The Army Doctor's Forever Baby (Army Doctor's Baby Series Prequel), Page 3

  Chapter Three

  Sandra sat at a table in the trendy Italian restaurant where they were eating dinner, feeling surprisingly chilled out. Despite the train journey to Scotland starting out badly with the uncomfortable introductions to George's parents and their friends, the rest of the journey had been fun.

  In the train's restaurant car, Sandra and George had a table to themselves. The trip had passed without her having to exchange more than a few words with his parents.

  They were served with a full English breakfast by a waiter and then spent an entertaining hour completing the Times cryptic crossword—or George completed it and Sandra offered suggestions where she could. Her brain didn't really work like that. The way George fathomed out the clues and came up with answers amazed her.

  Next they settled back with a cup of coffee and chatted as the English countryside whizzed past the window, and people climbed on and off the train at various stations. George asked her about her family and her plans for the future, then spoke at length about how he saw his life unfolding, especially his goal to make brigadier by the age of forty-five.

  Her hope that he might only stay in the army for a couple of years disappeared when she realized he was totally dedicated to life as a military doctor. His father had been in the army since he was a young man, and George had grown up expecting to follow the same path.

  Eventually Sandra's busy week had caught up with her and she'd snoozed for the last hour of the journey, waking with her head on George's shoulder. Any embarrassment she might have felt was forgotten in the rush to put on their coats and gather their belongings before disembarking at Edinburgh.

  A taxi ride had brought them to this small, luxurious hotel just off the Royal Mile, a short walk from the Edinburgh cathedral where the wedding service was due to take place the following day.

  "How do you like your risotto, my dear?" Mr. Featherington beamed at her. In contrast to George's distantly polite parents, Harold, as he'd asked her to call him, was warm and friendly. She suspected he was trying to make up for his daughter's rudeness. Celia ignored Sandra while she chatted with Mrs. Knight about an endless succession of topics, her hands dancing in the air to illustrate her points, her words punctuated by her musical laugh.

  Celia was like a bubbly, overflowing flute of champagne, full of energy and enthusiasm for everything she spoke about, as well as elegant and beautiful. Men at the surrounding tables glanced at her, admiration in their eyes. It still mystified Sandra that George had wanted to avoid being Celia's date for the wedding. She was everything Sandra wasn't and never would be.

  George was attentive, passing Sandra the dish of vegetables, offering her wine, and topping off her water glass. A couple of times his hand brushed hers and tingles ran up her arm, bringing heat to her cheeks. When their eyes met, she had difficulty pulling her gaze away. She had to keep reminding herself this was not a proper date, because it sure felt like one.

  When the dessert dishes had been cleared away, George checked his watch and put his napkin on the table. "I'm due to meet Robert Mackenzie in the bar in five minutes. I'll see you all in the morning. We don't have to be at the cathedral until two; shall we meet at nine thirty for breakfast?"

  Everyone murmured their agreement, then he turned to her. "I know you're tired, but I'd like to introduce you to Robert."

  "I'd love to meet your friend." As Sandra rose, she noticed George's mother eyeing her with disapproval. It couldn't be more obvious that she was not what they wanted for their son. And she didn't blame them. In their eyes, she surely wasn't much of a catch compared with the beautiful socialite Celia.

  "I'll come, too. I'd love to see Rob again before he gets hitched." Celia jumped to her feet, her skintight black dress hugging her slender body, her sleek, straight golden hair cascading down her back. She clutched a black silk purse that matched her dress and rounded the table to link her arm through George's. Her chin high, she shot Sandra a gaze full of challenge.

  If Celia thought she could manipulate George, she was sorely mistaken. Despite the other woman tugging him to move, he waited while Sandra picked up the cardigan she'd hung on the back of her chair and looped her handbag strap over her shoulder, then he offered his other arm for her to slip her hand through.

  Awkwardly, the threesome made their way between the tables towards the foyer. A couple of times when Sandra tried to disengage her arm to walk behind as they squeezed along the narrow aisle, George clamped his arm to his side to keep her from pulling away.

  They strolled through the modern reception area, their heels clicking on the polished marble floor. Celia talked loudly, flicking back the silky golden strands of her hair, effortlessly stealing the show while Sandra couldn't think of anything she needed to say. She hadn't been gifted with the ability to make social small talk. She was far more comfortable in a hospital environment where she knew what was expected of her.

  The trendy bar did not suit Sandra. She felt like a fish out of water. With a shiny red bar and matching stools, a multitude of silver globe lights, and walls covered in modern art, it was not her sort of place. Having grown up near a small English market town where she lived in a fifteenth-century cottage, she was more comfortable in traditional surroundings.

  An attractive dark-haired man holding a glass of whiskey stood and raised a hand in greeting as they entered. "George, how are you? How was the journey up?"

  "Very good." George released both women's arms to shake hands with his friend and slap him on the back. "So, how do you feel on your last evening of freedom?"

  The Scotsman gave a wry smile. "I'm fed up with all the preparations. I'll be pleased when the wedding's over."

  "Don't say that, Rob. It should be the happiest day of your life." Celia threw her arms around the man and planted a kiss on his lips.

  He didn't seem in any hurry to disentangle himself. "Celia, darling. You look ravishing as always."

  Sandra was just starting to feel uncomfortable when George took her hand and eased her closer to his side. "This is Sandra Fisher. She works at the hospital with me."

  "Pleased to meet you, Sandra." Robert Mackenzie shook her hand. "You're a doctor, too?"

  "Yes. We were at Oxford together."

  "Ah, the hallowed halls of learning. I always thought George needed a brainy girlfriend who could keep up with him. It's nice to meet you."

  They moved to a quiet table where the two men chatted about old friends and future plans. Celia joined in the conversation. It seemed she'd been part of their social group for long enough to know everyone they did. Sandra sipped her white wine and listened quietly. After twenty minutes, she set down her glass and picked up her handbag.

  "The busy day's finally caught up with me."

  George rose as she did. "Would you like me to walk you up?"

  "No. You stay with your friends. I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow."

  He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. His move was so unexpected that the kiss she'd fantasized about for years was over before she even knew it had started. All she remembered was the warmth of his lips and the slight roughness of stubble against her skin.

  She stood frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and cleared her throat. "Well, good night then. It was nice to meet you, Robert. Good luck for tomorrow."

  Avoiding Celia's gaze, she turned and hurried away. The moment she reached the foyer, her hand went to her mouth. George Knight had kissed her. Her brain was so full of cotton wool, she didn't know what to make of this.

  Light-headed, as if in a dream, she headed for the elevators, rode to her floor, and found her room. After changing into the oversized T-shirt she slept in, she stood in front of the mirror and took her hair out of its French braid before brushing it out.

  Placing her glasses on the nightstand, she climbed into bed and switched off the light. Lying in the dark, she relived the kiss again and again, trying to remember every sensation. A shivery giggle burst from her lips and she hugged the covers ar
ound her body. George had kissed her!

  • • •

  Pounding on the bedroom door woke Sandra. She blinked and glanced at the bedside clock. She'd only been asleep for an hour. Sliding out of bed, she hurried to the door, wondering what the emergency was.

  Peeping outside, she found Celia dressed in a slinky blue nightdress, but the confident beauty of earlier had morphed into a frantic woman. Celia speared her fingers through her hair, gripping the back of her head, her face a mask of distress. "Are you a doctor?"

  "Yes." Sandra nodded. "Are you ill?"

  "Not me. It's Dad. He came to my room saying he felt nauseated and his chest was tight. I told him to lie down on the bed while I fetched his meds from his room. Now he's not breathing."

  Sandra's heart jumped and pounded as she slipped into professional mode. "I'm coming." She donned her glasses and snatched up her key before dashing out of the room and hurrying past four doors to the one that Celia was fumbling to unlock.

  "What sort of medication does your father take?"

  "A few things, including little tablets he puts under his tongue."

  Glyceryl trinitrate for angina. If Harold had heart disease, it was possible he'd gone into cardiac arrest. Sandra chewed on her lip, gathering her wits, preparing for what she would find inside. The moment Celia got the door open, Sandra slipped past her and headed for the bed.

  Harold Featherington lay flat on his back, his head on the pillow. He might have been sleeping except for his extreme pallor and the sheen of sweat on his face. Kneeling on the bed at his side, Sandra shook the man's shoulder. "Harold, Mr. Featherington, can you hear me?" No response. She leaned down with her ear over his mouth, listening for breathing while she pressed her fingers to his neck and felt for his carotid pulse. No pulse or respiration.

  "Is he all right?" Celia asked.

  "Phone 999 for an ambulance, and when you've done that, fetch George."

  "I don't know his room number."

  "Then call reception." Sandra turned down the covers and unbuttoned the man's pajama top.

  Celia's voice sounded but Sandra tuned her out. She needed to concentrate. It was vital that she restore cardiopulmonary blood flow immediately to prevent brain and organ damage. She pulled the pillow out from beneath Harold's head and tilted his chin up, checking inside his mouth for any obstruction.

  Then she pinched his nostrils, put her mouth to his, and blew out two breaths slowly before starting chest compressions. She linked her fingers, placed the heel of her right hand over his sternum, and pushed hard and fast thirty times, counting in her head.

  As she continued the CPR, she was vaguely aware of voices and people arriving, but she didn't look up. After what felt like forever, the bed dipped and George climbed on the other side of the mattress. "Let me take over."

  Wrists and shoulders aching, she stopped and sat back on her heels, pressing her fingers to Harold's carotid pulse. George put his linked hands on his godfather's chest, ready to resume the compressions.

  Her tension eased as she felt a thready beat. "He has a pulse."

  George put his ear over Harold's mouth and Sandra watched for chest movements. "He's breathing as well," George said. The shallow rise and fall of the man's chest confirmed the observation.

  Relief swept through her, greater than anything she'd ever felt before. She was always pleased when her treatment had a successful outcome, but this was different. Harold Featherington was important to George.

  Together, they bent Harold's leg and arm and rolled him into the recovery position, before pulling up the bedcovers to keep him warm.

  "Thank you." George's gaze met hers, gratitude shimmering in his eyes.

  "From Celia's description, it sounds as though he only went into cardiac arrest a minute or two before I started CPR. Do you want me to wait to talk with the paramedics?"

  "No, that's fine. I'll brief them. They'll need a list of his medications as well, and I know what he takes. You go back to bed." He squeezed her hand, then turned his attention to his godfather.

  "Uncle Harold." George gripped the man's shoulder and kept repeating his name.

  After a few minutes, the patient grunted and groaned. "My chest."

  "You're all right. An ambulance is on its way."

  "I couldn't breathe." Fear filled the man's breathy tone.

  "Don't worry. I'll stay with you."

  George sat on the edge of the bed where his godfather could see him, and Celia rushed forward and kneeled on the floor, gripping her father's arm.

  "I'm here, Dad. You're going to be all right. They'll take you to the hospital."

  Colonel and Mrs. Knight huddled at the side of the room, both clothed in long dressing gowns and slippers. They didn't spare Sandra a glance, all their attention riveted on George, Celia, and Harold.

  Sandra climbed off the mattress and pressed a hand to the saggy neckline of the old T-shirt she wore as a nightie, belatedly hoping it hadn't gaped while she was bending over the patient. It fell to mid-thigh, far shorter than any skirt she would wear in public. She tugged at the hem, but that only made the top dip lower.

  Aware she must look a fright, she smoothed back her loose hair, but she need not have worried. Nobody even noticed her as she moved quietly around the bottom of the bed, grabbed her key from where she'd dropped it on a table, and left the room.

  Her heart still pounding with the aftermath of the tension, she let herself into her door. She prayed Harold would recover. Apart from George, he was the only one of the party who'd made an effort to make her feel welcome.

  After washing her hands and face, then brushing her teeth, she slid into bed, only to be disturbed a few minutes later by another knock on the door.

  "Sandra. It's me, George."

  She slid out of bed and pulled on a cardigan, holding it closed. A waste of time as he'd already seen her in the least flattering piece of clothing she owned. Next time she stayed in a hotel, she would pack a pretty nightie, not a faded, baggy T-shirt with a picture of a cartoon dog on the front.

  Pulling open the door, she found George dressed in jeans and his padded ski jacket. "I thought you'd like an update. The paramedics are taking Harold down in the elevator now. Celia and I are going to follow in a taxi. I'm not sure how long I'll be at the hospital, but I'll come back in time to attend the wedding. If I don't see you before, meet me in reception here at one thirty tomorrow."

  "Okay. I hope Harold's condition stabilizes and he has a good night."

  "He stands an excellent chance, thanks to your quick action."

  Sandra opened her mouth to reply but before she could, George pulled her into his embrace. Strong arms gathered her to his chest and held her tight; the warmth of his lips pressed to her temple. "Thank you so much. You were great."

  She closed her eyes, the sensation of his hard, masculine body pressed against her making her senses swim. She breathed in the spicy smell of him, and her arms folded around his waist of their own accord. Never in a million years had she expected to find herself in George's arms like this. It was something she dreamed about when she was alone in bed, something she'd thought quite impossible.

  His stroked her hair back. "Sandra."

  "Yes." She turned her face up and he lowered his head to meet her. His lips moved over hers, warm and firm, a delicious sensation racing through her. Then Celia called George's name.

  "Must go," he whispered. "See you tomorrow in the foyer at one thirty." Then he released her and backed away.

  Sandra stood at the door of her room and watched him stride towards the bank of elevators. Celia waited for him halfway down the corridor. When he reached her, she clung to his side and he put his arm around her waist.

  As Sandra climbed back into bed, her thoughts raced in all directions, jumping from the medical emergency to George's kiss to Celia.

  George had brought her to the wedding, but it was only a fake date. Or was it? She had no idea what to think after that passionate kiss.