Sarah Morgan - The Sicilian Doctor's Proposal

‘There’s no such thing as “just coffee”. Coffee is wonderful. It’s my only vice and currently I’m in desperate need of a caffeine hit.’ She prised the lid off the coffee, sniffed and gave a whimper of pleasure. ‘Large Americano. Oh, that’s just the best smell…’

He watched as she sipped, closed her eyes and savoured the taste. She gave a tiny moan of appreciation that sent a flicker of awareness through his body. He gave a slight frown at the strength of his reaction.

‘So…’ She studied him for a moment and then took another sip of coffee. Some of the colour returned to her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. I’m glad you’re early. You were just in time to save me from a nasty situation.’

‘I prefer to drive when the roads are clear. I thought you might appreciate the help, given that David has already been gone two days. We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Gio Moretti.’ He wanted to hold her until she stopped shaking but he sensed that she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture so he kept his distance. ‘I’m your new partner.’

She hesitated and then put her free hand in his. ‘Alice Anderson.’

‘I gathered that. You’re really not what I expected.’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘You’re standing in my surgery having frightened off two teenage thugs by your appearance and you’re telling me I’m not what you expected?’ There was a hint of humour in her blue eyes and his attention was caught by the length of her lashes.

‘So maybe I don’t fit anyone’s image of a conventional doctor right at this moment…’ he dragged his gaze away from her face and glanced down at himself with a rueful smile ‘…but I’ve been travelling all night and I’m dressed for comfort. After a shave and a quick change of clothes, I will be ready to impress your patients. But first show me to a room and I’ll stitch that boy before his friends return.’

‘Are you sure?’ She frowned slightly. ‘I mean, David told me you didn’t operate any more and—’

‘I don’t operate.’ He waited for the usual feelings to rise up inside him. Waited for the frustration and the sick disappointment. Nothing happened. Maybe he was just tired. Or maybe he’d made progress. ‘I don’t operate, but I can certainly stitch up a face.’

‘Then I’m very grateful and I’m certainly not going to argue with you. That wound is beyond my skills and I’ve got a full surgery starting in ten minutes.’ She looked at the teenager who was sprawled across the chairs, eyes closed, and sighed. ‘Oh, joy. Is it alcohol or a bang on the head, do you think?’

‘Hard to tell.’ Gio followed her gaze and shook his head slowly. ‘I’ll stitch him up, do a neurological assessment and then we’ll see. Is there anyone who can help me? Show me around? I can give you a list of what I’ll need.’

‘Rita, our practice nurse, will be here in a minute. She’s very experienced. Her asthma clinic doesn’t start until ten so I’ll send her in.’ Her eyes slid over him. ‘Are you sure you’re all right with this? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow and if you’ve been travelling all night you must be tired.’

‘I’m fine.’ He studied her carefully, noting the dark shadows under her eyes. ‘In fact, I’d say that you’re the one who’s tired, Dr Anderson.’

She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Goes with the job. I’ll show you where you can work. We have a separate room for minor surgery. I think you’ll find everything you need but I can’t be sure. We don’t usually stitch faces.’

He followed her down the corridor, his eyes drawn to the gentle swing of her hips. ‘Do you have 5/0 Ethilon?’

‘Yes.’ She pushed open a door and held it open while he walked inside. ‘Is that all you need?’

‘The really important thing is to debride the wound and align the tissues exactly. And not leave the stitches in for too long.’

Her glance was interested. Intelligent. ‘I wish I had time to watch you. Not that I’m about to start suturing faces,’ she assured him hastily, and he smiled.

‘Like most things, it’s just a question of practice.’

She opened a cupboard. ‘Stitches are in here. Gloves on the shelf. You’re probably about the same size as David. Tetanus et cetera in the fridge.’ She waved a hand. ‘I’ll send Rita in with the patient. I’ll get on with surgery. Come and find me when you’ve finished.’

‘Alice.’ He stopped her before she walked out of the door. ‘Don’t forget to call the police.’

She tilted her head back and he sensed that she was wrestling with what seemed like a major inconvenience then she gave a resigned sigh.

‘I’ll do that.’

ALICE spoke to Rita, called the police and then worked flat out, seeing patients, with no time to even think about checking on her new partner.

‘How long have you had this rash on your eye, Mr Denny?’ As she saw her tenth patient of the morning, she thought gratefully of the cup of coffee that Gio Moretti had thought to bring her. It was the only sustenance she’d had all day.

‘It started with a bit of pain and tingling. Then it all went numb.’ The man sat still as she examined him. ‘I suppose all that began on Saturday. My wife noticed the rash yesterday. She was worried because it looks blistered. We wondered if I’d brushed up against something in the garden. You know how it is with some of those plants.’

Alice picked up her ophthalmoscope and examined his eye thoroughly. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with the garden, Mr Denny. You’ve got quite a discharge from your eye.’

‘It’s very sore.’

‘I’m sure it is.’ Alice put the ophthalmoscope down on her desk and washed her hands. ‘I want to test your vision. Can you read the letters for me?’

The man squinted at the chart on her wall and struggled to recite the letters. ‘Not very clear, I’m afraid.’ He looked worried. ‘My eyes have always been good. Am I losing my sight?’

‘You have a virus.’ Alice sat down and tapped something into her computer. Then she turned back to the patient. ‘I think you have shingles, Mr Denny.’

‘Shingles?’ He frowned. ‘In my eye?’

‘Shingles is a virus that affects the nerves,’ she explained, ‘and one in five cases occur in the eye—to be technical, it’s the ophthalmic branch of the trigeminal nerve.’

He pulled a face. ‘Never was much good at biology.’

Alice smiled. ‘You don’t need biology, Mr Denny. But I just wanted you to know it isn’t uncommon, unfortunately. I’m going to need to refer you to an ophthalmologist—an eye doctor at the hospital. Is there someone who can take you up there?’

He nodded. ‘My daughter’s waiting in the car park. She brought me here.’

‘Good.’ Alice reached for the phone and dialled the clinic number. ‘They’ll see you within the next couple of days.’

‘Do I really need to go there?’

Alice nodded. ‘They need to examine your eye with a slit lamp—a special piece of equipment that allows them to look at your eye properly. They need to exclude iritis. In the meantime, I’ll give you aciclovir to take five times a day for a week. It should speed up healing time and reduce the incidence of new lesions.’ She printed out the prescription on the computer as she waited for the hospital to answer the phone.

Once she’d spoken to the consultant, she quickly wrote a letter and gave it to the patient. ‘They’re really nice up there,’ she assured him, ‘but if you have any worries you’re welcome to come back to me.’

He left the room and Alice picked up a set of results. She was studying the numbers with a puzzled frown when Rita walked in. A motherly woman in her early fifties, her navy blue uniform was stretched over her large bosom and there was a far-away expression on her face. ‘Pinch me. Go on, pinch me hard. I’ve died and gone to heaven.’