‘I think she’s got another chest infection.’
Nat heard the tremor in her friend’s voice and ushered her into the privacy of the small triage room. Peyton looked as if she was at breaking point and Nat knew her friend, who was running on pride alone, would hate to break down in front of an emergency room full of strangers.
Peyton sat in a chair, hugging McKenzie close. She turned beseeching eyes on Nat. ‘She’s due to have her operation next week, Nat.’ She rocked slightly, choking on a sob. ‘It took me eighteen months to get her off oxygen and two years to get her to ten kilos and we’ve had to postpone it three times. Not again, please not again.’
Nat gave Peyton’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Hey, one step at a time, okay? Let’s get her seen to first, huh? I’ll just take her temp.’
Peyton looked at Nat as she placed the digital thermometer under an unprotesting McKenzie’s arm. She gave her friend a watery smile. ‘Sorry. Of course. It’s just I don’t know if I can take much more of this. Thank God for Mum and Dad, or I would have gone mad years ago.’
Peyton’s parents had been a terrific support after Arnie had abandoned their daughter. Nat smiled gently at her friend. ‘You’re doing fine, Peyton. Just fine.’
The thermometer beeped, confirming an alarmingly high temp. ‘When did you last give her something for her fever?’
‘Just before I got in the car,’ Peyton said.
Nat placed a stethoscope in her ears and listened to McKenzie’s chest. It sounded like a symphony orchestra led by a tone-deaf conductor inside her chest – wheezing, squeaking and crackling away. She slipped a saturation probe on to McKenzie’s toe and the number only read 90 per cent. Peyton looked at Nat and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
‘Come on. Come through and I’ll get Alessandro to look at her.’
Peyton stood. ‘I hear he’s excellent.’
Nat nodded, avoiding her friend’s gaze. ‘The very best.’
Nat set Peyton up in a cubicle and placed a set of nasal prongs on McKenzie’s face. The child, well used to the plastic in her nose and too sick to care, didn’t protest. Nat used a low-flow meter to set the oxygen at a trickle. She smiled at Peyton, her heart going out to her utterly exhausted friend. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Nat found Alessandro in the cubicle they used for eye patients. It was set up with a special microscope for high-powered viewing of the eye. She’d triaged Bill Groper fifteen minutes ago after a workplace accident had seen boiling fat splashed into his eye. Alessandro was leaning forward in his chair, his feet flat on the floor, his legs wide apart to accommodate the low table the microscope rested on. He was staring into the eyepieces, examining his patient’s eyes. Bill sat opposite, his chin on the plate, looking in from the other side.
She noticed immediately how the position emphasised the broad expanse of Alessandro’s back and how it tapered down to narrow hips. One strong leg, bent at the knee, was positioned slightly out to the side and the dark fabric of his trousers pulled across his thigh, outlining the slab of muscle she knew, from living in close proximity, defined his upper leg.
She waited for him to finish, knowing that Peyton needed time to pull herself together and McKenzie’s condition would benefit from the supplemental oxygen.
‘You certainly did a good job of it, Bill,’ Alessandro murmured, as he pulled away from the eyepieces. ‘Bullseye on your cornea.’
‘Never do anything by halves, Doc.’
Nat sensed rather than saw Alessandro’s momentary eyelid flicker which told her he knew she was there. It was probably imperceptible to most, but after a few days of cohabitation andan almost electric awareness of him, she was coming to know all his cues – both obvious and subtle.
Alessandro continued with his patient. ‘It’s not too bad, though, only superficial by the look of it. Some antibiotic eyedrops should work like a charm.’
Nat lounged against the doorframe and waited. She was used to him ignoring her now anyway. It was a policy they’d both adopted and, as far as it went, it wasn’t such a bad idea. There was an attraction there. He knew it. She knew it. It hummed between them like a palpable force, like powerful magnets irresistibly drawn to each other.
But acknowledging it out loud was just plain dumb when neither of them was going to do anything about it. So, they were polite. They addressed each other when required and worked together with utter professionalism. In short, they carried on as if nothing had ever happened.
Like he’d never licked Napolitano sauce off her chest.
When Alessandro stood, Nat spoke. ‘Excuse me, Dr Lombardi. I have a patient for you.’
He didn’t say anything as he looked at her fully, just a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his patient. He held out his hand and shook Bill’s. ‘I’ll send someone in with some drops for you.’
Nat stepped back from the doorway as Alessandro passed by, cool and distantly polite – professionalism personified. She fell into step beside him. ‘Three-year-old ex-twenty-seven-weeker. Twin one. Twin two died at four months of age.’
Ignoring the lurch of her cells at his nearness, Nat launched into the standard summary she’d give any doctor she was handing over to. Here at St Auburn’s she was a nursing professional and she would be professional if it killed her. Even if she did want to find the nearest vacant room and tear all his clothes off.
‘Chronic neonatal lung disease, oxygen dependent for first two years of life, recurrent chest infections, failure to thrive. I think she’s brewing another infection. Febrile. Sats ninety on room air. Bilateral chest crackles. Listless. Cool peripherally and mottled.’
Alessandro nodded as they walked. ‘What was her birth weight?’
Nat struggled to keep up with Alessandro’s stride, which seemed to lengthen with each footfall. ‘Twelve hundred grams.’
