Dr Blake's Angel

‘Harriet?’

‘Harriet’s been busy planning how you could perform open-heart surgery here,’ Donald told him, grinning. ‘She wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told Nell what the problem was and Nell left her until last. So she’s still there. Want to see how she’s doing?’

Blake did. He cast one more glare at his charge nurse—heck, Donald almost sounded as if he’d been bewitched—and then he stalked off down the corridor to Intensive Care. To see what damage had been done, and how best he could undo it.

Only, of course, no damage had been done at all. Harriet was lying back on her pillows, smiling up at the woman beside her bed, and Nell was holding her hand.

The night and the chest pain had taken their toll on Harriet. Her bravado of the night before had slipped, and fear was showing through. She was gripping Nell’s hand like she was drawing strength from human contact.

She looked up as Blake entered—they both did—and he received two smiles of welcome. Nell’s was warm and open. Harriet’s was a bit wobbly.

‘Dr Sutherland…’

He had the sense to focus on Harriet first. Nell and her damned managerial ways could wait.

‘Hey there.’ He walked across, took the old lady’s hand away from Nell and held it himself. ‘Well done,’ he told her. ‘You’ve had the night without any more trouble.’ And then he frowned and looked sideways at Nell. ‘At least, I assume there was no more trouble.’

‘I would have woken you if there was,’ Nell said blithely, and he almost choked.

Focus on Harriet…

‘No more palpitations?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Great.’ He hesitated. ‘Harriet, we’re going to have to get specialist opinion on this. I’m afraid that means a trip…’

‘To Sydney.’ Harriet managed a brave smile. ‘I know. Nell…Dr McKenzie’s just been explaining it to me.’

‘Call me Nell,’ Nell said promptly. ‘Please. You used to call me Nell when I was a little girl. I don’t see why you should change now.’ She smiled fondly down at the old lady. ‘Harriet used to run the general store and sometimes she gave me free sweets,’ she explained to Blake, and Harriet’s smile died.

‘It was the least I could do. No one else ever did. Those dreadful—’

‘That’s enough,’ Nell told her. ‘The bad old days are over. Forgotten. And now aren’t I lucky? Being a doctor, I can buy all the sweets I want.’

‘Oh, my dear…’

But Nell was refusing sympathy. ‘I’ve just been telling Harriet about my friend Matt who’s the head of Coronary Care at Sydney Central.’ She turned to Blake. ‘Matt’s a real sweetheart. He has a gorgeous wife and he has two sets of twins and a dog just like Ernest. In fact, he’s Ernest’s brother.’

Despite himself, Blake grinned at that one. ‘Matt’s Ernest’s brother?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Don’t go near him with a bargepole, Harriet. Ernest is the dopiest—’

‘Matt’s dog is Ernest’s brother,’ Nell said with dignity, but her green eyes twinkled. ‘And haven’t you made it up with my dog yet?’

‘Two dogs like Ernest…’ Blake said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, and Nell’s twinkle deepened.

‘Yep. Aren’t they just wonderful?’

‘Wonderful!’

Nell gazed at him thoughtfully for a long moment—and then shook her head. She put her mind back to business. ‘Anyway, Harriet thinks she might just trust Matt to decide what’s best to be done, so I’ve organised an air transfer to Sydney.’

‘You’ve organised an air transfer?’

‘With Donald’s help, of course,’ she told him. ‘We decided Bob and Henry weren’t really skilled enough for a coronary-care transfer.’

‘And if Bob spends the day with the ambulance it’d mean the mail would be really late—if it arrived at all—and it’s so near Christmas that it’d be a disaster,’ Harriet chirped in, and Blake could only stare.

‘But…’

‘But what, Dr Sutherland?’ Nell smiled. ‘We haven’t set in motion anything that you can’t rescind. The air ambulance doesn’t arrive until midday. But Harriet and I agree that you have quite enough on your plate without trying to implant a pacemaker before Christmas.’

‘Harriet’s agreed to this?’

‘If Matt thinks it’s necessary. Harriet wants to hang around for the long term. She’s agreed to help me set my house in order—oh, and knit me one of her famous capes. She knitted one for my grandmother once and I did so want one.’

‘If I’d known,’ Harriet said darkly, and Nell shook her head.

‘No. How could you know? But now you do and you’ve agreed to make it for me so I’ll have the wool ready as soon as you’re transferred back. And I’ll also ring Sonia, Matt’s wife. She’ll bring her latest set of twins in to see you and I’ll bet she has you knitting for them before you can blink.’

Nell was fantastic, Blake thought reluctantly. Absolutely fantastic. In one fell swoop she’d persuaded Harriet to go to Sydney, she’d organised her company while she was there, she’d taken the depersonalisation out of Harriet’s medical process—when Harriet met Matt she wouldn’t think of him as a cardiologist but as the father of two sets of twins and one dopey dog—and Nell had given her something to look forward to on her return.

Whew!

‘I probably need to go now,’ Nell told Harriet, smiling down at her like a co-conspirator. ‘I’m just about ready for a cup of coffee, and I’ll bet Dr Sutherland wants to examine you.’

‘There’s probably no need,’ Harriet said, but her eyes twinkled up at Nell. ‘Oh, very well. We don’t want to put his nose out of joint, I suppose.’

‘Of course we don’t.’ Nell stooped and kissed her. ‘That would be perfectly appalling.’

He found Nell fifteen minutes later. She was sitting in the hospital kitchen, tucking into an enormous plate of eggs and bacon. As soon as he arrived she waved to the stove.

‘Yours is there. Cook made it for you. I told her you were coming. If you’re quick the eggs will still be runny.’

‘I don’t have time to eat.’

‘Of course you have time to eat,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s one of life’s imperatives. Mrs Condie will be back in a few minutes and if she finds you haven’t eaten it she’ll be very hurt—especially when I told her how hungry you were.’

Was there no end to this woman’s interference? ‘How did you know I was hungry? I could have had breakfast at home.’

‘I saw what was in your refrigerator,’ she said darkly. ‘Green bread, and bacon to match. Even Ernest would turn up his nose at that.’

The smell was delicious. She was infuriating—but she was also right. OK, he’d eat. To refuse would be petty. ‘Ernest eats fillet steak, does he?’ he muttered, scooping bacon and eggs onto a plate.

‘If he can get it. Why wouldn’t he?’

‘Why indeed?’

Her green eyes widened. ‘You don’t like my dog?’