The Playboy Doctor's Proposal. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
easy. His finger went in and out.
In and out.
It helped him to stay quiet. To stop the questions he so badly wanted to ask, like, ‘Mummy…Alanya…are you feeling better? Do you need more medicine?’
She didn’t seem to be eating very much. They gave her carrot juice to drink, to drain the toxins from her system. How long did toxins take to drain?
Where did they come out?
He was too scared to ask any of these questions, but he listened more than the healing sisters thought. He heard words like ‘worried’ and ‘taking too long’ and after this he stayed even quieter, stopped even asking, ‘How’s Mummy?’ in case his talking, even outside the healing shelter, was the thing stopping her from getting well.
Late one night…he couldn’t remember, maybe the sixth or seventh night of her illness…he couldn’t sleep, and crept over to the healing shelter because there was light coming from its windows. It was cold and his feet were bare and he didn’t dare go inside, but he listened underneath the window and heard more words. ‘Getting worse’ and ‘I don’t know’ and ‘ambulance’.
After this, everything got so confusing, when he thought about it he couldn’t think the way it had gone. He fell asleep on the couch on the veranda of the healing shelter, and a big car came with red lights. He hid under the blanket in case he got in trouble for being there. He heard men’s voices. ‘Too late’ and ‘useless’ and ‘bloody quack treatments’. Someone found him—Raina, one of the healing sisters—and he pretended to be asleep and she carried him gently in her arms to his bed, and by the time he got there he must have really been asleep because he didn’t remember anything else until morning.
Then there were more words—’ very peaceful’ and ‘gone away on the most wonderful journey’—but he was so good, he didn’t say anything himself in case it made Mummy…better call her Alanya…in case it made her worse. A lot of boring time went by. He wasn’t allowed to see her at all. He had some meals, breakfast and lunch. Were they saying it was Alanya who had gone on the wonderful journey? When was she coming back? He didn’t want to ask because that would not have been hushing and staying silent.
Raina sat him down and hugged him and kissed his forehead and told him, ‘Your auntie Janey is going to come and get you, sweetheart.’
He didn’t know he had an auntie Janey. He wanted to ask who she was and when she was coming but he was so, so good, he stayed quiet and silent and hushed and didn’t say a word.
‘YOU’RE not!’
‘Yes, I am. What’s the big deal? It’s only a few days off work.’
‘You never take days off work. In all the time I’ve known you, Hannah, and that’s, what—three years? You’ve never missed a shift.’
Senior Nurse Jennifer Bradley collected the paper emerging from the twelve-lead ECG machine and Dr Hannah Jackson cast an experienced eye over the results.
‘Bit of right heart failure—there’s notching on the P waves but everything else looks pretty good for an eighty-six-year-old. No sign of infarct.’
The elderly patient, who had been sound asleep while the recording was being taken, suddenly opened her eyes.
‘Give it back,’ she said loudly. ‘You’re a naughty girl!’
The complaint was loud enough to attract the attention of several staff members near the central desk. Heads turned in astonishment and Hannah sighed inwardly. One of them would be her fellow senior registrar, Ryan Fisher, wouldn’t it? And, of course, he had a grin from ear to ear on overhearing the accusation.
Jennifer was stifling a smile with difficulty. ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Matheson?’
‘She’s stolen my handbag! I’ve got a lot of money in my purse and she’s taken it, the little blonde trollop!’
Hannah heard a snigger from the small audience by the central desk. It would have been a good idea to pull the curtain of this cubicle but in the early hours of a Monday morning, with the emergency department virtually empty, it hadn’t seemed a priority.
‘Your handbag’s quite safe, Mrs Matheson,’ she said soothingly. ‘It’s in the bag with your other belongings.’
‘Show me!’
Hannah fished in the large, brown paper bag printed with the label PATIENT PROPERTY and withdrew a cavernous black handbag that must have been purchased at least forty years ago.
‘Give it to me!’
Hands gnarled with arthritis fumbled with the clasp. The bag was tipped upside down and several items fell onto Doris Matheson’s lap. The contents of the opened packet of peppermints rolled off to bounce on the floor and a number of used, screwed-up handkerchiefs were thrown after them.
‘There, I told you! There was a thousand dollars in here and it’s gone!’ A shaky finger pointed at Hannah. ‘She’s taken it! Call the police!’
Ryan wasn’t content to observe now. He was standing at the end of the bed. Faded blue eyes peered suspiciously at the tall, broad masculine figure.
‘Are you the police?’
Ryan flashed the ghost of a wink at both Jennifer and Hannah. ‘I’ve had some experience with handcuffs, if that’s any help.’
Hannah shut her eyes briefly. How did Ryan get away with this sort of behaviour? Sometimes, if he was any more laid back, he’d be asleep. What a shame Doris hadn’t stayed asleep. She was sniffing imperiously now.
‘Arrest that woman,’ she commanded.
‘Dr Jackson?’ Ryan eyed Hannah with great interest. She couldn’t help the way the corners of her mouth twitched. This was pretty funny. It was just a shame it was going to give Ryan ammunition he wouldn’t hesitate to use.
‘She’s stolen my money.’
Ryan stepped closer. He leaned down and smiled at Doris. One of those killer smiles he usually reserved for the women he was flirting with. Which was just about every female member of staff.
Except Hannah.
His voice was a deep, sexy rumble. ‘Really?’
Doris Matheson stared back. Her mouth opened and then closed. Hannah could swear she fluttered her eyelashes and stifled another sigh at the typical feminine reaction to being the centre of this man’s attention. The coy smile Ryan received was only surprising because of the age of their patient.
‘What’s your name, young man?’
‘Ryan Fisher, ma’am.’
‘And you’re a policeman?’
‘Not really.’ Ryan’s tone was that of a conspirator revealing a secret. ‘I’m a doctor.’
The charm he was exuding was palpable. Totally fake but, for once, Hannah could appreciate the talent. It wasn’t being directed at her, was it? She didn’t need to arm herself with the memories of the misery men like Ryan could cause the women who trusted them. It was certainly defusing a potentially aggravating situation here.
‘Ooh,’ Doris said. ‘Are you going to look after me?’
‘You’re about to go to X-Ray, Mrs Matheson,’ Hannah said.
‘What for?’
‘We think you’ve broken your hip.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘You fell over.’
‘Did I?’ The question, like the others, was directed at Ryan despite it being Hannah who was supplying