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THREE

      ‘GIVE her the Maxalon, you meanie,’ Susan teased as Ciro stepped into the cubicle a few moments later.

      Thankfully his telephone conversation with the pathologist had at least given Susan enough time to remove the offending bowl and for Harriet to rinse her mouth and at least manage a semblance of dignity.

      ‘I’ve already discussed this with Harriet,’ Ciro said, completely unmoved. ‘Now, will you let me examine you?’

      ‘There’s no need,’ Harriet insisted. ‘I went out to dinner last night, the food was really rich…’

      ‘Did you have a lot to drink?’

      ‘Apart from mineral water, no.’ Standing, attempting not to wince with the pain that small exertion caused, she attempted a brisk smile. ‘I’d better get back out there.’

      ‘You are in no fit state to be working.’

      ‘I’m much better now,’ Harriet muttered.

      ‘I disagree. I have already spoken with the nurse supervisor and she is arranging cover for you.’

      ‘You’ve what?’ Appalled, she glared at him. ‘How dare you?’

      ‘I dare because I am the doctor in charge tonight and I need my colleagues, especially my senior ones, to be completely on the ball. There is no room for error in Emergency.’

      He was right, of course, Harriet knew that deep down, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

      ‘Now, are you going to let me examine you?’

      ‘No,’ Harriet answered tartly. ‘You should be in with Alyssa, instead of worrying about me.’

      ‘The paediatricians are in with Alyssa now. Everything is under control.’

      ‘Including me.’ Harriet bristled. ‘I’m going to wait for the nurse supervisor to arrange cover and then I’m going to take some paracetamol and lie down for an hour or so until I feel well enough to start working again.’

      ‘You shouldn’t take anything until you know what’s wrong with you. I’m not going to give you anything.’

      ‘You really are the limit, you know!’ Embarrassment was turning into anger now, furious at his control, his authoritative air—well, it might quiet his patients but it damn well wasn’t going to silence her into submission. ‘Well, Dr Delgato, as it happens, I have some painkillers in my handbag, painkillers that don’t require some over-inflated doctor’s signature to take, unless there’s a rule that’s suddenly been invented that I don’t know about, unless I’m not allowed to go into my locker without your consent, unless I’m not allowed to open my bag and take my own tablets without your permission!’

      ‘You are being childish,’ Ciro responded, not remotely fazed by her outburst. ‘But as you’re now off duty, that is entirely your prerogative.

      ‘Now, I suggest you put on a gown, lie down on the trolley and rest for a while. Then, with your consent, I will come in and examine you once I have spoken to Mrs Harrison to let her know what is going on.’

      She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate, but the mention of the Harrisons made her protests about refusing to put on a gown and be examined rather feeble, childish even, and Ciro seemed to sense the change in her.

      ‘How do you feel now that you have vomited?’

      Which wasn’t exactly the sweetest line to deliver a woman, but Harriet knew that his medical brain meant well.

      ‘A bit better.’

      ‘Good! Then rest and I’ll be back shortly.’

      She gave a reluctant nod. ‘How are Alyssa’s results?’ She knew, just knew, he was about to shake his head and tell her that it was no longer her problem, so Harriet added quickly, ‘I really would like to know.’

      ‘Her potassium is dangerously low, as is her albumin, her renal function is decreased, she’s extremely malnourished, which is why she has the peripheral oedema. I’ve spoken with Pathology and it would seem those vitamins that Mrs Harrison’s been giving to her daughter are, in fact, diuretics, which of course are used to get rid of oedema, but that’s the trouble with self-prescribing…’ He gave her a tight smile as Harriet blushed. ‘As you know, some diuretics need to be taken with a potassium supplement. Instead, Alyssa’s potassium has dropped so low she is in danger of having a serious cardiac arrhythmia and possibly a cardiac arrest. I’ll let you know how it goes when you’re feeling a bit better.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      It was horrible, horrible, horrible being on the other side of the curtain. Horrible lying in a flimsy gown with the ties missing, on a hard trolley. Horrible having a probe stuck in your ear and your blood pressure taken, but that didn’t even begin to compare to the humiliation of lying back and closing one’s eyes while someone as divine and toned and clearly fit as Ciro told you to stop trying to hold in your stomach so that he could examine you properly.

      She didn’t even want to think about the sensible knickers she was wearing, supposedly safe in the knowledge she had been going to work.

      ‘Tender?’ Ciro asked as Harriet gave a stifled moan.

      ‘A bit.’

      ‘And here?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Hmm.’

      The dreaded ‘hmm’—the sound doctors worldwide made as they broached a tentative diagnosis.

      ‘You are tender in the right iliac fossa. I think it could be appendicitis or possibly an ectopic pregnancy.’

      ‘I’m not pregnant.’

      ‘Do you have your period?’

      ‘No,’ Harriet croaked.

      ‘So when is it due?’

      ‘Soon.’ Blushing to the roots of her hair, she tried to focus on dates to respond to this necessary but excruciatingly embarrassing question in as matter-of-fact a way as she could muster. ‘Actually, it was due a couple of days ago but—’

      ‘Hmm.’

      ‘I’m not pregnant.’ Meeting his doubtful eyes, Harriet shook her head firmly on the pillow. ‘I’m definitely not pregnant.’

      ‘You are on the Pill?’

      Harriet gave a small nod, hoping that would be enough to mollify him but knowing that it was futile.

      ‘The Pill isn’t always a hundred per cent effective.’

      ‘I’m just not pregnant, OK?’ Wrenching the beastly gown down over her stomach, she prayed for her blush to fade, prayed for this interrogation to end. ‘So I haven’t got an ectopic pregnancy and neither do I have appendicitis. I just want to go home to my own bed—’

      ‘Harriet, I know that this is embarrassing for you.’ Perching himself on the trolley, he took her hand, the touch so unexpected, so surprisingly tender she felt tears prick her eyes, his glimpse of kindness providing no balm, more a sharp sting to her bruised emotions. ‘It is always awkward when staff are ill, but the fact is you have not looked well since you first came on duty and you are getting progressively worse. It clearly needs to be dealt with. Now, as uncomfortable as these questions are, they have to be asked. In a young woman, with abdominal tenderness, vomiting and a late period, it would be criminally negligent of me not to consider that it could be a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. So can you tell me why I should rule out that diagnosis? Are you unable to conceive, is there anything in your medical history…?’

      And she didn’t want to voice it, didn’t want to admit it even to herself let alone anyone else, but knowing the truth was needed, drawing strength from the kind eyes that stared in concern, the warmth from the hand holding hers, Harriet let go of

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