The Doctors' Baby. Marion Lennox

arrest.

      And Amy wasn’t her usual receptionist. Lou was off sick. Amy was standing in and, at eighteen, she had no medical training at all.

      Em was on her own.

      She could only try, and she must try now. To attempt resuscitation with all these people watching was dreadful, but there was no time for anything else.

      ‘Could you clear the room?’ she demanded between breaths, not looking up from what she was doing, and not even hopeful that anybody would listen. She couldn’t care. She was breathing for her old friend, pumping down on his chest in an attempt at cardiopulmonary resuscitation as she waited for the crash cart.

      And then, from above…

      ‘Could you all move outside? Now!’ It was a male voice, backing up her order with harsh authority.

      Em blinked, wondering who the voice belonged to. It was rich and deep and seemed accustomed to command, but she was kneeling on the floor beside the old man and her attention was totally with him.

      Breathe… Please, Charlie, breathe…

      ‘As you see, this is an emergency and we need room to work,’ the voice continued. ‘If your need’s not urgent, can you make an appointment later. Otherwise wait outside. Now!’

      And then suddenly, magically, Red-Hair was kneeling on the other side of Charlie. The crash cart was beside them and she had someone placing jelly on the paddles as if he’d done it countless times before. As she rolled Charlie onto his back, he helped adjust him—just as if he knew what he was doing.

      Who on earth was he?

      There was no time to ask. All she could do was move with him, fitting a proper mouthpiece now the trolley was here. Normally she wouldn’t have tried to breathe into a patient without a mouthpiece, but Charlie was special. Charlie was her friend.

      Charlie…

      She had to stay professional. There was no room for emotion if they were to save the old man’s life. With the mouthpiece fitted, she gave him four more quick breaths, then the deep voice cut in.

      ‘Move back. Now.’

      He shifted away. She did too, and then it was the stranger’s hands that fitted the paddles over Charlie’s bare chest. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she could only be thankful.

      Please…

      The charge hit and Charlie’s body jerked in convulsion. Nothing. They both stared at the trace. It showed no heart activity at all.

      They must keep trying! Em gave him four more deep breaths. Then…

      ‘Back again.’

      The stranger’s hands brought the paddles down once more. A jerk—yet still the trace showed nothing.

      She breathed for the old man again. Over and over. Still nothing.

      And finally Em sat back on her heels and closed her eyes. ‘Enough,’ she whispered. ‘He’s gone.’

      There was absolute silence.

      Amy, standing behind them in white-faced horror, drew in her breath and started to cry, her tears streaming silently down her face. She was too young for this, Em thought wearily. And, aged all of twenty-nine, Em felt suddenly far too old. She rose stiffly to her feet and crossed to give her receptionist a hug.

      ‘Come on, Amy. This is OK. Charlie wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.’

      That, at least, was the truth. Charlie lived and breathed for Bay Beach gossip. He was eighty-nine, he’d known he’d had a dicky heart for years, and to go out dramatically in the doctor’s waiting room, rather than by himself at home, was just the sort of ending he’d think fitting.

      ‘Ring Sarah Bond, Amy,’ Em said wearily, as Amy sniffed and tried to pull herself together. ‘Sarah’s Charlie’s niece. Tell her what’s happened. She won’t be too surprised. And then could you ring the undertaker?’

      Finally she took a deep breath and looked up at the man who’d been helping her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, and something in her face must have betrayed her exhaustion and emotion because the man swore softly. He crossed the distance dividing them to stand before her, and placed a pair of strong, male hands on her shoulders.

      ‘Hell. You’re done in.’

      ‘N-not quite.’

      ‘You were fond of Charlie?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s fond of Charlie. He’s been a Bay Beach fisherman all his life.’ She looked uncertainly down at Charlie’s body. They’d closed his eyes, his body had gone limp and he looked incredibly peaceful. Asleep. This was death as it should be.

      She shouldn’t mourn, but… ‘I’ve known him for ever,’ she whispered. ‘He taught me to fish when I was five years old. He taught me to swim and he taught me…so much else. So much about the ocean and about enjoying what I had. So much about life.’ With that, her rigid control broke, and her voice broke with it.

      ‘You need time to recover.’ He looked outside where there were still half a dozen patients who’d decided they were urgent enough to wait. He could see that as soon as Em had spoken to Charlie’s niece and the undertaker had taken Charlie away, this overworked doctor had yet more work to do. ‘Do you have anyone else to take over?’

      That reached her. Em took a deep breath and fought for resumption of normality. ‘No.’

      ‘Then I will,’ he told her calmly. ‘I’m a surgeon. This sort of medicine may be unfamiliar territory, but I can cope with urgent cases while you get your breath back.’

      ‘You’re a surgeon?’ Her voice was incredulous. She knew he must have medical training—the full implications just hadn’t sunk home until now. ‘Anna Lunn’s brother is a surgeon?’

      Anna didn’t have a cent to her name. This wasn’t making sense.

      ‘I’m a surgeon all the time,’ he told her. ‘I’m only Anna Lunn’s brother when I’m allowed to be.’ He gave a short, harsh laugh, and then pushed away whatever it was that bothered him. ‘But my problems can wait. I can certainly see your patients and deal with anything urgent. Let’s get Charlie sent off with dignity, and then take time for a cup of coffee. The only thing is…’

      ‘Yes?’

      He hesitated. ‘It’s taken me weeks to bully my sister to come and see you,’ he said, and the reluctance to give her more work was plainly written on his face. ‘We had to leave her children in emergency child care at the Bay Beach Homes while she came to see you. It’s almost been like a military operation to get her here, and if I let her go home now I won’t get her back. Will you see her?’

      ‘Of course I will.’

      ‘There’s no “of course” about it,’ he said. ‘If you do, it’s on the condition that I look after your urgent cases after that.’

      ‘There’s no need.’

      ‘There is a need.’

      He looked at her more closely then, and Em wondered just what he was seeing. She was pale at the best of times, tall, over-thin from skipping too many meals or eating on the run, and her slimness was accentuated by her long dark hair braided down her back.

      Normally braiding her hair back from her face suited her, but she was aware that fatigue had created shadows under her brown eyes and made her finely boned face look etched with strain. Her colourful print dress, one of several that she wore almost as her uniform, now only accentuated her pallor.

      And, yes, he could see her exhaustion. His next words confirmed it. ‘Don’t you have any help at all?’ he asked explosively, and she spread her hands in a negative.

      ‘Why the hell not?’ he demanded. ‘Surely