The Italian Doctor's Bride
Autore
Margaret McDonagh
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CHAPTER ONE
‘SOMETHING has to be done.’
Dr Hannah Frost did not do panic, but the chaotic Monday morning surgery pushed her as close to it as she ever hoped to come. Being one doctor down meant that her staff were harassed and overworked. More importantly, from a safety point of view, she could not continue to give her best to her patients under such exhausting circumstances. She had to find an answer to their current predicament…and soon.
For now it was a question of maintaining focus and dealing with the heavy workload. The waiting room was already filling with patients but the problem of a replacement locum nagged at her throughout the morning until her consultations, overrunning as usual, drew to an end nearly three hours later.
‘You’re a grand lassie, Dr Frost.’ Old Mr Ferguson balanced unsteadily, both walking sticks clasped in one gnarled hand as he reached out with the other to pat her arm. ‘It was a lucky day for us all when you chose to come back to Lochanrig to be our doctor.’
‘Thank you. This is my home and I’m happy to be here.’ Hannah smiled, touched by her elderly patient’s words.
She could never imagine living and working anywhere else. The responsibility of taking over the running of the practice from her father weighed heavily upon her because she cared so much, both for her patients and the family tradition. These were her people. The rugged beauty of this part of south-west Scotland was her home. She felt safe here. Her challenges were professional, not personal. Hannah suppressed an inner shiver. She didn’t do personal. Not any more.
Conscious of Mr Ferguson’s frailty, and aware of his fierce independence, she pushed her thoughts away and moved slowly by his side as he shuffled from her consulting room towards the reception area where Jim Henderson, the local taxi driver, was waiting.
‘All ready now?’ Jim placed a protective hand under Mr Ferguson’s arm. ‘Don’t you worry, Doc, I’ll make sure he arrives home safely.’
‘Thanks, Jim. I’ll see you next week, Mr Ferguson, but ring any time if you need me.’
‘Aye, lass, thank you.’
Hannah held the door open for them, then turned to survey the empty waiting room with weary satisfaction before smiling ruefully at Kirsty Gordon, her practice manager and chief receptionist.
‘I know, I’m running hideously late…again.’
Kirsty, in her early fifties, small in stature if not in personality and famous for speaking her mind, gave a wry grimace. ‘I thought Mr Ferguson was here for the day.’
‘He’s lonely since his wife died two months ago. He needs a bit of time at the moment.’
‘Poor man,’ Kirsty allowed, her dark brows puckering in a frown. ‘But it’s not surprising you’re exhausted the way you devote so much of yourself to everyone, Hannah. You’re taking on too much alone.’
‘Which is why we’re trying so hard to find a new locum.’
‘Let’s hope they’ll be better than the last one.’
Kirsty’s tone was derisive and Hannah had a sneaking suspicion that an ‘I told you so’ lurked unspoken, hovering between them. Her practice manager had advised against Dr Lane’s appointment and Hannah silently admitted that she had made a mistake. To say the young locum had been unsatisfactory was an understatement. Now they were in this mess.
‘It’s not easy, attracting people to an overstretched, rural Scottish practice at the best of times,’ she reflected, setting the tray of patient notes from morning surgery on the counter, ready for filing. ‘But with there being such a shortage of doctors willing to work in general practice at the moment, it’s proving harder than usual.’
‘Maybe I have some good news for you, then!’
Hannah’s green eyes widened at Kirsty’s grin. ‘You’ve heard from the agency?’
‘About an hour ago.’
‘And?’
‘Your plan to look further afield may have paid off. They think they’ve found our perfect doctor. An Italian—Nicola someone—who is interested in a six-month contract and who speaks fluent English, has excellent references and an impressive CV. The agency are faxing the information through to me.’
‘Fantastic!’ Hannah sighed with relief, grateful for Kirsty’s efficiency. ‘If all the paper work is in order, we can have a chat on the phone, and the sooner she can start the better.’
‘Why don’t you leave it all to me? I’ll do the ground work and you can check over the information and make a decision. That would save you some time.’
‘Are you sure, Kirsty? It isn’t as if you have nothing to do yourself.’
‘It will be fine. According to the agency, Nicola is on holiday this week so may not be easy to reach. I’ll see to everything, Hannah, don’t worry.’
Thankful that the locum problem might soon be resolved, she felt confident about handing the initial responsibility over to her manager. ‘Thanks, Kirsty, that would be a big help. Any queries, let me know. Right,’ she added, checking her watch and stifling a groan, ‘I’d better be away for the house calls if I’m ever to start afternoon surgery on time.’
‘Speaking of house calls, Mary McFee rang. She sounded shaky and her chest was rough.’
‘OK.’ Hannah frowned, concerned for the elderly lady who insisted on living alone in her isolated home. ‘I’m heading out that way to see Joe MacLean, aren’t I? I’ll pop in and check on Mary at the same time.’
‘As if you aren’t busy enough,’ Kirsty tutted with disapproval. ‘Hopefully we’ll have some help around here soon.’
Gathering the notes for the patients she had to visit, Hannah left the surgery, heartily seconding Kirsty’s final statement.
* * *
Dr Nicola di Angelis’s CV was certainly impressive, Hannah acknowledged later, grabbing a hasty late lunch at her desk and looking over the papers Kirsty had prepared for her. Two years younger than her own age of thirty-three, the Italian had experience in trauma and general practice, having worked in Italy, Canada and the UK. The latter included six months in a busy London A and E department eighteen months ago, followed by three months’ GP work in Sussex. The letters of recommendation were glowing.
‘I thought you might want to speak with the department head at the hospital in Milan where Nicola last worked,’ Kirsty suggested, setting a cup of coffee down on Hannah’s desk. ‘I checked out the UK references and everything is fine.’
Hannah smiled, sipping the welcome drink. ‘Thanks, Kirsty. Yes, I’ll ring now. Everything looks to be in order. You feel happy about the appointment?’
‘Indeed. From all I have heard, Nicola di Angelis is professionally respected and personally admired.’
Hannah glanced up, puzzled by the inflection in the older woman’s voice. ‘Let’s hope she is.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Kirsty rose to her feet. ‘If this last reference is good, you’ll offer Nicola the job?’
‘Definitely. Let’s just hope she is willing to come here.’
‘Good, I’m sure it’s the best thing. Say if I can do anything else.’
‘I appreciate all your help, Kirsty.’
After her practice manager had gone, Hannah reached for the phone and dialled the number of the Milan hospital, hoping this verbal reference would be as encouraging as the written ones.
‘Buongiorno. Pronto Soccorso,’ an efficient-sounding man announced when Hannah was connected to Accident and Emergency.
‘Hello, do you speak English?’ she enquired.
‘Sì. I help you, yes?’
‘Thank you. My name is Dr Hannah Frost and I’m calling from Scotland. May I speak with Francesca Simone about a reference?’
‘A moment please.’
As Hannah waited, she glanced through the paperwork on Nicola di Angelis, reviewing the impressive CV once more.
‘Dr Frost? I am Francesca Simone,’ a voice introduced in halting English. ‘What help can I be for you?’
Hannah exchanged pleasantries and explained the reason for her call. ‘I understand Dr Nicola di Angelis worked for you in Trauma. Are you able to provide a reference?’
‘But, yes. Trauma and general clinics. A wonderful doctor. We were sorry to say goodbye. The patients, they love Dr di Angelis. The staff also.’
The woman gave a throaty chuckle, but before Hannah could question her further, she heard an alarm sounding in the background.
‘Scusi, Dr Frost. I am needed. An emergency.’
‘Of course. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’
‘Prego. Dr di Angelis will not disappoint you.’
Hanging up, Hannah had to admit that, given all the evidence, it looked as if Nicola di Angelis might indeed be their perfect doctor. Glancing at her watch with a grimace, she decided there was just time to email the Italian before surgery began. She outlined the job offer, explained a little about the practice and clicked on ‘Send’. Hopefully it would not be too long before a reply came back. Satisfied, Hannah updated Kirsty on progress, then turned her attention to the full patient list she had for the afternoon.
Despite a disturbed night, during which she had been called out twice, Hannah was at her desk early the next morning. With luck she would have nearly an hour before morning surgery to tackle the mountain of paperwork that increasingly plagued a GP’s life. Switching on her computer, she sipped her first coffee of the day and, stifling a yawn, logged on, to find several emails waiting in her inbox.
Aside from some unwanted adverts and offers from medical supply and drug companies, she discovered a personal message from her friend Lauren, a doctor with whom she had trained and who was now working in paediatrics at a hospital in Edinburgh. But it was another message that claimed her attention. A reply from Nicola di Angelis.
Dear Dr Frost,
Thank you for your email and your offer of a contract to work alongside you in your practice for six months. The information you provided was most interesting to me. I would be happy to accept the position and will be in touch so we can make further arrangements.
I am presently in France, nearing the end of a short holiday. Depending on your needs, I would be free to start work any time from next week onwards. I have all the necessary paperwork and permits to allow this.
Kind regards,
Nicola di Angelis
Relief flooded through her as she read the message a second time. Kirsty would be delighted, as would all the practice staff who, together, worked so hard, serving their rural community. Her promise to tackle the outstanding paperwork forgotten, Hannah composed a reply straight away.
Dear Nicola,
Thank you for your swift reply and acceptance of the position. All of us here are glad that you will be joining us. We would be grateful if you could begin work as soon as possible. Next week would suit us perfectly, unless you need more time.
Please contact me or my practice manager, Kirsty Gordon, to confirm the details and ask if there is any further information you require.
Best wishes,
Hannah Frost
Her task completed, Hannah left her consulting room and, hearing chatter coming from the staffroom, went to pass on the news.
‘Dr di Angelis has accepted the locum contract.’
‘Excellent!’ Kirsty grinned. ‘Any start date given?’
‘Maybe as early as next week. I’ve asked her to contact you, Kirsty, if I’m unavailable. I’ve sent you copies of the emails.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘No problem.’
‘This is wonderful,’ Morag, the efficient and maternal practice nurse, agreed. ‘We’ve all been worried about you, Hannah. You’ve taken the brunt of everything since Dr Lane departed.’
Shona, one of the district nurses, snorted in derision. ‘Not that Dr Lane did much when she was here. I hope this new one is more dedicated to our patients.’
A series of locums had come their way since her father’s untimely death three years previously had left her in sole charge of the practice. Some had been good, some not so good, but none had been persuaded to stay in the locality for very long. The swift departure of Dr Lane barely two weeks into a six-month contract had been a severe blow and had plunged the whole practice into chaos.
‘Let’s hope Nicola di Angelis proves as perfect as her qualifications and references suggest,’ she murmured now.
A speculative gleam brightened Kirsty’s eyes. ‘You may even discover a life outside the surgery, Hannah.’
‘I’m a doctor, I don’t have a social life.’ And she didn’t want one, she added silently. Disconcerted, Hannah turned her attention to the district nurse on duty. ‘Shona, I was out at Mary McFee’s yesterday and her chest is sounding grim again. She’s adamant she won’t be moved, but her place is terribly damp. The dry, warm summer seems to have made little difference and I’m worried about her being there for another winter.’
Brown eyes thoughtful, Shona nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Debbie and we’ll keep a check on her.’
‘Thanks.’ Hannah was relieved. She knew how dedicated and reliable the two district nurses were. ‘Right, I expect there’s a full list again this morning so I had better press on. Send the first one through when you’re ready, Kirsty.’
She had been right—it was another busy surgery. Amongst other things her case load included a suspected stomach ulcer, a woman with unexplained pelvic pain, a few colds and coughs, a ten-year-old with probable appendicitis, who had to be despatched to hospital, a toddler with eczema, confirmation of a pregnancy for a young couple delighted to be expecting their first baby and, lastly, Allan Pollock, who ran the local garage.
‘What can I do for you today, Allan?’ she greeted him, trying to hide her weariness as the stocky, middle-aged man sat down at her desk.
‘It’s my knee,’ he explained. ‘I’ve been taking the paracetamol or ibuprofen when I had a painful spell, like you said last time, but it’s more swollen now and is annoying me most of the time.’
Hannah nodded sympathetically and rose to her feet. ‘OK, let’s have you sitting on the table so I can have a look at you. Can you roll your trouser legs up, please—and don’t be telling me you only washed one knee!’
‘As if I’d kid you, Doc,’ he protested with mock innocence, blue eyes twinkling.
‘Mmm!’ Smiling, Hannah began her examination, gently assessing Allan’s joint. ‘The left knee is very inflamed. Do you find the damp, cool weather affects it at all?’
He nodded in agreement. ‘It is worse then. And when I’ve been sitting a while, it’s hard to get moving again.’
‘It’s important to keep up some gentle exercise,’ Hannah encouraged, probing the joint carefully. ‘I’ll prescribe you some non-steroidal anti-inflammatory tablets, which should help with the swelling and the discomfort. I’d also like you to see Murray McGiven, the physiotherapist, as he should be able to give you a programme to help maintain movement. The next step is to arrange an X-ray so we can see what’s going on, then we can adjust your medication as necessary.’
‘You think it’s arthritis?’
As Allan lowered his trouser legs and slipped down from the table, Hannah returned to her desk, aware of his concern. ‘With your history, it is most likely. I’ll refer you for the X-ray and you’ll get an appointment through the post,’ she told him, turning for a moment to tap out a prescription for the NSAIDS, waiting as the printer delivered it before signing her name. ‘You should be fine with these, Allan, but if you have any side-effects or stomach pains, let me know and we’ll change you to something else.’
‘Thanks, Doc.’ He folded the prescription and put it in his pocket. ‘Kirsty was telling me you might have a new locum starting soon?’
‘Yes, hopefully.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
Hannah smiled. ‘I was going to come and see you. I’ll need to sort out a vehicle for her—a four-by-four like mine to cope with the terrain and whatever the winter weather throws at us.’
‘Not like that sporty piece the last doctor arrived in!’ he joked.
‘Indeed.’
‘You leave it with me, Doc, I’ll see you right. You know Dorothy and I will never forget what you did for our Barrie.’
Hannah remembered two summers ago when the boy, then eight, had suffered bee stings. The allergic reaction had been frightening and she had been worried at the outcome of his anaphylaxis. It had needed several doses of adrenalin, followed by antihistamine and intravenous hydrocortisone, before things had been brought under control and Barrie had been stabilised for transfer to hospital.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s grand, Doc.’ Allan beamed. ‘Always up to mischief.’
‘Takes after his father, does he?’
Allan laughed and stood up. ‘I’ll let you know about the vehicle, Doc.’
‘Thank you. And no special favours. You have a living to make for your family. Promise me.’
‘I’ll take care of it, Doc,’ was as far as he would go.
At the end of another frantically busy day, Hannah felt out on her feet. Thank goodness the rota system with the next nearest practices meant she did not have to be on call that night. Munching an apple, she wandered round the house, her memories flooding back as she recalled her childhood in this rambling old building, her parents working all hours, caring for their widespread community. Unlike some other medical facilities, they had survived changes, closures and financial cuts, and the opportunity to build the modern new surgery a decade ago had been a real bonus.
Hannah had gladly returned to work in Lochanrig. It had suited her just fine, being professionally challenging and personally safe. But losing both her parents so soon had been devastating. First her mother in a hit-and-run accident. Then, swamped with grief and working too hard, her father had driven himself to an early grave a year later. Literally. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, recalling that terrible day. When the call had come in for her to attend the accident on the mountain road, she had set out, not knowing the victim was her own father, that he had suffered a heart attack at the wheel and crashed, that it had already been too late to save him.
Battling her own grief, Hannah had summoned a strength she had not known she possessed to keep the practice running. A quiet determination not to fail her patients, or her family tradition, had kept her going. The one major headache had been keeping another doctor. Maybe this time it would be different.
* * *
‘ETA on the air ambulance is ten minutes.’
‘Thanks.’ Hannah nodded towards the police constable who had slithered down the slope to deliver the information. She shook her head, looking at the tangled wreckage of the vehicle, which had run off the hill road and crashed in a gully. ‘Let’s hope we have this boy out of the car by then.’
‘They never learn, do they? A night out in the city, too much to drink and they think they are invincible.’
Hannah nodded again. Being called out in the early hours of Sunday morning in her role as BASICS emergency doctor on call had been the last thing she had needed after an unusually hectic week. A week during which Kirsty had talked with Dr di Angelis on the telephone. Hannah would rather have spoken to the new locum herself but she had been out on house visits when the call had come in. Kirsty had been taken with their new doctor and foresaw no problems. Given the predicament the practice was in, Hannah had been content to delegate responsibility to her knowledgeable manager.
Dragging her thoughts back to the current situation, Hannah addressed the young policeman. ‘At least we got the other two out quickly and away to hospital.’
‘Were they badly injured?’ he asked, watching as the firefighters fought to cut the driver free.
‘A few broken bones, nothing that won’t heal. It’s this one I’m worried about.’
‘Foolish bloke wasn’t wearing a seat belt, I hear,’ the constable remarked.
‘That’s right. He has a very nasty head injury.’
‘Should—? I mean, don’t you need to be with him?’
Hannah glanced at the young policeman and saw alarm mixed with curiosity in his eyes. ‘I’ve done what I can to stabilise him and have fitted a neck brace. One of the paramedics is in the car, keeping his head still while they cut him out. No room for all of us while the fire crew are working.’
‘I see. Thanks, Doc. I’ve not been to many of these.’
‘They are never pleasant, I’m afraid.’
The sound of the helicopter alerted them to the arrival of the specialist medical team. Hovering for several moments, searching for a safe place to land, the yellow aircraft finally dropped out of sight round a bend in the road above them, just as the early October dawn was breaking over the eastern hills.
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief when she recognised the experienced Dr Stewart scrambling down the gully towards her, a paramedic behind him.
‘Morning, Archie,’ she greeted with a brief smile. ‘Sorry to bring you out.’
‘What have we got, Hannah?’
‘Male driver, early twenties. Serious head trauma. He’s been unconscious since I arrived. No seat belt worn. Suspected high alcohol intake. I’ve stabilised him as best I can. His airway has been secured, he’s having oxygen and I fitted a neck brace. There’s a paramedic with him, monitoring his head while he’s being cut out. There is not much outward blood loss but some seepage of fluid and blood from the nose and ears, which may mean he has a basal skull fracture. He also has facial fractures. We’ve put a line in and are giving saline and analgesia. Pupils are even but slow to react. Glasgow coma scale about 5 or 6. No sign of thoracic or abdominal injury but he’s trapped by his lower legs—there will likely be trauma there when he’s free and can be assessed,’ she summed up, adding details of pulse and blood pressure.
‘Good work,’ Archie Stewart praised. ‘We’ll get a muscle blockade into him before he’s moved. How long until they have him out of there?’
‘Only a few more moments, I hope. It’s been a struggle.’
His experienced blue gaze scanned the tangled wreckage. ‘I can see that. Anyone else hurt?’
‘Two other young males. Broken bones and cuts only. They’ve gone to hospital by road ambulance.’
‘And how are things with you? Heard you were looking for a locum again.’
Hannah raised an eyebrow. ‘Word certainly gets around. We have a new doctor due this coming week.’
‘There’s always a place for you in trauma if you get fed up with the hassles of general practice.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I enjoy what I do.’
A flurry of activity near the wreck and a call from a firefighter told them the casualty was ready to be moved and curtailed further conversation. Hannah followed as Archie scrambled to the wreckage to assess what was now his patient and supervise the extraction. It took several minutes more before he was happy, then agonising moments as the patient was carefully transferred, his head and neck immobilised with tapes and sandbags, and he was safely secured for the dangerous trip ahead.
‘Right, we’re away to Glasgow,’ Archie announced, as they finally scrambled out of the gully and reached the road. ‘Good job, Hannah.’
‘Thanks.’
She lingered with the rescue workers as the group bearing the young man disappeared round the bend in the road. They heard the helicopter start up and after a few moments it lifted above the stone outcrop and into the sky, before heading north.
‘Do you think the guy will make it?’ The fire officer in charge grimaced as his team gathered up their equipment.
‘Hard to tell. He’s very poorly. But you’ve all done a terrific job as usual, and given him the best chance,’ Hannah smiled, her praise including the road paramedics and the young policeman who also lingered nearby. ‘Thanks for your help.’
The firefighters grinned. ‘You too, Doc.’
‘Fancy a coffee back at base?’ one of the paramedics asked.
Hannah craved lashings of strong, hot coffee, but at home. Alone. ‘Thanks, but I’d best get back to Lochanrig. I need a clean-up and some breakfast.’
It was a relief to turn in between the old stone pillars that marked the entrance to the house half an hour later, but as she headed up the gravel drive, she groaned at the sight of a motorbike parked to one side.
‘Oh, no. What now?’
Still wearing the grubby coveralls and BASICS jacket she had donned to work at the crash site, she climbed out of her car and looked around for the owner of the motorbike. Although a helmet was propped on the seat and a bag rested on the ground, no one was in sight. Sighing, she went round to the boot and took out her medical case. Feeling tired and dishevelled after hours of crawling around the twisted wreckage of the car, she walked towards the house. As she fumbled for her key, she heard footsteps in the gravel behind her. Heart sinking, she turned round, hoping there was not some other emergency requiring her attention.
Her eyes widened as she saw a man approaching. His gait loose-limbed, he exuded an easy confidence and self-assurance. She felt distinctly on edge. As he came closer, she could see he was incredibly good-looking in a rugged and dangerous kind of way, his raven-black hair short but thick, his dark eyes watchful as his disturbing gaze raked over her. Tense, Hannah instinctively stepped back towards the door, tamping down a rush of deep-seated anxiety.
Her breath lodging in her throat, Hannah faced the dark stranger. An inch or so under six feet, he cut an imposing figure, athletically built and wearing faded, figure-hugging jeans and a battered dark brown leather jacket. His face was classically sculpted, with the merest hint of a cleft in his determined chin. Smouldering dark eyes watched her intently.
‘What do you want?’ she challenged, the uncharacteristic snap in her voice evidence of the reawakening of her inner fears at this unexpected and unwanted confrontation.
His sensuous mouth curved at her feisty reaction. ‘Dr Frost?’
Hannah faced him warily, flicking back strands of wayward chestnut hair which had escaped her hurried braid. ‘You need medical attention?’ she queried doubtfully, seldom having seen anyone in better health.
‘No!’ He unleashed a killer smile, his voice huskily accented as he continued, ‘It is good to meet you at last, Hannah. I am Dr Nicola di Angelis.’
