collapsed into a chair next to her.

‘He took it very well. There was nothing there. I was wrong.’

‘He didn’t tell you off?’

‘No. Perhaps he wanted to. Or perhaps he was too tired.’

‘I’ve never seen him too tired to do what he really wanted,’ said Sue. ‘He is gorgeous, isn’t he?’

Delyth was too fed up to lie ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

She didn’t wish Birdie any harm but she wished Dr Owen had found something wrong with him. Then he might think better of her. Still … he wasn’t angry with her, apparently.

She could have gone back to bed. If there had been any serious change in any of the patients Sue would have rung her. Instead, she occupied herself with simple clerical tasks, then tried to doze in the doctors’ room. At regular intervals she checked Birdie’s condition. And at four-fifteen it happened. There was a sudden dramatic drop in his blood pressure. She looked, then fetched Sue to confirm her findings.

‘If you don’t send for the doctor, I will,’ said Sue.

‘This is an emergency all right.’ So Delyth phoned him again.

His voice was sleepy. ‘Owen here.’ She had an unexpected vision of him in bed, but banished it at once.

 ‘Sorry, Dr Owen, Dr Price here. That patient you saw – his blood pressure has dropped like a brick. It was OK five minutes ago, but it’s going down fast.’

The sleepiness had gone. ‘Right. Start phoning. We want a theatre, an anaesthetist, and we want them fast. Prep him as best you can and I’ll be there in five minutes.’

After one last look at the now-obviously-ill Birdie, she went to do as James had asked. He arrived as she was putting the phone down. He was dressed just as before, but there were drops of water on his face and hair, and she realised he had dipped his head in a basin or under the shower.

Together they went to see Birdie, and once again he eased back the blankets and examined the bruises. Gently he palpated the abdomen. ‘Concealed haemorrhage doesn’t necessarily show itself at once. You can lose up to half your blood volume without any change in blood pressure. I’ll bet this man has a ruptured spleen or something and he’s been bleeding internally.

‘Perhaps we should have had an ultrasound scan or a laparotomy but – I agree with you – there didn’t seem any need to open the abdomen. You’ve got his blood cross-matched?’

‘And ordered,’ she said.

‘Good. I’ve a feeling we’re going to need it. Come on, let’s go and scrub up.’

Birdie’s spleen was indeed ruptured, and they had to take it out. She had seen and assisted in a splenectomy before, but had never seen it performed with such speed. He wasn’t slapdash, but swift. And he gave her the chance to watch and to help with the more simple procedures. But finally it was finished, and Birdie was moved into the recovery room.

James stretched and yawned. ‘A good job well done. I’m going to have a coffee before I get out of these greens. You need one too, I suspect.’

She peeled off her gloves and threw them into the bin. The excitement of the operation was now over, the adrenaline no longer pumping through her system. Suddenly a vast fatigue fell on her. ‘I do need a coffee,’ she admitted.

He poured two cups, passing her one. ‘Now we have a problem,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be the expert, you the lowly house officer. But you spotted something that I didn’t. You were absolutely certain there was something wrong, weren’t you? Even when I said there wasn’t.’

It was a difficult question, but she mumbled an honest answer. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘I want to know why and how you –’ He broke off. With his forefinger he lifted her chin and looked at her. It was an intimate and exciting gesture, and she loved it. ‘You’re in no fit state to give thoughtful answers, are you? Have you arranged to sleep in tomorrow?’

She tried to conceal her feelings as she pointed to the window. ‘The sun’s shining – it is tomorrow morning. But, yes, Matt Dee, the other house officer will be in and I’ll have a few hours in bed.’ She was sorry when he took his finger away.

‘Fine. I’m not going to ask now, but there are things I want to know. Have you been to the Clubroom? Can we meet there for half an hour tonight if you’re not doing anything else? Say about nine?’

It was a completely unexpected invitation. Also unexpected was her rush of pleasure at it. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Good. Now I’m off back to bed.’

Before she could go back to bed she had notes to write up. Then there was one last look at Birdie, and she was off across the sun-splashed quad to the residence. As she climbed wearily to her room she passed the kitchen shared by the five young doctors on her floor. A voice shouted, ‘D’you want a cup of tea, night-owl?’

‘Love one,’ she called back, without bothering to stop.

Quickly she undressed, the habits of a lifetime making her put her discarded clothes away neatly. Then she pulled on her dressing-gown just as there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in, Matt.’ Matt Dee was her fellow house officer on the consultant Michael Forrester’s firm. The two had come to St Helen’s Hospital together and had formed a friendship based on mutual need. Occasionally it occurred to Delyth that Matt would like their friendship to progress to something deeper, but for the moment she had enough to deal with. He was broad-shouldered and blond-haired – unlike her, he was a native Londoner.

‘Busy night?’ he asked, handing her the mug of tea and sitting on her bed.

‘Interesting. I’ve just finished assisting with an emergency splenectomy. I had to turn the SR out of bed twice.’

Matt whistled. ‘James Owen? I did a ward round with him yesterday. He’s like a dynamo. Makes me tired just to watch him.’

‘Any good?’ asked Delyth, too casually.

Matt nodded. ‘Knows his stuff and still has time for a word with every patient. Just cuts right down to essentials. I hope I turn out to be as good as he is.’

‘So do I. Come on, Matt, off you go. You’ve got work and I need my beauty sleep.’

‘Cast out of your bedroom again,’ he said amiably, pulling himself to his feet. ‘Delyth, a few of us are going to the Old Town Walls tonight – there’s Singleton’s Jazz Band playing. Fancy coming along?’ The Old Town Walls was a pub not too far away – she’d been there with a group once or twice before. She would have liked to have gone again, but remembered with a flash of pleasure that she was already meeting someone th. . .