the chart. She was efficient, he’d give her that.
She slid the nasal prongs into place and picked up an ear thermometer. Harry listened carefully to Jude’s chest, hearing exactly what he expected to.
There was a definite heart defect. One he’d need to diagnose after a few more investigations. In the meantime he pulled over the sonogram without waiting for a sonographer and had a quick look for himself.
Esther was talking in a low voice to little Jude. He was responding, blinking and kicking his arms and legs. His skin was a little dusky, but not enough to cause huge concerns for Harry. He suspected this was something he could solve with surgery in the next few days. It wasn’t uncommon for heart defects not to be obvious in babies straight away. The most severe were normally picked up at prenatal scans. But the less severe could be missed.
He moved around and sat in the chair next to the mum, then paused, realising he didn’t know her name.
It was like Esther read his mind. She glanced at the chart he’d left sitting on the other side of the trolley and gave a casual smile. ‘Claire, Harry our doctor is going to explain what he thinks is going on with Jude right now.’
Harry gave her a grateful nod. ‘Is there anyone else here with you?’
Claire shook her head, her eyes bright with tears. ‘I just panicked and brought him in. I tried to phone my husband and my mum-in-law but neither of them answered. I left messages.’
Esther nodded. ‘How about I have a quick check in the waiting room to see if either of them have arrived?’
Two minutes later she returned with a breathless man and an older-looking woman with her bag clutched to her chest. Both of them immediately crowded over Jude. Harry waited for them to ease their panic. The guy came and put his arm around his wife. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He went a funny colour when he was feeding and it just didn’t get better.’
The older woman was stroking Jude’s head and whispering to him. It was clear Claire had supports in place that Jill in the NICU could badly do with. Harry introduced himself and shook hands, then took some time explaining what was wrong with Jude’s heart, drew a diagram for them explaining how surgery would fix things.
It was clear they were horrified, but Esther was smooth, finding tissues for tears, then a chair for gran, whose legs seemed to fold once she found out her precious first grandson needed surgery.
‘But who can do it?’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘You do surgery on babies’ hearts? Doesn’t that need to be a specialist?’
‘I am a specialist. I’m a visiting surgeon at the Queen Victoria. Cardiac surgery in babies is my speciality.’
Esther’s eyes locked with his, and she gave the slightest nod of her head, as if she approved of how he was talking to the mum.
‘How many times have you done this operation?’
Harry counted in his head. ‘This will be number twenty-seven.’
There was an audible sigh of relief. He understood that. Esther made a few notes and stepped outside the cubicle while he kept talking to the family.
When she came back in he had just finished explaining that they’d transfer Jude upstairs and make arrangements for admission.
‘Done,’ said Esther, handing him the paperwork. ‘Porter is just coming. Francesca will review Jude on the ward.’
Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t waste time.’
She gave him a tight smile. ‘Some people call me efficient.’
He shifted on his feet. Was she mad at him again? He thought they’d sorted things. The porter arrived quickly and Harry decided to head up to the ward with the family.
He booked the theatre time for the next day and spoke to Francesca before heading back down to A&E. It only took him a few minutes to find Esther again. She was clearing up a tray of bloody swabs.
‘Whoa.’
She looked up. ‘‘Gunshot wound. Thankfully it was just a graze.’
‘Do midwives normally treat gunshot wounds?’
She blinked. ‘I’m a nurse too. That’s why I get to work in A&E.’ She paused for a second and then added, ‘How’s your baby in France?’
He pulled a face. ‘Post-op complications. He developed a pulmonary embolism. Probably not much bigger than the head of pin. But in a twenty-five-weeker…’
He looked up and realised she was holding her breath. ‘Oh, everything’s good now. We’re back to a “wait and see.”’
‘How come you were down covering?’
‘I’d just got back from France and came in to check on Billy. I’d gone along to the ward and saw the messages about the A&E referral. The doc in Paeds was dealing with a meningitis case so I offered to cover.’
‘That was nice of you.’ Her eyebrows were raised.
‘What? You don’t think I can be nice?’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what I think of you, Harry Beaumont, or should I call you the Duke of Montrose?’
He winced. His title followed him everywhere. Not that he ever really used it. Only at family occasions when he had to.
Her hand went to her mouth to cover a yawn, and he was instantly suspicious.
‘Excuse me,’ she said as she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out some antibiotics, tipping one out and swallowing it.
‘You’re still not feeling better?’ They were under the bright lights of the treatment room and it struck him that she pretty much looked like when he’d seen her on that first day.
She gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘They’ve changed my antibiotics. I was resistant to the first lot and I didn’t get the message until today.’
‘So, you still have a temp and feel knackered?’
She spun towards him in surprise. ‘Since when did you get all Scottish?’ She let out a little laugh. ‘Have you any idea how that word sounds in an accent like yours?’
He grinned at her. ‘Does it sound any better when I say Crabbie Rabbie?’
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘Right, that’s it. It’s official. You’re banned from saying that. In fact—’ she headed to the door of the treatment room ‘—you’re banned from any Scottish words.’ She shot him a teasing glance. ‘I’m not buying the Duke of Montrose title. You’re about as Scottish as the London subway.’
He opened his mouth in pretend horror. ‘Esther McDonald, are you mocking me?’
She gave a shake of her head. ‘Oh, Harry, I haven’t even started yet.’
She started to walk away, ‘Sorry, got to run. Busy.’
Things just got crazier. And Esther got more and more tired by the second. Could there be a chance the second set of antibiotics weren’t right for her either? That would definitely be unusual. Plus it would start to freak her out that she might have an infection that was multiresistant. That had never happened to her before, and she knew they could be serious.
The more tired she got, the more patients crowded through the door. She spent time with a young woman who came in with symptoms of pregnancy that she clearly was ignoring. She kept refusing to accept she was pregnant and her behaviour got more and more erratic. Eventually Esther realised she needed someone other than the A&E docs to assess this young lady. She called