Claimed: One Wife Page 4

  A barely heard whisper that said, Let him be all right. Let it not be an accident that's kept him.

  'That you buzzing, Sally?'

  Jerry's question brought her back to reality. She pulled her pager out of her pocket and studied the message.

  'I've to call his office. Hold on and I'll let you know what's happening.'

  She crossed to a phone and dialled the extension.

  'Sally, it's Jill Flintock. I came in early to get some filing done because with the new man in the job and trying to tell him how things work, I don't get time during the day...'

  Sally closed her eyes and waited, assuming Miss Flintock. would eventually get to the point.

  'And as I was here I answered the phone. Then I tried to contact him. Dr Hudson. Could you ask him to check his pager? He must have it switched off or it's low on batteries or something. I've been trying to page him and then I tried to get him on his mobile number but nothing's working.'

  Miss Flintock sounded rattled—a rare occurrence.

  Sally hesitated, uncertain whether to further alarm the woman, then decided she had to know.

  'I can't ask him to check anything. He hasn't shown up,' she said. 'Have you tried his home number?'

  'I did that before I called you.'

  An image of Grant Hudson's body lying on his bathroom floor, blood oozing from a head wound, flashed through Sally's mind. She'd never seen his bathroom, but in the image the tiles were blue. The blood a vivid scarlet.

  'There could be a simple explanation,' she told Miss Flintock. 'Why were you looking for him?'

  'He wanted to speak to Mr Dickson about the changing rooms and had an appointment at eight, but Mr Dickson's secretary's just phoned and says he won't be able to make it.'

  'Mr Dickson's not the right person anyway,' Sally said, wondering why Grant Hudson should be concerned about the changing rooms. 'It's the surgical division of the medical advisory committee who organises theatre usage. He should have talked to Flo, the theatre secretary.'

  'Oh, I don't think he'd like that,' Miss Flintock said. 'He's a man who likes to go straight to the top.'

  Sally gave a grim chuckle.

  'If he wants any favours in Theatres he'd better learn, and learn quickly, that Flo is the top, no matter how many letters other people might have in their titles or after their names.'

  Miss Flintock actually laughed, which was tantamount to agreeing—although she wouldn't have been disloyal enough to put agreement into words.

  'So what will I do about him?'

  'Don't panic. If his eight-o'clock appointment has cancelled he can afford to be a little late.'

  'But he's never late,' she heard Miss Flintock say, more to herself than to Sally, then the click told her they'd been disconnected.

  She returned to the remnants of her now cold breakfast and picked at it, knowing in this job you ate when time was available. Though today that theory had little appeal. The non-appearance of the new boss was causing too much internal unease.

  'So? What's the explanation? Why has the great man stood us up?' Andy asked.

  Sally hesitated.

  'We don't know.' She looked around at the 'team'. With the registrar, and first- and third-year residents, plus the two interns in the hospital, Neuro was well covered.

  'Actually, you might ask Daniel to start the ward round if the boss doesn't turn up, and I'll go and see Miss Flintock. She's panicking because she's lost him. But, whatever you do, don't start a fuss about his absence. You can imagine how he'd react if he arrives to find a full alert out for him.'

  With the recurring image of his body on the blue tiles of a bathroom she hadn't seen, she knew she'd have to check his home.

  If Miss Flintock would part with his address.

  'Oh, Sally, I'd be so pleased if you'd go over there,' the secretary said in answer to her suggestion. 'What if he's ill? He's had a headache for a few days now, and he's been limping from time to time as if he's in pain. Or he could have slipped in the bathroom and hit his head. I've got this dreadful mental picture of him lying unconscious on the floor.'

  'On what colour tiles?' Sally asked, although she knew it was immaterial and there was no way Grant Hudson could be beaming a picture of himself in distress to both of them.

  Miss Flintock looked startled, then puzzled.

  'On the floor where he's lying,' Sally expanded.

  'It's black and white, my picture,' Miss Flintock said, then she reverted to her usual Miss Efficiency role and passed Sally a scrap of paper with an address on it. 'He lives in a block of apartments overlooking the river. You'll probably have to see the manager to get in.'

  Sally took the note and checked the address. Only a few streets from where she lived herself, though definitely on the better side of the tracks. A journey of ten minutes max as she'd be going against the traffic.

  'I'll let you know,' she promised Miss Flintock, 'but, in the meantime, it might be best if you can keep his absence quiet. He probably has a perfectly logical explanation for being late and will be furious with both of us if he finds we've started a panic.'

  'You're right, of course,' Miss Flintock said, so gloomily Sally wondered just how often Grant had stepped on the older woman's toes.

  If he'd been more approachable she could have talked to him about how to handle his secretary...

  Or if she hadn't been wary of spending too much time in his presence, given her strange reactions to the man!

  Enough! Going out to check he wasn't lying injured on his bathroom floor was one thing. Telling him how to sweet-talk his secretary was a whole different ball game.

  She pulled into the visitors' parking area of the tall high-rise apartment block and looked out over the single row of houses below it to the wide stretch of river. From higher up the view must be breathtaking.

  Not that she had time to think about views.

  Uneasiness, accelerated by Grant Hudson's reaction if he did happen to be at home and not unconscious, dogged her footsteps as she dashed towards the front entrance.

  'Try the rational way first,' she told herself, and searched the bank of buttons at the side of the front entrance. Unit 33. She rang the bell, then nearly fell over when Grant's voice answered.

  'I'll buzz you in. Come on up. Tenth floor.'

  She glanced up and saw the security camera and knew he must have seen her face as he'd answered. So why not ask what she wanted? Why just let her in?

  Speaking of getting in, she'd better go now, before the front door release clicked back into place and locked her out again.

  Bemused and bewildered, she entered a spacious, plant-lined foyer, crossed the marble tiles and summoned the lift.

  It was on the foyer level, and the doors slid open. She pressed '10', and stood, eyeing her reflection in the shiny metal panels, wondering if she'd stepped into another dimension, so weird was this situation.

  Unit 33 was on the right as she stepped out, and she guessed it would face east towards the river. The door opened as she approached, and Grant Hudson, clad only in a towel if you didn't count the plaster on his left ankle, stood before her.

  He was propped on crutches but what drew her eyes were the stitches on his chin.

  Concern overrode all other emotions.

  'Oh, you were hurt. Miss Flintock and I were worried. We thought you might have been. Was it a car accident?'

  She stepped forward, automatically reaching out a hand to touch the scar, then stopped abruptly and frowned at the man.

  'You're not Grant, not Dr Hudson.'

  The stranger smiled.

  'Well, if you want a Dr Hudson, I am one. I take it from your surprise you're not the new cleaning lady.'

  Sally shook her head.

  Definitely another dimension.

  Although the main cause for concern still remained.

  'Where is he? Where's Grant—Dr Hudson? He had a seven o'clock appointment, and an eight o'clock, and didn't turn up for either, even though the eight o'clock
was cancelled. No one answered when Miss Flintock phoned here.'

  The second Dr Hudson smiled and Sally remembered just how attractive her Dr Hudson had looked on the rare occasion she'd seen him do likewise.

  Though this one didn't send feathery tickles down her spine, which, given the likeness, was particularly peculiar.

  'He was out rescuing his lost brother from the talons of a conniving female,' the man said, although the softness of his voice suggested he hadn't found the female conniving, and possibly hadn't been in need of rescue.

  'I've been lost, you see,' he added, which didn't help Sally at all. 'Sam found me, then she found Grant and it was like one of those card games you play where you match up pairs. She matched us up and Grant whisked me away to this place. Then he dashed off to work, leaving instructions for me to let in the cleaning lady—to save the manager doing it.'

  He glanced down at his attire and said, 'Mind you, I shouldn't have greeted the cleaning lady looking like this. Perhaps I should change.'

  He's obviously quite deranged, Sally decided. And if he really had been missing, it was no wonder Grant Hudson had been worried. Which might go some way to explaining his tetchiness.

  She grabbed the stranger's arm as he backed away, not wanting to wait while he found some clothes to put on.

  'Where's Grant now?' Sally asked, speaking slowly and clearly so this copy of her boss would understand.

  'He's just left for the hospital,' the copy said. 'You probably passed him on the way if that's where you've come from. Are you his secretary? No, of course you're not. You're wearing a white coat.'

  His blue eyes, so like his brother's but lacking the power to affect her breathing, gleamed with conjecture.

  'Something going on between you and him that you've come rushing over to see if he's OK?'

  'No, there's nothing going on!' Sally said crossly. 'Not now, and not ever.'

  'Well, that's a pity,' the man said. 'The old fellow needs a woman in his life. I can understand why he took the business with Erica hard. Wretched woman took him for a ride! Then he had that disastrous problem on his team. But to swear off women for life...'

  He studied her again for a moment, then frowned.

  'Although he hasn't been here for long, has he? Hardly time to win a pretty woman like you. Am I right about that or have I lost more time than I realised? He hasn't been here long?'

  'This is his second week,' Sally said, anxious to help the confused being.

  'That's what I thought,' he said, with surprising relief. 'I had a fall,' he continued. 'Ended up with amnesia. Not a lot of fun—it leaves such gaps. That's why it was great to not only see Grant this morning but to recognise who he was— to really know him.'

  Sally put her hand to her head and massaged her throbbing temples.

  'I—I'd better go,' she stammered. 'Get back to work. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.'

  And on that note she fled, hurrying back to the lift, pressing the button, thankful no one had needed it since she'd arrived so the doors immediately opened and she all but tumbled inside.

  'So he's got a twin,' she said to herself as she was carried downwards. 'That's not so rare.'

  But the experience of meeting the man who was, yet wasn't, Grant Hudson had shaken her.

  Her! Unshakeable Sally Cochrane! Wouldn't her brothers laugh if they knew?

  Not that they ever would.

  Grant made it to the hospital a little after nine. To avoid Miss Flintock's recriminations about the two meetings he'd missed—and had only remembered he'd missed as he'd driven into the car park—he went straight to the ward. He'd deal with Miss Flintock later. For now, it was enough that Tom was safe.

  Or was it? He sighed as the lift took him up to the ward. The relief he should have felt from finding Tom was counterbalanced by his concern over any long-lasting neurological damage his twin might have suffered. And the illness was another worry.

  Though from the way he'd been looking at the woman who'd found him, maybe he'd found the one person who'd cure his wanderlust.

  In the tearoom, the pre-round meeting was under way. He nodded to the assembly, sat down in the one vacant chair and waved his hand to indicate to Jerry to continue talking.

  He looked around, figured that Daniel had taken his place and Jerry was doing the explanations Sally Cochrane usually handled.

  He waited for a break to ask the obvious.

  'Where's Dr Cochrane? She's on duty today, isn't she?'

  'Hmm, not like Sally to be late,' Jerry Finch remarked, but, although he looked down at his watch as he spoke, Grant caught the glance he sent the assembled staff.

  There was something going on here—and, whatever it was, they suspected he wouldn't like it.

  'So, who's next up?' he asked Jerry.

  'Mrs Franklin had a good night, although she's feeling tenderness on the site of the implant. She woke early and a nurse has been working with her on the control box, keeping note of the settings as she trials them. No new problems arising from the operation.'

  He looked up and Grant nodded for him to continue. These meetings were to brief him on changes in patient status prior to the round. No problems meant there were no warning signs or signals they had to consider.

  'Craig Greenway was transferred to the ward last night. His wound still looks healthy, vital signs good, still no response to stimuli, although he claims he can tense his shoulder muscles and actually feel them moving.'

  'So far no one's observed this phenomenon,' Daniel put in, and Grant, hearing a shadow of disdain in the words, understood why the registrar would irritate a straight-shooter like Sally Cochrane.

  And where was she?

  After all, he'd called a staff meeting for seven. She should have been in early, not late.

  Jerry's voice, continuing down the list of ward patients, should have reminded him to put aside the growing annoyance he was feeling, but he couldn't shake it. He hadn't explained why he'd missed the meeting, and no one had asked. Had none of them turned up?

  And now he thought about it, Miss Flintock hadn't queried his absence when he'd phoned her as he'd waited for the lift to tell her he'd been unexpectedly delayed, but was now at work.

  'Sorry I'm late.'

  Sally Cochrane breezed in, sent a general smile in the direction of the assembly, then perched on the arm of Andy's chair.

  'You can slope off if you want to,' she said to the resident, then she deigned to glance at Grant.

  'If that's OK with Dr Hudson. Andy was on duty last night and caught most of the mayhem down in A and E. This morning he's been holding the fort for me,' she added, looking directly at Grant this time.

  Then her brow puckered and she said, 'I know this will sound like a weird question, but what colour are your bathroom tiles?'

  Weird didn't begin to describe her question. It was sufficiently bizarre to startle him out of his consideration of why his irritation with her hadn't been enough to dampen the sudden physical surge of awareness he was beginning to feel in her presence.

  Had the woman taken leave of her senses?

  Had he?

  'White, I imagine. Aren't all bathrooms white?' He found himself frowning now. Why the hell had he answered her? 'Now, if you've finished organising my staff and checking on the interior decorating of my apartment, perhaps we could get to work.'

  The words came out more crisply than he'd intended, for part of his mind had once again been distracted by the golden gleams in dark brown eyes and the heat they caused in his gut.

  'Mr Andrews has also come down from the ICU. His latest scan suggests we got all the abscess and there's no continuing infection on the site,' Jerry continued.

  'The bathroom in my little flat near the hospital has got green tiles, Sal, if you want to know,' Daniel murmured. 'Come up and see it some time.'

  Grant saw Sally straighten with irritation. Time to forget golden gleams and take control here.

  'As you know, Mr Andrews had a subdural abscess removed,'
he said, directing his words at the interns. 'He presented with fever, headaches, some confusion. We aspirated it through a burr hole, and flushed the area with heavy doses of antibiotic. The fact that he's been transferred from the ICU indicates he's stable. What's the likely outcome for him?'

  'Mental impairment?'

  'Possibly, though in his case, considering the site, I doubt it. But what's more likely to cause him ongoing problems?'

  'Epilepsy?' Paul Adams, another of the interns, supplied the answer, and Jerry expanded on this likelihood and the difficulty of balancing anti-epileptic drugs to suit each individual.

  'We have to consider the patient's quality of life,' Sally Cochrane told the two younger men. 'Why save that life if it means they have to live zonked out on drugs for the remainder of it?'

  'I trust you're not advocating we don't save it, Dr Cochrane?'

  Sally looked directly at him.

  'No, but I believe we should take responsibility for prescribing the correct drug dosage, rather than leaving it to the patient's GP to struggle through the maze of combinations available,' she said, adding, after an infinitesimal pause, 'Sir.'

  Grant guessed where she was coming from and privately agreed with her, but this wasn't the time or place for further discussion on the parameters of their responsibility.

  'The GPs see the patient more regularly than we do so are more likely to know when an imbalance occurs,' he reminded her, 'but you're right. It is our responsibility to at least send home a stable patient.'

  He glanced at his watch. 'We'd better move on. Any specific problems you feel should be brought to the team's attention?'

  Daniel flipped through the cards.

  'Miss Wingate, trigeminal nerve surgery for the relief of neuralgia last Friday, is complaining of a lack of feeling in her fingers.'

  'In her fingers?' Grant shook his head.

  'Yesterday it was her toes, and the day before that her knees and elbows were numb,' Sally told him. 'She lives alone and doesn't want to go home. Although she was managing quite well prior to the operation, first the pain of the neuralgia, and since then the disorientation following the operation, have undermined her confidence. She's on a waiting list for three different nursing homes, but with no family to put pressure on these places for her it's unlikely anything will come up in the immediate future.'