Kitabı oku: «French Fling To Forever», sayfa 2

The girls tittered. Henri groaned. He still couldn’t quite come to terms with her line of work. Especially when it was his fault she’d traded in a proper career to earn money dancing half naked. If their parents hadn’t been killed in that car crash, if Angelique hadn’t had to raise a teenage boy on her own, she might have been a respected medical professional by now.

All her studying had gone to waste, her bright future gone in a puff of smoke, in order for her to put food on the table for her little brother. They’d both been handed a life sentence that cold winter’s day which had robbed them of their mother and father. And where Angelique seemed to have made peace with the outcome, Henri knew he never would. He’d only managed to follow his dreams at the price of his sister’s.

The one consolation was that Ange’s audience these days mainly consisted of fun-loving females who wanted to learn burlesque, rather than inebriated leering men. If it hadn’t been for one of those men in particular, neither Henri nor Angelique would ever have left Paris for the rain-soaked streets of Northern Ireland. Then again, without the beau who’d enticed his sister to Belfast they wouldn’t have Gabrielle and Bastien in their lives—and that was unthinkable, even on the most trying of days.

Henri was forced to wait until Angelique’s students had heaped their praises and thanks upon her before he could get a word in.

His patience was wearing thin. They had much more important things to be doing—like trying to figure out why Gabrielle had decided to start skipping school. With Angelique’s ex-husband out of the picture, Henri felt even more obligated to his sibling. So much so that he’d undertaken a lot of parental responsibility for the children whose father had long since abandoned them. They needed to get to the bottom of Gabrielle’s recent behaviour, but it wasn’t a conversation he wished to have with an audience.

‘Can we go now? I’m not comfortable as the only eligible male in the company of so many desperate women.’

Angelique turned to him, and only then did Henri realise she wasn’t alone. The highlight of his evening stood open-mouthed behind her, emerald eyes now glittering with contempt.

Hands on hips, Lola took a step forward. ‘Funny—I didn’t get the memo that said we “desperate women” were dancing for anyone else’s benefit other than our own.’

Henri cursed himself for the overheard harsh words that had caused Lola’s soft pink lips to draw into a tight line.

Her features only softened when she addressed her instructor again. ‘Thanks for an enjoyable night and it was lovely to meet you.’

Lola tossed her golden mane of hair over her shoulder and, with self-righteous grace, made her exit, Henri put firmly in his place. The woman definitely had bite, and that had succeeded in piquing his interest. If only he could get her to show that passion and spirit in the workplace…

‘Idiot!’

Ange brought him back into the room. With half their lives having been spent living and working in Northern Ireland their native tongue had almost been rendered a distant memory, but her accent increased when she was angry—and, boy, was she angry.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just—’

‘I know you don’t like what I do, Henri, but this is how I make my living and you can’t be rude to my customers. Maybe it’s better if you stay away from now on.’

Ange didn’t give him a chance to explain his irritability as she threw props back into the box with a ferocity Henri knew she wanted to direct at him.

‘I won’t say another word. Promise. I’ll help you get locked up and then I’ll take you home.’

Where they could both confront his niece about what was going on. The only reason he hadn’t said anything to Gabrielle himself since the phone call from her headmistress was because he didn’t want to step on Angelique’s toes. It was her daughter they were dealing with, after all.

‘Thanks, but I’ll walk.’ She pulled on a mac over her scant outfit and flicked off the lights.

‘You can’t go out there like that!’

Henri forgot himself and once again voiced his concern about her fashion sense, regardless that she’d reminded him time and time again that he wasn’t her father. He couldn’t help himself. It didn’t bear thinking about that something should happen to the only important woman in his life and he hadn’t attempted to prevent it.

‘I’m an adult, Henri. I can look after myself, and sooner or later you’re going to have to realise that.’

She all but shoved him out through the door, and Henri was given the brush-off by a second woman in as many minutes.

Lola kept her back ramrod-straight until she reached her car and crumpled into the front seat. She had taken the opportunity to have a private word with Angelique when Jules and the others had gone on to the pub, toying with the idea of continuing the lessons in an effort to kick-start her self-esteem.

Textbooks were great for swotting up, but they didn’t help her deal with people face-to-face—and, for her, that remained the most daunting element of her job. For every model citizen she encountered, there were going to be times when she was alone with aggressive patients, or cocky men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. She knew that, and accepted it, but she also knew she needed to get into the right frame of mind to deal with it effectively.

The protocol for those situations probably wasn’t to burst into tears and curl into a ball. It would take even more bravery than she’d mustered to leave home and go through medical school, to tell potential troublemakers to back off with any authority.

Until this evening she hadn’t realised how much inner strength she possessed. Dancing had helped her explore a side of herself she hadn’t known existed, and she would embrace all the help available to embark on this new phase of her life and overcome her fears. It was too bad that Mr Ego of the Year had taken that sliver of newfound confidence and crushed it underfoot.

Lola groaned, predicting that the repercussions of tonight’s ill-tempered exchange would surely be felt at work.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to anyone like that—never mind a man with the power to make or break her career. But the fault totally lay at Henri Benoit’s feet. He had no business crossing paths with her outside the hospital and insulting her when she’d been so exposed. For an unguarded moment she’d let light break through the darkness, only for him to cast her back in shadow. The problem was she had no way of explaining that—or her defensive reaction to it—if he decided to haul her over the coals tomorrow.

‘I won’t cry,’ she said out loud, determined not to let another arrogant male reduce her to a gibbering wreck.

Engine started, she threw her Mini into Reverse and put her foot on the accelerator.

A loud bang and the jolt of the car caused her to slam on the brakes.

She didn’t dare look.

Whatever she’d hit, she couldn’t afford it.

Outside, she heard a car door open and close, heavy footsteps coming towards her. She switched off the ignition and braced herself, but the footsteps had stopped—no doubt to survey the damage.

‘Mon Dieu!’

The foreign curse instantly gave away the identity of her victim.

Lola closed her eyes. Oh, please. Not him!

She slowly unclipped her seat belt and got out of the car to enter into the fearful realm of the Frenchman’s ire.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, knowing she didn’t sound a fraction apologetic.

He bent down to inspect the cracked registration plate of his red sports car. Typical. She couldn’t have hit a clapped-out rust heap—it would have to be this shiny status symbol.

‘Is this payback for what I said in there?’

The patronising tone he used grated on Lola’s already sensitive last nerve.

‘I’m not that petty. Besides, it’s only the number plate that looks damaged.’ It wasn’t as though she’d written off his boy toy altogether.

‘Does your clown car not come with mirrors fitted?’

He looked down his high-bridged nose at her with a smug expression she wanted to slap off his face. The car she drove was a luxury, allowed her by the generosity of her brothers, who’d painstakingly restored it from its rusty former self and made it hers with a bubblegum-pink re-spray. Not everyone was afforded the life of privilege she imagined he’d led, and any snooty slight against her family was the one thing guaranteed to make her blood boil.

‘I would have thought your ego was big enough to use as a force field and deflect the Pink Peril.’

With three elder brothers, exchanging childish insults came as naturally as breathing for Lola. She already had a black mark against her for squaring up to him, so she might as well make it count. Besides, he’d gone down the snarky route first.

‘The Pink Peril?’ he echoed incredulously and the grin grew into a full-on beaming smile.

He was treading on dangerous ground now.

‘My brothers named it,’ she huffed, and told her easily pleased inner schoolgirl, which was squealing with hormonal appreciation at the appearance of man dimples, to shut up. It was surely another sign of trauma manifesting itself that she found a man insulting her attractive.

‘Do I take it that’s a reference to your driving skills?’ His eyes shone with suppressed laughter, the skin creasing at the corners to elevate his hunk status.

‘I have excellent driving skills,’ she protested.

‘So I see.’ He lifted a thick dark brow as he glanced back at the damage.

‘Look, I’ve apologised. I’ll pay for repairs. So, if we’re done here…?’

It was time she left—before she completely shot down her career. This man seemingly brought out the worst in her, and that wasn’t conducive to a happy six weeks under his tutelage.

Far from helping her get over the day’s trials and tribulations, this whole evening had simply heaped more stress upon her. At least with this latest disaster she knew she could count on her brothers to make any necessary repairs with the minimum of fuss. If only they could come to work with her tomorrow and clear up the mess she’d made there, too, she might have a chance of clawing back some respect.

‘I think I have an apology of my own to make. I didn’t mean to insult you in there.’

Henri ignored her need to end the conversation and perched his butt on the bonnet of his precious car.

‘And yet you did.’ She folded her arms across her chest as he brought up the subject of his slur against her character once more. He couldn’t know the throwaway insult had hit her on such a personal level, but that didn’t give him the right to end up the good guy here.

‘The problem is between Angelique and myself. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It’s fair to say I don’t exactly approve of the work she does.’ A shake of his head emphasised his dismay.

‘She seems like a woman who knows her own mind.’ Lola didn’t imagine a free spirit such as Angelique needed his permission to do something she obviously loved.

‘Ah, but Ange doesn’t always know what’s best for her.’

The sincerity Henri expressed brought goosebumps along Lola’s skin. Even though he might not agree with his other half’s lifestyle choice, his devotion was beyond doubt. The only unconditional love Lola had ever had was from her brothers. The tragic tale of her failed past relationships was entirely to do with her reluctance to let anyone else get close. She considered Angelique a very lucky woman.

‘It’s chilly out here, so if we could get back to rectifying this mess I would like to get home. I really think your licence plate took the full impact, and I can get my brother to order you a new one. I hardly think it warrants involving insurance companies.’

What went on behind the doors of chez Benoit was none of her business—she certainly didn’t want to warm towards the man responsible for ruining her entire day. All she wanted to do now was call it quits and start afresh tomorrow.

‘In that case we can sort the details out at work. I can see you’re in a hurry.’

He finally took the hint and Lola dashed back to her car to wait for him to move.

As she sat with her arms locked out straight, holding on to the steering wheel for dear life, she exhaled slowly. Everything seemed to hit her at once, and her heart started drumming so hard she thought she might just pass out.

One night of escapism, thinking she could be ‘normal’, and she’d played stripper, crashed her car and had another run-in with her boss—embarrassing herself at every step. It was more excitement in her life than she cared for.

The next six weeks working under Henri Benoit stretched before her like a prison sentence. One with absolutely no chance of getting time off for good behaviour.

CHAPTER TWO

BUILT TO SERVE the influx of inhabitants to the rejuvenated city, the predominantly glass and marble structure of the Belfast Community Hospital was bright and modern. Even now she was in the bustling corridors, under the glare of fluorescent light, Lola thought it a beautiful building.

These last few shifts had shown her that any chance for silent contemplation ended on the far side of the double doors, and Lola braced herself for the madness of A&E on a Friday night as she pushed them open.

‘Nurse! Nurse!’

The loud, slurred speech of a waiting patient greeted her. A hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, immediately regressing her to that time in her life when she hadn’t had the strength to fight back.

She screwed her eyes tightly shut, in an attempt to fend off the memories assaulting her, but it only succeeded in leaving her alone in the dark with them.

The busy reception area faded away, and the walls closed in until she was back in that small room crammed full of grinning faces. Her limbs were immobile, pinned down by unseen forces, leaving her completely at the mercy of her attackers. They were too strong for her, their hands tugging at her clothes until she was naked and shivering beneath them.

The actual assault had lasted only minutes—long enough to satisfy their cruel need to break her spirit. Once her humiliation was complete, the matter of her sexuality no longer an issue, they’d thrown her clothes at her and walked away. In hindsight, her ordeal could have been much worse, even though it hadn’t felt like that at the time.

A shudder racked through Lola’s body as she contemplated the alternative. It had taken her years even to let another man touch her after that betrayal, and she doubted she would ever have recovered if that band of delinquents had decided to take things any further.

The intervening years had been tough for her as she’d tried to come to terms with what her bullies had probably deemed no more than a prank. For her, the experience had left her wanting to run from the room screaming if a man so much as put his hands on her uninvited. Only her desire to practice medicine on the general public had put her on the road to recovery and stopped her freaking out completely at times like this.

The pressure eased from around her forearm, immediately releasing her from her torment. She blinked her eyes open to see a man she guessed to be in his sixties slumped in a plastic chair beside her. After a deep breath she extricated his fingers from her person and reminded herself that she wasn’t a helpless teen any more.

‘I’m Dr Roberts. I’m sure one of the nurses will be along shortly to assess your condition, sir.’

He had a small gash on his right cheek, which was letting a small trickle of blood further colour his already ruddy features, but she suspected from the stench of alcohol closing in around her that alcohol was the main reason behind his hospital visit.

‘Am I dying, Doctor?’ Red-rimmed eyes tried to focus on her, and it soon became obvious he was more of a danger to himself than anyone else.

It buoyed her confidence to know she was the one in control of the situation here, and she was able to reassure him with a pat on the hand. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not dying, but I’ll send someone over to see you as soon as possible.’

‘Good.’ He sank back into the chair, placated for now, and the sound of tuneless singing followed her on her way.

With the patient’s concerns passed on to one of the nurses, with the advice that it might be wise to have him seen to and discharged before he settled down for the night, Lola lifted a file from the stack on the desk.

Her first patient was an elderly woman experiencing dizziness and fatigue. Possible dehydration, since the notes indicated an increased thirst and decreased skin turgor. No doubt this lady had been specifically left for Lola to deal with because of the apparently straightforward nature of the ailment, but she didn’t mind. The role of general dogsbody gave her inner wallflower a chance to disappear under paperwork and the smaller jobs more experienced doctors deemed too trivial to waste their talents on. These small steps into the medical field would carry her through until it was her moment to shine. At which point she might need some anti-anxiety pills to hand.

With her bits and pieces gathered together from the storeroom, she made her way to the cubicle. The sight of the elderly lady waiting for her behind the curtain immediately put her at ease.

‘Now, then, Mrs Jackson. I’m just going to take a wee blood sample from you, if that’s all right?’ A UE blood test would tell if the electrolytes and sodium were off—a further indication of dehydration.

The old woman smiled, the skin at the corners of her pale blue eyes creasing with laughter. ‘Sure, I’m like a pin cushion these days anyway.’

Lola noted how sunken her eyes looked, and the dryness of her lips when she smiled. The dry mucus membranes were another sure sign her diagnosis was correct.

‘So I don’t need to worry about you passing out when you see this needle?’ If only all her patients were this cooperative it would make her job a whole lot easier.

‘No, dear. You do what you have to.’ Like a professional blood donor, Mrs Jackson held out her arm and tapped on a raised blue vein. ‘That’s where they usually go for.’

The translucent skin was already punctuated with fading bruises from similar procedures. Lola cleansed the area with a wipe, grateful that she wouldn’t have to put this lovely lady through the ordeal of chasing a suitable site to insert the needle.

‘I think you could get yourself a job here,’ Lola said as she tightened the tourniquet around the upper arm.

‘Ach, away with you. I could never put in the hours you youngsters do. Sure, when would you ever find time to catch yourself a husband? Unless you’re waiting for one of those handsome male doctors to sweep you off your feet?’

The inquisitive patient brought an uninvited picture of the suave Henri Benoit into Lola’s head. Even there he looked smug that she was thinking about him.

‘If you could just make a fist for me that would be great. Now, you’ll feel a little scratch,’ Lola said as she inserted the needle and let the woman’s last question fall without an answer.

Thankfully she had managed to avoid said handsome doctor and the embarrassment of that evening thus far. So why did her senses conspire and refuse to let her forget him? The sound of his accent, the smell of his aftershave and the memory of his rarely seen smile wouldn’t leave her. It was a godsend that their hands had only touched briefly or she would surely have ended up a victim of sensory overload.

She tried desperately hard not to think about taste.

Since that final humiliation at the club, he was the last person she would turn to for help. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her inadequacy in action. Regardless of how many times she carried out standard procedures confidently and correctly, she couldn’t shake off that look of disappointment he’d given her. Her fender bender in the car park had been the only time she’d witnessed the scowl slip from the registrar’s face and the smile had somehow been worse. It had made him human, showed a softer side to him, and it had made her want to impress him so she could see it again.

‘Could you hold that cotton wool for me there, Mrs Jackson?’ Lola withdrew the needle and the helpful patient dabbed the spot of blood left behind. ‘Now, you rest until we find a bed for you on the ward, and I’ll get these sent off.’

‘Thank you, dear.’ The previously animated pensioner lay back, flattening her head of white curls into the pillows, and showed the first signs of fatigue.

Lola vowed to take all the necessary steps to get Mrs Jackson rehydrated and back on her feet as she returned to the nurses’ station—and walked into a flurry of activity.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked Jules, who was passing by in the herd of medics apparently gearing up for something more serious than an old dear having a turn.

‘Emergency call. Ambulance is on the way with a patient in cardiac arrest.’

As Jules chewed on her pen Lola could see her body thrumming with anticipation for the arrival. Maybe it was the extra year’s experience Jules had over her, but Lola hadn’t quite reached that stage of life-or-death excitement.

‘Would you care to join us, Dr Roberts?’

Apparently it took the invitation to be issued in a French accent to get her pulse racing.

‘Pardon?’ She turned to face Dr Benoit, incredulous that he had asked her to participate as if he was issuing an invitation to dinner.

‘I’m sure they can spare you from treating minor cases for a while, and I think the experience will be good for you.’

He barely glanced in her direction and carried on flicking through his notes. A prod of disappointment poked Lola in the abdomen as he dropped back into aloof doctor mode. A far cry from her sparring partner in the car park, but at least she knew where she stood with this version of Henri Benoit—and she wouldn’t let him get the better of her.

Lola lifted her chin to meet the challenge. ‘I would love to join the team.’

Equipment gathered in preparation, the assembled medical staff waited for the starting pistol, ready to get off the blocks, whilst Lola willed her limbs to stop shaking. The paramedics slammed through the door and galvanised everyone else into action.

Here we go.

‘On the count of three.’ Henri took charge as they surrounded the trolley. ‘One, two, three.’

Between the paramedics and the doctors the seemingly lifeless body of an overweight middle-aged man was transferred from the stretcher onto the bed and hooked up to a bank of monitors.

‘Get a line in, please, Lola,’ Henri instructed.

With a very small chance of bringing the patient back, there was no room for her to freeze or panic.

‘Starting CPR,’ Henri announced, starting chest compressions.

Lola’s scrubs clung to her suddenly clammy skin as she fought to insert the cannula. They needed it to inject adrenaline and try to restart the heart, and he had tasked her with the important job. Thankfully, with Henri pumping the chest to get blood and oxygen flowing around the body again, he made it possible for her to find a vein.

‘I’m in.’ She managed to keep the relief from her voice in a room full of people who did this every day of the week.

‘Get the paddles on. Do we have a shockable rhythm?’

Henri’s voice carried above all other noise and she focused on it alone to guide her through what was happening.

‘Everyone stand back. Shock delivered. One milligram of adrenaline in. Stop for rhythm, please.’

They paused and listened for signs of life. Nothing. More chest pumps, more adrenaline and more shocks were delivered by the defibrillator to kick-start the heart—until he uttered the words she longed to hear.

‘He’s back.’

Lola stood back in awe as Henri’s cool command brought a dead man back to life, indicated by the steady blip of his pulse on the screen.

Once the patient was stabilised Henri addressed the team. ‘Good job, everyone. Lola, you too. You can go back to what you were doing.’

That commanding tone had turned softer, something she was unaccustomed to, and it was a wonder she heard it above the pounding of blood in her ear as the last minutes caught up with her.

Unable to speak, she flashed him a grateful smile and made her way out of the resuscitation room. The less frantic corridor outside was a welcome respite from the drama, and Lola took a minute to catch her breath. Only now did the reality hit her that she had played a part in saving a man’s life. With no time to worry over who was watching as she administered the adrenaline, she had acted on pure instinct and skill.

A hand rested on her shoulder and forced Lola to concentrate on not collapsing onto the polished floor.

‘Are you okay?’

Henri’s brown eyes bored into hers until she felt her feet gradually slipping from under her.

He directed her to a seat. ‘Here, sit down.’

‘I’m fine. Really,’ she insisted, wanting him to disappear as quickly as he’d arrived and leave her to stew in her own embarrassment.

‘It is okay to have a little wobble.’

His pronunciation of that last word sounded so ridiculous for the sophisticated doctor she felt better already.

‘These things—they are intense and difficult to handle at the beginning, but you did your job. You were part of the team that brought him back and you should be proud of yourself, Lola. Now, take five minutes and get yourself a cup of tea whilst it’s quiet.’

As he left her Lola couldn’t be sure if it was the first sign of compassion from him or his continued use of her first name that had sent another bolt of adrenaline to bring her own body back to life.

On doctor’s orders she soon found herself in the canteen, paying for a cure-all cuppa. Her first time as part of the resus team had left her a little shaky on her feet, so she couldn’t wait to sit down and take a time-out.

A ‘Bonjour!’ much too cheery for it to have come from her superior greeted her in the seating area. The familiar figure of her burlesque instructor waved her over to a table in the corner.

‘Come and join us. I didn’t know you worked here. I take it you and Henri know each other?’

Angelique, dressed more conservatively than the last time Lola had seen her, directed her to a seat. She was accompanied by a teenage girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Henri and his other half. It was unfair that one family had hogged all the would-look-good-in-a-bin-bag genes.

Naturally any child with that combination of DNA in her genetic make-up was bound to be a beauty, but she’d clearly been in the wars. Her otherwise clear skin was marred by a series of angry red abrasions across her cheek, whilst the beginnings of a purple bruise ringed her right eye.

‘You could say that. I’ve just started my placement in A&E. I’m Lola, by the way.’ She introduced herself to the Benoit mini-me as she sat down with her tea.

‘Gabrielle,’ the girl mumbled, in that barely comprehensible manner all teenagers used in the presence of strangers.

‘Are you here to see Henri?’

‘Yes, but they told us he’s busy with a patient. We’ll just have to wait until he comes home to speak to him.’ Angelique shifted restlessly in her seat, clearly more bothered about not seeing him than she was willing to let on.

‘We were dealing with an emergency admission downstairs, but I’m sure he’ll be free soon. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime? If you want I can take you down after this and take a look at those cuts on your face?’

Lola turned her attention to the young girl, with her head bowed as she played with the food on her plate, a curtain of raven hair now falling over her face to hide the marks from view.

‘That won’t be necessary, thanks. The school nurse cleaned Gabrielle up before they phoned me to collect her. It’s nothing serious, but they don’t take any chances these days.’

Angelique’s fidgety hands on the table gave away her real concern, and Lola thought perhaps she was simply being polite and didn’t want to bother her.

‘It’s no trouble. As you say, it’s better to be safe than sorry.’ Besides, she was sure Henri wouldn’t take too kindly to finding out his daughter had been sent away without some sort of examination.

‘I’m fine. I tripped and fell in the playground—it’s not a big deal.’ The surly teen rested back on her chair, arms folded across her chest, practically daring Lola to disagree.

‘Honestly, that’s not even why we’re here. We have a cake emergency that requires immediate attention. So, unless you know someone who can whip up a dinosaur-themed birthday cake in twenty-four hours, I’m afraid you can’t help.’

A diplomatic Angelique stepped in to change the subject to one even closer to Lola’s heart than her job.

‘Whose birthday is it?’

‘My son’s. Bastien will be six tomorrow, and he’s decided at the last minute that the only thing he wants is a dinosaur cake. I can’t find one in the supermarkets, and bakeries need more notice than I can give. I was hoping to brainstorm with Henri—or get him to take a crash course in baking.’

The stressed mother let out a sigh as she planted an image in Lola’s brain of the usually suave doctor up to his elbows in flour.

‘I’ve been known to do a bit of baking myself.’

That was like saying Beyoncé did a bit of singing. The kitchen was Lola’s natural habitat, and where she went to unwind at the end of the day. She didn’t usually do commissions, but she’d made all manner of themed cakes for her brothers over the years. Where money had been scarce, imagination had been plentiful. A dinosaur might be fun.

‘Are you saying you could do it?’ This time Gabrielle appeared to be totally enamoured by her new acquaintance, her dark eyes shining with excitement.