The Sicilian Doctor's Proposal. Sarah Morgan

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.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      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.’

      Alice looked up. ‘Rita, have you seen Mrs Frank lately? I ran some tests but the results just don’t make sense.’ She’d examined the patient carefully and had been expecting something entirely different. She studied the results again. Perhaps she’d missed something.

      ‘Forget Mrs Frank’s results for a moment.’ Rita closed the door behind her. ‘I’ve got something far more important for you to think about.’

      Alice didn’t look up. ‘I thought she had hypothyroidism. She had all the symptoms.’

      ‘Alice…’

      Still absorbed in the problem, Alice shook her head. ‘The results are normal.’ She checked the results one more time and checked the normal values, just in case she’d missed something. She’d been so sure.

      ‘Alice!’ Rita sounded exasperated. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

      Alice dragged her eyes away from the piece of paper in her hand, still pondering. Aware that Rita was glaring at her, she gave a faint smile. ‘Sorry, I’m still thinking about Mrs Frank,’ she admitted apologetically. ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘Dr Giovanni Moretti is the matter.’

      ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Alice slapped her hand over her mouth and rose to her feet quickly, ridden with guilt. ‘I’d totally forgotten about him. How could I?’

      Rita stared at her. ‘How could you, indeed?’

      ‘Don’t! I feel terrible about it.’ Guilt consumed her. And after he’d been so helpful. ‘How could I have done that? I showed him into the room, made sure he had what he needed and I promised to look in on him, but I’ve had streams of patients this morning and I completely forgot his existence.’

      ‘You forgot his existence?’ Rita shook her head. ‘Alice, how could you possibly have forgotten