Outback Sunset (2 page)

As the taxi battled the weather and the traffic, Vanessa’s thoughts turned to David. Her fiancé had been away for three weeks and she had missed him like crazy. Dear, dynamic David. At thirty-nine, he had clawed a niche for himself in the competitive world of international finance. With almost movie star looks, an engaging personality and an excellent education (Eton, Oxford and a Harvard business degree), David had been seen in certain circles as the well-to-do, perennial London bachelor. Until he and Vanessa had met and fallen in love. Many people, including members of the media, had been surprised when their engagement had been announced — they’d thought him marriage proof, but not anymore.

Vanessa smiled and twisted the engagement ring on her finger as the taxi crawled through the sodden streets. David was happy, she was exceedingly happy
and they were going to be a superb married couple: everyone said so. Their marriage was going to be as vibrant and contented as that of her parents, Rosa and Edward Forsythe. Unfortunately, there was a lingering sadness about that … Orphaned at twelve, she’d been brought up by her grandmother, Rhoda, but now, not even Gran, who’d passed on last year, would be present to share the joy of her wedding day.

The taxi lurched to a stop outside
The Spot
. It was an incongruous name for Melody’s nightclub and she’d teased her friend about it, claiming that the name was better suited to a dry-cleaning shop than a quality nightclub. Vanessa paid the driver and waited until the doorman and club’s bouncer, Geoffrey, came forward with a large umbrella and escorted her into the lobby.

The nightclub, with its redecorated 1930s art deco interior, was jumping, and the eight-piece band was doing its best to make the guests deaf. A smoke haze hung over the room, half a metre or so below the ceiling, and a crush of people were eating, dancing and drinking the free booze.

As well, she couldn’t help but notice several guests indulging in a variety of other illegal and questionable pleasures. Everyone turned a blind eye to the drug taking, but if one couldn’t, one left.

Vanessa could have enjoyed the night by being inconspicuous and playing
spot the celebrity
, there were plenty in the crowd, but Melody soon spied her, screeched her name and drew her into the party’s crush.

By midnight Vanessa had had enough. This was not the type of party she enjoyed. It was too noisy
and brassy, too crowded, too everything. Without saying goodbye, she slipped outside. Breathing in the air, damp but smoke free, she waited for Geoffrey to flag down a taxi to take her home.

She wanted to be home when David came in. She was expecting him to arrive any minute from Dorset where he’d been visiting his friends. Two overseas business trips then a combined business/pleasure trip to Dorset meant that she hadn’t seen him for three weeks. Vanessa wanted to show him how much he’d been missed, in the most acceptable manner she could think of. Her chuckle, too soft for Geoffrey to notice, held a note of sexiness as she contemplated how to achieve that. Perhaps a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bed, a bottle of champagne, Dom Perignon of course, in the ice bucket and two glasses on the bedside table. She’d be wearing the black lace, fur-trimmed teddy that David had bought for her twenty-eighth birthday last month. That was guaranteed to impress.

She heard her dog, Sandy, whimpering with fright because of the weather as she opened the bedroom door, and, shivering, he bounded up into her arms from his hiding place under the bed. Sitting on the bed, she hugged him so tight that he yelped. She loosened her grip and began to stroke the back of his head, then his back until he settled.

Lulled into a mild reverie of anticipating David’s arrival, the phone on the side table rang, startling her. As she picked up the receiver she noted the time: 12.40 a.m. God, who would be calling her at this time of the morning?

‘David?’ she said expectantly.

‘It’s Lloyd. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.’

David’s older brother had a fondness for whisky and when he had too many he, occasionally, wanted to talk to his brother about old times, but … Tonight Lloyd didn’t sound as if he had been drinking.

‘What’s up, Lloyd?’

There was a brief silence. ‘Ummm, Vanessa. It’s … about David. Th-there’s been an … accident.’

Vanessa went cold all over and all the energy drained from her body. She dropped Sandy and it took all her strength to cling to the receiver. ‘An accident,’ she repeated dully. Her throat was tightening up, so much so that she couldn’t ask the question she wanted to ask. Lloyd’s words saved her from having to.

‘There was a twilight hunt at the Cooper’s and you know how he loves to ride the hunt. Came off his horse over a hedge. Damned silly fool.’

‘How,’ she took a deep breath, ‘badly is he hurt?’

‘The medicos aren’t sure. He was taken to the local hospital but he’s since been taken by ambulance to London. He, we’re at Guy’s Hospital right now. He’s still unconscious and the preliminary examinations have revealed a skull fracture, internal bleeding and a broken leg. He’s having more tests, a CT, I think, as we speak.’

‘What’s a CT?’ Vanessa asked.

Lloyd, who had no medical background, explained as best he could. ‘As the doctor described it to me, it’s like an x-ray only more comprehensive ’cause it shows bones, organs and soft tissue damage.’

Vanessa bit her lip to stop its trembling. Her voice was quavery as she said, ‘I’m coming over.’ As she spoke she stood and grabbed the black coat and evening bag. ‘Be there in twenty minutes.’

God, how could she sound so normal when inside everything was being shattered. She had woven David into the very fabric of her life, her emotions. David — hurt, unconscious! She tried to stop her imagination from going into overdrive and couldn’t. What if … Oh, what if …? No. Don’t think that, you must think positively. And don’t cry. You don’t want him to wake up and see red rings around your eyes. David will be all right, he has to be …

Lloyd and Robyn Benedict met Vanessa in the casualty area waiting room at Guy’s Hospital. She studied their tense faces as she approached. Robyn had been crying, her eyes were red and puffy. Lloyd, an older, taller version of David, and usually poker-faced, wore a haggard look.

They hugged and then sat in the near empty waiting room.

‘How is he?’ Vanessa asked breathlessly.

‘We’re waiting to hear. A team of doctors is with him,’ Robyn said in a hushed tone. ‘It’s so awful.’

‘Was he wearing his riding hat?’ Vanessa knew David was vain about his thick, wavy blond hair and hated having to wear the mandatory riding hat.

‘I believe so. Neville said that his chin strap wasn’t done up and when he fell the hat came off. He hit his head on a log near the hedge.’ The corners of Lloyd’s mouth turned down. ‘A bad business, I’m afraid. Nev and Prue Cooper are devastated.’

They were devastated? Huh! She was finding it hard to hold on to her self-control. Somewhere inside the double swinging doors to the right of them was the man she loved and he was badly injured. She couldn’t imagine life without him. They had such wonderful plans, they loved each other so much. Surely God wouldn’t, couldn’t take him away from her. He’d taken her parents, Gran. Wasn’t that enough? Not David too.

Two white-coated doctors pushed the swinging doors open. They came towards the trio who were holding hands for mutual comfort.

‘Mr Benedict?’

Lloyd nodded and introduced the women with him. ‘My wife, Robyn, and David’s fiancée, Vanessa Forsythe.’

The younger doctor’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course, Miss Forsythe, I’d recognise you anywhere.’

‘I’m Dr Thomas, the neurologist,’ the older man with the neatly trimmed beard said. ‘I’ve examined David and we have the results of the scan. There is a build-up of pressure, caused by a collection of blood, against the brain. An operation is necessary to relieve the pressure.’ He stared speculatively at Lloyd. ‘I assume you’re the patient’s next of kin. I need you to give consent for the operation.’

Vanessa’s throat constricted but from somewhere she found her voice. ‘An operation, doctor. There’s no alternative?’

‘Not if we want to save him, Miss Forsythe,’ Dr Thomas said with an almost impersonal frankness. ‘Time is an important factor. My surgical team can
be ready within the hour, and the longer we delay, the greater the risk to the patient.’

‘I see.’ Lloyd looked at Vanessa. As she was David’s fiancée, he obviously wanted her to approve. ‘Well?’ His raised eyebrow became a question mark.

Vanessa heard herself say as if she were a long way away, ‘All right, if there’s no other choice.’

The younger doctor smiled at her, then nodded to Dr Thomas. ‘I’ll organise the paperwork.’

Vanessa sat in the chair, her brown eyes glued to David’s face. His head was swathed in bandages. There were tubes up his nose and in his mouth, IV drips attached to his arms and an abundance of electronic equipment — several different types of monitors — behind the head of the bed. His right leg was encased in a plaster cast and elevated via a pulley system. The monitors, with their digital numbers, their graphs, the sounds some made, fascinated and the more closely she watched them, terrified her. A kindly sister had explained their function but because she wasn’t medically inclined and had good health herself, she found them intimidating and confusing.

She, Lloyd and Robyn were taking turns to sit beside David in his intensive care bed. Already, it felt as if she had been there a week when in real time it had been less than twelve hours. In hospital, time seemed to crawl instead of flowing at the normal pace as it did in the outside world. Her back ached, her eyes were sore from staring at the monitors and her brain was as weary as the rest of her from the
act of willing David to get better. She needed to see him open his eyes, to move, even fractionally, either of which in her mind would signify the operation’s success. The night sister-in-charge, had told her it was too early for any real sign of recovery because he was heavily medicated and wouldn’t respond to stimuli for another twelve hours at least. But still she hoped for some sign, anything to ease her anxiety.

Another twelve, then twenty-four and thirty hours ticked by and David’s condition did not change. Vanessa heard the word ‘coma’ whispered by the attending sisters. Dr Thomas kept popping in to check the observation charts. He would stand at the foot of the bed with a serious, considering expression, not saying anything positive or negative, but playing, she assumed, like her, a waiting game.

It was hard to sit still for long periods of time. Eventually one’s mind became as numb as one’s backside. In the early daylight of the fifth day Vanessa watched rain drops slide down the window to the right of David’s bed. The weather was still atrocious. Just for something to do she stood and walked towards the glass, to stare down into the street below. People, early shift workers most likely, hurried by, their umbrellas forming an almost unbroken line along the street. Great-coats, trench coats, scarves and mackintoshes were almost uniformly grey, black and fawn. She couldn’t remember any other time when she had felt so weary.

And … as each hour stretched into another day, and another, the hopelessness of David’s situation
increased, instinct telling her even before Dr Thomas had, that some sign of recovery should have been evident by now.

Oh, David. She blinked back a rush of tears. What if he suddenly woke and saw them? No, she had to be strong for him. When he woke up she could relax and have a good cry; they would be tears of relief then.

Standing there she continued to slip into deeper emotional misery by remembering happier times. How they’d first met, during, of all things, a literary luncheon for Australian author, Colleen McCullough, in a Savoy function room. He had been standing behind her in line, waiting for the author to sign a copy of her book,
The Ladies of Missalonghi
. He had introduced himself and they’d started to talk. He’d asked her to join him for coffee. She had said yes, and that was how their relationship had begun.

At the beginning of the sixth day, Vanessa gathered enough courage to ask Dr Thomas the questions she had so far been afraid to ask. ‘Why isn’t David responding? What’s wrong?’

Dr Thomas pursed his lips while his mind formulated an answer. ‘We’re not sure, Vanessa. Sometimes after the surgery David’s had, the brain, well it goes to sleep. That’s why he’s in a coma. That can be a healthy sign, a sign that the brain is healing itself in its own time.’

She stared at him. ‘You don’t think that’s the case with David, do you? I — I’ve heard the staff saying things like ‘diminishing brain activity,’ ‘less response to stimulus’. You’ve put him on a respirator.’
Anxiety added a touch of anger to her tone. ‘I may not be medically wise but neither am I naive. I know those aren’t positive signs.’

He returned her challenging stare for a moment as he deliberated over how much to tell her. ‘No, they aren’t. The coma’s deepened I’m afraid, and …’ he paused, stroked his beard with his hand, ‘all we can do is keep up the support systems, the intravenous feeding, the respirator … and hope! We’ve done everything that’s medically possible …’ He cleared his throat and, uncomfortable with her stricken expression, averted his gaze.

But then, as if to a macabre cue, the cardiac monitor gave a beep, a different kind of beep. Vanessa’s gaze flew to the electronic graph. It was making uneven strokes. Up and down, then flat. Up and down again then flatter for longer and another sound, a continuing beeping that went on and on. The sound scared the hell out of her. In a flurry of activity, four or five sisters plus Dr Thomas converged around David’s bed. She heard the words over the ward’s speaker system, ‘Code Red, Code Red, room two three eight.’

‘Get her out of here,’ Dr Thomas barked to the closest sister, jerking his head to mean Vanessa, as he was given the electric paddles from the defibrillator.

Entirely alone, Vanessa stood in the corridor leaning against the wall. At first she stared at the closed door of room two three eight, praying for it to open, willing the staff to come out wearing expressions of relief. Seconds ran into minutes. Five minutes passed, the door remained closed and no-one entered or left. A frightening emptiness began to
invade her body, stripping her energy away and slowly, hands trembling, she covered her face and began to cry.