The Socialite's Secret. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
garage door opened and Luke headed out into a cold and wet November morning. He drove through the practically deserted, sleepy, leafy village, where he lived, towards the heart of London. He had recently been promoted to Consultant in a busy accident and emergency department at a major teaching hospital.
People sometimes said that he was crazy to live so far out but he also had a flat at the hospital for the times when he was on call or held back at work.
Luke liked it that where he lived was between Oxford, where his family were, and London, where he worked. The very distinct separation between his work and home life suited him well. The village was friendly but not overly so. He had been living there for close to a year now and was getting to know the locals at his own pace. Luke knew that, despite what others might think, he had made the right choice.
Or not.
It all depended on today.
It was a long, slow drive but he was more than used to it. Often he listened to music or a lecture he had heard about, but this morning he turned on the radio.
He needed to know if there was any news.
For the last four days Luke had been on edge and hypervigilant while doing all he could not to show it.
The traffic was terrible, he was told.
Thanks for that, Luke thought as he glanced at the time.
There was a huge snarl-up on the M25.
Luke was in the middle of it.
Finally, just before 7:00 a.m., the sun was coming up, the hospital was in sight and a new day had dawned.
He drove towards the underground car park, where he had a spot reserved, and was just about to flick off the radio, as reception was disappearing, when there was a break in a song.
‘Unconfirmed reports are starting to come in that Anya …’ the newsreader said, and Luke sat, blocking the traffic and listening to the brief report, before he drove into the basement. He parked but, instead of heading straight into work, Luke sat for an essential moment to collect himself.
His instincts had been right.
Today was the day, just not for the reasons he’d hoped.
Luke got out of the car and went up the elevator and made his way through the hospital.
Security guards were starting to race towards the accident and emergency entrance but Luke refused to rush. The only concession that his skills might be immediately required was that, as he walked along the corridor, he put on his tie.
‘Morning,’ Luke said to Geoff, one of the security guards, as he raced past him.
Not ‘good morning’.
They weren’t any more.
‘Have you heard who’s coming in?’ Geoff answered by way of response, though he did slow down and fall into step with Luke.
‘I have.’ Luke nodded. ‘It just came on the news. Can you call for backup and start setting up the security screens? How long until she gets here?’
‘Ten minutes.’
Luke nodded his thanks and walked into the department.
‘Thank God you’re here early.’ Paul, his registrar, came straight over.
Yes, Paul was very glad that his boss was here. Luke Edwards epitomised the calm that the department would be needing today—Luke never got ruffled and simply dealt with what was. ‘Anya is on her way in,’ Paul explained. ‘She’s in full cardiac arrest. The place is going to blow.’
Luke disagreed with Paul’s assessment. Yes, drama was about to hit but the place would not blow.
Not while he was in charge.
‘What do we know?’ Luke asked as they walked into the resuscitation area where the nursing staff were already setting up.
‘Just what I told you,’ Paul answered.
‘Have you called for an anaesthetist?’
‘The first on call is in Theatre. The second on is David. He’s coming just as soon as he can but he’s with a sick child on PICU,’ Paul answered, as Luke started checking and labelling the drugs that Barbara, a very experienced senior nurse, was pulling up. ‘I was about to see if Switch could do a ring around …’
‘It’s fine.’ Luke shook his head before Paul could suggest otherwise. ‘We’ll more than manage until David gets here.’
‘Do you even know who Anya is?’ Paul checked, because Luke looked completely unruffled by the news of who was on their way into the department and the fact that the anaesthetist wasn’t there.
‘Yes.’
Oh, Luke knew.
Better than most.
Anya had been famous for forty of her fifty years of life and would, after today, be even more so.
Especially if she died.
‘You’d better let the director of nursing know,’ Luke said.
Paul gave a worried nod. ‘I already have.’
‘Good. I’ll go and make sure the screens are up outside.’ As he went to go out, Heather, the director of nursing, was running down the corridor towards him.
‘Do we know what she’s taken?’ was the first thing that Heather asked when she caught up with Luke.
‘We don’t know that she’s taken anything.’ Luke’s response was tart and Heather flushed as Luke continued to speak. ‘Let’s just make sure that the screens are up and no cameras can get a shot of her.’
The media were already starting to gather. He could hear the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead but thankfully the ambulance bay was covered.
Right now it was about affording Anya some privacy.
Whether she would want it or not.
Paul came outside and briefed them further. ‘Ambulance Control has just called. It’s an unspecified drug overdose …’
‘Well, that was never going to happen.’ Heather’s response was sarcastic.
‘If you want to help—’ Luke had heard enough innuendo and the patient hadn’t even arrived. He turned and faced Heather and made his feelings on the subject very clear. ‘—then cast judgement aside. If you can’t manage that—leave.’
He meant it.
Luke had long ago learnt not to judge and to keep his own feelings very much in check, and it would take everything he had in him to maintain that today.
‘I was just—’ Heather attempted.
‘Well, please don’t,’ Luke interrupted.
Heather looked over at Paul and they shared a glance. Luke had worked at the Royal for just over two years now. He was never the sunniest of people but he rarely snapped and his mood seemed particularly dark today.
The ambulance arrived and as Luke opened the doors he saw that Anya was being given cardiac massage by a paramedic and that a sun-tanned man was shouting orders in a strong Californian accent. He informed Luke, only when asked, that his name was Vince and that he was Anya’s private physician.
Luke already knew.
And he hated that man more than anyone could possibly imagine.
‘What’s the story?’ Luke asked him, as the paramedics worked skilfully on the unconscious woman while they wheeled her in and Luke pulled on a gown and gloves.
‘She must have taken some sleeping tablets,’ Vince said.
It was a vague response but, with time of the essence, for now Luke ignored him. Instead, he listened to Albert, one of the paramedics, who