Chistmas In Manhattan Collection. Alison Roberts
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shimmering in her eyes when she’d been listening to him. Perhaps he’d known that she would understand on a different level from anybody else and that was why he had chosen to say more to her than he would have even to members of his own family.
But how had he known that?
And why was it that she did understand so clearly?
Who had she lost? Her husband, obviously, but the tone of her limited response to his queries had made him think that it was a marriage that simply hadn’t worked out, not one that had been blown apart by tragedy, as his had been.
He wanted to know, dammit.
More than that, and he knew that it was ridiculous, but he was a bit hurt by being shut out.
Why?
Because—once upon a time—she had fallen into his arms and told him everything she was so worried about? That the pressure of those final exams was doing her head in? That it was times like this that she felt so lonely because it made her miss the mother she’d lost more than ever?
He’d had no intention of revisiting the memories of that night but they were creeping back now. The events that threatened to derail his life that had crashed around him so soon after that night had made it inevitable that it had to be dismissed but there was one aspect he’d never completely buried.
That sense of connection with another person.
He’d never felt it before that night.
He’d been lucky enough to find it again—with Nina—but he’d known that any chance of a third strike was out of the question. He wasn’t looking because he didn’t want to find it.
But it was already there with Grace, wasn’t it? It had been, from the moment he’d taken her into his arms that night to comfort her.
And he’d felt it again at the park, when he’d seen her crying for his loss.
She’d been crying that night, too...
‘You okay?’
‘Huh?’ Charles blinked as he heard the voice beside him. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Miranda.’
‘Okay...’ But his half-sister was frowning at him. ‘It’s not like you to be sitting staring into space.’
Her frown advertised concern. A closeness that gave Charles a beat of something warm. Something good. Because it had been hard won? Miranda had come into their family as a penniless, lonely and frightened sixteen-year-old who was desperately missing her mother who had just died. It had been Charles who’d taken on the responsibility of trying to make her feel wanted. A little less lonely. Trying to persuade her that the scandal hadn’t been her fault.
‘I was just thinking.’ About Grace. And he needed to stop because he was still aware of that warmth of something that felt good but now it was coming from remembering something Grace had said. The way she had tried to convince him that he had no valid reason to feel guilty over Nina’s death—as if she really cared about how he felt.
Charles tapped the pile of papers in front of him. ‘I’m up to my eyeballs in statistics. What are you up to?’
‘I need a portable ultrasound to check a stab wound for underlying damage. It looks superficial but I want to make absolutely sure.’ Miranda looked around. ‘They seem to have gone walkabout.’
Charles glanced towards the glass board where patient details were constantly updated to keep track of where people were and what was going on. Who could be currently using ultrasound to help a diagnosis?
‘It could be in with the abdo pain in Curtain Two.’
‘Thanks. I’ll check.’ Miranda turned her head as she moved away. ‘How are the party plans going? Do we get an invitation this year?’
Charles shook his head but offered an apologetic smile. ‘I’m keeping it low-key. I’m taking them to visit the grandparents the next day for afternoon tea and I’m sure you’ll be invited as well, but my neighbours have said they’d be delighted to have an in-house trick or treat happen on the actual birthday and that’s probably as much excitement as two three-year-olds can handle.’
Miranda’s nod conveyed understanding of the need to keep the celebration private. She’d seen photographs of the Davenport extravaganzas of years past, before she’d become a part of the family—when there had been bouncy castles, magicians and even ponies or small zoos involved.
Buying into Halloween was a big step forward this year but there was going to be a nursery school parade so the costumes were essential. Charles found himself staring again at the curtain that Grace was behind. Hadn’t she said something about finding a costume for Houston? Maybe she’d found a good costume shop.
And maybe Houston could join in the fun? The boys loved that dog and he could be an addition to the private party that would delight them rather than overwhelm them, like a full-on Davenport gathering had the potential to do.
Grace would have to be invited, too, of course, but that wasn’t a big deal. Somehow, the intrigue about what had happened to change her had overridden any internal warning about spending time with her. He wanted an answer to the puzzle and getting a little closer was the only way he was going to solve the mystery. Close enough to be friends—like he and Miranda had become all those years ago—but nothing more. And that wouldn’t be a problem. The barrier to anything more was so solid he wouldn’t have the first idea how to get past it.
And he didn’t want to. Even the reminder that that barrier was there was enough to send him back to safe territory and Charles spent the next fifteen minutes focused on the graphs he needed to analyse.
But then Grace appeared from the cubicle and headed straight to the computer closest to where he was sitting. It was tempting to say something totally inappropriate, like asking her whether she might be available for a while in two days’ time, to go trick or treating but this wasn’t the time or place. It was a bit of a shock, in fact, that the urge was even there. So out of character that it wasn’t at all difficult to squash.
‘Looking for results?’
‘Yep. White blood count and creatinine should be available by now. I’ve got cultures, throat swabs and urine pending.’
‘More than a viral illness, then?’
Grace didn’t seem surprised that he was aware of which patient she was dealing with.
‘I think she’s got staphylococcal toxic shock syndrome. Sixteen years old.’
Charles blinked. It was a rare thing to see these days, which meant that it could be missed until it was late enough for the condition to be extremely serious.
‘Signs and symptoms?’
‘High fever, vomiting and diarrhoea, muscle aches, a widespread rash that looks like sunburn. She’s also hypotensive. Seventy-five over thirty and she’s onto her second litre of fluid resus.’ Grace flicked him a glance. ‘She also finished her period two days ago and likes to leave her tampons in overnight.’
Charles could feel his mouth twisting into a lopsided smile. An impressed one. That was the key question that needed to be asked and could be missed. But not by Grace Forbes, apparently.
‘Any foreign material left? Had she forgotten to take a tampon out?’
‘No, but I still think I’m right.’ Grace clicked a key. ‘Yes... Her white count’s sky high. So’s her creatinine, which means she’s got renal involvement. Could be septic shock from another cause but that won’t change the initial management.’
‘Plan?’
‘More fluids, vasopressor support to try and get her BP up. And antibiotics, of course.’
‘Flucloxacillin?’
‘Yes. And I’ll add in clindamycin. There’s good evidence that it’s effective in decreasing toxin production.’