Return of Dr Maguire (Mills & Boon Medical) (14 page)

* * *

Christa rested back in her chair and yawned after a busy afternoon dealing with everything from sore backs to chickenpox, and her thoughts drifted happily back to her evening with Lachlan at Matelli’s. Despite the fact that she was sure Lachlan was a fair way off a long-term commitment in their relationship, she had a little bubble of elation inside her that made everyday irritations fade into minor blips.

She grinned when she recalled Ginny coming into her room that morning with a face like doom.

‘Everything’s happened this morning,’ she’d intoned gloomily. ‘The computer’s crashed and the man can’t come until lunchtime. We’re going to be in chaos.’

Whereas normally Christa might have shared Ginny’s frustration, somehow today it hadn’t seemed to be such a disaster. ‘Oh, well,’ she’d remarked serenely. ‘We’ll just have to go by the manual diary until he comes.’

‘And the cleaner’s just walked out. Where on earth will we get someone else at short notice?’

‘Don’t worry!’ Christa had said gaily. ‘I’ll ask my neighbour—she runs an agency. I’m sure she’ll find someone.’

Ginny had frowned as if unconvinced and pursued her pessimistic theme. ‘And this month’s figures on non-attenders are worse than ever. What are we going to do about that? Ben wants to discuss it with you.’

Christa had smiled. ‘Oh...we’ll put a notice up warning people we may have to ask them to pay if they don’t give us notice of non-attendance. We may not be able to carry it out, but it might frighten them!’

Ginny pursed her lips, looking at Christa suspiciously. ‘You don’t seem terribly bothered—it’s not like you to take it all so well. Usually you hit the roof!’

‘Oh, well—no good worrying, is it?’ Christa had declared blithely. ‘We’ll work it out!’

Ginny had sighed heavily as if she couldn’t understand Christa’s casual attitude and had stomped out. She liked to keep on top of all problems! Dear old Ginny—she’d be having a good chunter with Alice about the doctor’s irresponsible manner. But that’s how being on the edge of love made you, Christa had thought—rather carefree—and after all the sadness of Isobel’s death, it was lovely to feel that way!

Now, at the end of the day, Alice came in with a cup of coffee and glancing at Christa’s happy expression said rather pityingly, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to wipe that beaming smile off your face, Christa. You’ve got another patient to round off the day. Mrs Donnington, of all people. She’s been slotted in this afternoon as an emergency—wouldn’t you know it would be her?’

Christa took a grateful sip of coffee and said mildly, ‘But that’s what I’m here for, Alice! I’m her sounding board, you know. Mrs Donnington may be a pain in the neck sometimes, but part of her trouble is that she’s lonely and has no one to talk to.’

Mrs Donnington was a widow, a ‘frequent attender’, convinced that she suffered from myriad health issues, continually worrying about her health but never with anything specific wrong with her.

‘But she comes in nearly every week—she’s taking up another poorly patient’s place,’ protested Alice.

‘Even so,’ said Christa lightly. ‘I can assure you the one time we don’t give Mrs Donnington an appointment will be the time she’ll have emergency appendicitis. We ignore her at our peril!’

Alice grinned, unrepentant. ‘Not much chance of ignoring her. I’m afraid she’s got a complaint—other than her health, of course...’

Christa laughed. ‘Well, what is it this time?’

‘She feels she’s been put to the back of the queue today—calls it “discrimination”. She wanted to be fitted in this morning—she said an afternoon appointment was highly inconvenient and she’d miss a very important meeting. I offered her one tomorrow, but she said it was too urgent for that.’

Alice went out, clutching a pile of post, and Christa pressed the call system button that lit up the board in the waiting room, calling the next patient.

Amanda Donnington, elderly, but tall and imposing, came into the room and sat down heavily in the chair, pulling off her scarf and sounding rather breathless.

‘At last, Doctor! I’ve been in such discomfort, and this seems to be the only appointment I could get today, although I wanted to come this morning.’

‘Tell me what the problem is,’ said Christa kindly.

Mrs Donnington fixed her with a steely glare. ‘Of course the main problem is that this place is dangerously understaffed. Since Dr Isobel died it’s been nigh impossible to get an appointment on the day one wants. It’s been chaos!’

Don’t I know it, thought Christa wryly. She smiled at Mrs Donnington pleasantly. ‘At least you’re being seen today, and you’ll be pleased to know we’ve got another doctor in the practice now.’

‘Ah! About time! Perhaps urgent cases won’t be pushed to the back of the queue now! Do I know this doctor?’

‘He’s Dr Lachlan Maguire, Dr Isobel’s son.’

Mrs Donnington’s expression livened up. ‘Really? So he’s turned up after all these years. Funny how he left his poor mother so suddenly and never a word from him...’

Christa butted in hastily before her patient could give her thoughts about that. ‘Please, tell me what’s worrying you.’

‘Oh, I suppose you’ll say it’s nothing to worry about—that’s the usual response I get,’ remarked Mrs Donnington rather sourly. ‘I’ve been trying to cope with it for as long as possible, Dr Lennox, knowing how stretched you are, but eventually I’ve had to give in. Sleep has eluded me completely. I shall need sleeping pills.’

‘Where is the discomfort, Mrs Donnington?’ asked Christa patiently.

‘It’s this cough I have—all night, no respite.’

‘How long have you had it?’

‘On and off for a while. I didn’t mention it when I came in last week because it wasn’t so bad. But it’s got worse. And I’m so sweaty at night. It’s extremely uncomfortable.’

Christa looked at Mrs Donnington more closely. She certainly didn’t look as robust as usual, paler and perhaps slightly thinner in the face. Somewhere alarm bells rang.

‘Have you lost weight, Mrs Donnington?’

‘I don’t believe in this obsession with weighing oneself—but clothes do seem a little looser, I have to admit.’

‘You aren’t a smoker, are you?’

‘Certainly not, a filthy habit. I’m afraid my dear husband was a chain smoker. I could never persuade him to give up.’ A genuine look of sadness crossed Mrs Donnington’s face. ‘And of course he died of a smoking-related illness, a few years ago now.’

Christa took out her stethoscope. ‘I think I’d better have a listen in to your chest.’

A few minutes later, with the examination done, Christa sat down in her chair and looked thoughtfully at her patient. She didn’t want to alarm her unnecessarily, but for once Mrs Donnington’s trip to the doctor’s had been very necessary. The decreased breath sounds and unusual lung noises with areas of dullness in the lung were symptoms that could not be ignored.

Apprehension flickered across Mrs Donnington’s face. ‘Is something wrong, Doctor?’

‘You’ve certainly got signs of loss of lung function—possibly an infection, for which I’ll give you an antibiotic—but given your shortness of breath, night sweats and possible weight loss, I’d like to send you to the chest clinic at St Luke’s Hospital.’

Mrs Donnington turned pale. ‘The...the hospital?’

Christa leaned forward in her chair and smiled reassuringly. ‘I want to make sure we cover every possibility, and I can’t do all the tests here or give you a chest X-ray. But you’ve done absolutely the right thing coming to me...’

‘You think I’ve got lung cancer, don’t you?’

‘Not necessarily. Your symptoms could have many reasons—but we need to cover every possibility. Of course it’s my job to investigate your problem, and if I’m not sure of a diagnosis to send you to a consultant who specialises in everything to do with lungs. I’m sure you agree with me, don’t you?’

Mrs Donnington suddenly looked smaller and frailer. Most of the many times she’d come to see the doctor her complaints had been trivial and her worries had always been allayed—now she was having to face the reality that she could be really ill.

Christa watched Mrs Donnington with compassion as the woman tried to assimilate the unexpected news that her complaint could be more serious than an irritating cough. There would be shock, physical as well as mental, a feeling of being out of control, even panic.

‘I don’t want you to think the worst, Mrs Donnington,’ Christa said gently. ‘More often than not these things turn out to be run-of-the-mill symptoms that have no sinister cause. Now, why don’t you go and have a coffee with your daughter? Doesn’t she live near you?’

Mrs Donnington got out of her chair slowly, clutching her enormous handbag, and gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t think so... Verity leads a very demanding life, you see, what with taking the children backwards and forwards and dealing with her horses. We don’t seem to have time to see each other very often, and, as she says, the weekend is the only time she gets to herself.’

And that’s one of the clues to the cause of Amanda Donnington’s loneliness, thought Christa, looking at the sad expression on the woman’s face and wondering how much the woman’s grandchildren featured in her life. Without knowing Verity, Christa surmised that an elderly woman who might be bossy, interfering and possibly rather needy, could be sidelined from the daughter’s life.

She smiled sympathetically. ‘Well, treat yourself to something at the local café! I’m going to ask for an early hospital appointment, which should be in a few days. You won’t have long to wait.’

Mrs Donnington nodded, her imperious manner diminished. ‘Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for seeing me.’ Then added with more spirit, ‘I knew there was something wrong!’

And that, thought Christa wryly, was a very good example of why every patient should be listened to carefully. She wrote an e-mail to St. Luke’s lung and chest department, asking for an urgent appointment for Mrs Donnington.

She closed down the computer and picked up her handbag, wishing like mad that she’d be seeing Lachlan that weekend, instead of sitting through two days of lectures on tackling cardiovascular disease.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
FTER
THE
STUFFY
gloom of the lecture hall it took Christa a second or two to adjust to the bright light in the huge reception area. All around her people were jostling and chattering, relieved to stretch their legs after a long stint listening to the professor’s rather expressionless voice expounding on the benefits of the early diagnosis of hypertension.

A small plump figure with blonde hair materialised in front of her, and a cheery voice said, ‘I don’t believe it. Christa Lennox! I never thought I’d see you here!’

Christa stared in surprise at the smiling face. ‘Suzy Collins, as I live and breathe!’ she gasped. ‘I thought you were in Australia!’

‘Not any more I’m not! I’m married and doing anaesthetics near Glasgow now.’

The two women embraced and Suzy stepped back and surveyed her old friend admiringly. ‘You look better than ever, Christa—hardly changed at all after nearly ten years. I thought a few years in the hard world of work would age you!’

‘Is it that long since we shared a house at uni?’ Christa laughed. ‘God, have we got some catching up to do! Let’s have lunch and forget about hypertension and cardiac problems for a while.’

They made their way to the canteen and sat down at a side table.

‘So,’ said Suzy. ‘What’s it like, working up in the Highlands?’

Christa gave her a quick résumé of her life at Errin Bridge, and told her of Isobel Maguire’s tragic death.

‘Isobel Maguire?’ repeated Suzy with a frown. ‘Not Lachlan Maguire’s mother?’

‘You know him?’ asked Christa in surprise.

‘I met him in Sydney when we were first looking for jobs. We kept bumping into each other—he always had some glamorous bird in tow!’

Christa’s heart did a double thump. ‘I suppose he had lots of girlfriends,’ she said lightly.

Suzy chuckled. ‘You don’t get a hunky guy like him being stuck for female company. But he was always very careful not to get tied down—you know what I mean? I knew him quite well and we used to have the odd coffee together—nothing romantic between us, I was otherwise engaged! He used to tease me, saying he couldn’t understand people getting hitched for life—he liked to have variety!’

‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Christa forced herself to laugh, but Suzy’s description seemed to be an accurate portrayal of what Lachlan had said, so it shouldn’t surprise her.

‘Too right! Many girls tried to catch him, but he wouldn’t be tied down. So, honey, you be careful around young Maguire,’ teased Suzy.

‘I certainly will.’ Christa smiled, but her casual words hid her firm intention to be very careful indeed when it came to dating Lachlan. Everything Suzy had said seemed to confirm what he was like. Then she changed the subject and they talked of the happy times they’d had together as students, and what had happened to all their friends.

‘It’s been so good seeing you,’ said Suzy when they’d finished lunch. ‘Let’s get together very soon. We mustn’t lose touch again. I’d love you to meet Pete, my husband. He’s looking after the kids at the moment, so I’ll be dashing off after this afternoon’s stint.’

And for the rest of the weekend Christa seemed to hear Suzy’s words about Lachlan echoing round in her head. ‘He couldn’t understand people getting hitched for life!’ A gypsy’s warning, perhaps?

* * *

Christa had barely seen Lachlan since their evening out at Matelli’s As they had arranged then, the Sunday following the conference she was to go over to Ardenleigh with her ideas on decorating the house.

When the day came she was delighted to see that after a week of dull, cold weather it was a beautiful sparkling day. She pulled on a fleece over her T-shirt and jogging pants, and Titan bounded up, full of joy at the anticipation of a long walk.

‘Come on, then, Titan—we’ll see Mum before we go to Lachlan’s.’

The little dog gave a bark of approval and trotted cheerfully alongside Christa as she set off. The crisp air was as heady as champagne, and she took deep breaths as she ran along the lane towards her mother’s flat, feeling the release of tension as she worked her body hard after a week’s arduous work. There was a light hoar frost on the verges, and it clung to the trees and hedges, glittering in the morning sun—everywhere looked magical.