Devil Doctor

DEVIL DOCTOR

Published by Isabella Rose

Copyright © 2012.

Smashwords Edition.

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Acknowledgement

To my wonderful husband who looks after me and makes sure that I eat, whilst I am creating intriguing mysteries and sizzling romances to send my readers into a realm of fantasy and fun.

DEVIL DOCTOR

CHAPTER ONE

Gayle fidgeted on the uncomfortable grey plastic chair in the hospital corridor and looked impatiently at her watch, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. It was a mystery why her diminutive no nonsense Yorkshire born mother had insisted on going in alone to see the specialist.

A niggle of dread took root in her mind and refused to go away. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she was determined to solve the puzzle.

As a nurse bustled past, Gayle waved her hand to attract her attention. ‘Why wasn’t my mother sent for an X-Ray on her swollen arm? Why is she seeing a specialist in this department?’

The nurse looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You really don’t know? What did your G. P tell you?’

The alarming niggle became a full scale neurological alert. ‘If there’s something I should know, please tell me.’

‘I’m not allowed to talk about patients, but when your mother comes out, I’ll tell Dr James Flood that you want to talk to him.’

The exceptionally tall doctor whose rugged good looks reminded her of 007, Daniel Craig, smiled and shook hands with her mother. Worriedly, she was biting her bottom lip, as if the examination hadn’t gone well.

Without giving Gayle a passing glance, the busy specialist dashed past her to hand the receptionist a large bundle of papers. The nurse took the opportunity to have a quick word with him.

In any other circumstances, Gayle mused it would have been lust at first sight, admittedly on her part, not his.

Reality intruded when her mother said crisply, ‘Thank heavens that’s over. We can go home now.’

Gayle shook her head, ‘Sit down Mum, I need a quick word with Dr. Flood.’

Protesting, ‘I don’t know why he wants to talk to you?’ Her mother reluctantly sat down and when the nurse handed her a beaker of water, took tiny sips. ‘I’m his patient, not you.’ she muttered. ‘If I want to keep secrets, he shouldn’t go against my wishes.’

‘So there is something wrong, is it serious?’

Her mother pursed her lips and stayed silent, that was ominous.

Gayle was ushered by the pretty young nurse into the doctor’s tiny office. She’d seen larger cupboards; the NHS weren’t pampering doctors in this hospital clinic.

She sat on a green cushioned chair to wait for the doctor to come back. Even in these difficult circumstances her increased pulse rate registered the fact that he was an extremely charismatic man. Frowning, she attempted to control her inappropriate thoughts, as out of hours he probably had all the nurses competing for his attention.

When she’d asked her mother why they were sitting in a cancer clinic waiting room, she’d been told because the other waiting room was full. Gayle hadn’t doubted her mother’s word, until now. Her mother was extremely good at putting on a brave face in tricky situations.

Dr Flood strode into the room, which suddenly seemed so small that it felt claustrophobic.

Gayle took a deep breath to calm an attack of nerves as his facial expression was serious. She dug her pink varnished nails into the palms of her hands, whilst he consulted his notes, but he didn’t leave her in suspense for long.

Rather abruptly Dr Flood told her, ‘Your mother is terminally ill and needs all the help she can get. I estimate she only has about six weeks to live.’

‘What? How serious can a swollen arm be?’ If she hadn’t already been sitting down, Gayle knew she’d have gone weak at the knees and probably passed out.

"I’m afraid you’ll have to face the fact you will soon lose her, unless by some miracle the malignant tumour in her breast goes into natural remission. That is the best we can hope. I will of course give her drugs to reduce the size of the tumour and thereby reduce the pain.’

He eyed Gayle curiously; the shock had drained her face of colour. Her skin was white, in contrast to her long jet black hair. An extremely attractive woman had suddenly aged ten years.

Dr Flood frowned. ‘You must have realised the truth yourself. Your G.P will have given you a rough idea of the seriousness of your mother’s condition.’

Gayle numbly shook her head, not able to take in that her frail, but stoic mother was terminally ill. Her mind totally rejected the fact that her mother could die.

‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’ He gave a sigh and frowned, ‘You must have expected my diagnosis. I haven’t told your mother how long she will live. I have left her with some hope. You know her better than me. I’ll leave you to judge whether she would prefer to know, so she can make arrangements for the future.’

Gayle’s blue eyes widened in shock as tears pricked at her eyelids. She blinked furiously, but her lashes grew moist. ‘Arrange her funeral you mean, to save us the bother?’

Dr. Flood watched as the expression on her face was one of utter disbelief. He said mildly, ‘I was thinking more along the lines of getting care put in place for your young teenage step-brother. I understand he has epileptic fits?’

Body tensed, Gayle placed trembling hands on the desk, lacing her long tapering fingers tightly. It couldn’t be true, there must be some mistake. You read about such things in the newspapers all the time.

Fear sharpened her voice. ‘I don’t believe what my ears are hearing; it must be some weird joke. I want to see the head man around here, not just a hospital intern.’

Ice cool, grey eyes shot invisible daggers through the air. Dr. James Flood controlled his temper with visible effort, letting the slur on his medical status go unchecked. Count to thirty two, one number for every year of your life, he cautioned himself. It was obvious that she hadn’t known anything about her mother’s desperate situation. He wondered if she was a bit simple not to have guessed.

Gayle quailed slightly, as his eyes raked up and down her body, scorching her with masculine appraisal, this girl aroused more than his interest, but he instantly subdued his libido. She was off limits.

As a general rule both patients and their families had been well briefed before they arrived in his cancer clinic. Understanding sympathy fleetingly softened his expression.

Keeping his voice calm and matter of fact, hoping his nurse was on hand in case of hysterics, Dr James continued smoothly, ‘Unfortunately what I said is true. I wish I could be more optimistic, but I can’t. Some other arrangements will have to be made to look after your step-brother. Your mother needs to rest; she can’t be expected to cope with an energetic special needs teenager.’

Carefully controlling the urgent urge to scream abuse at this unfeeling monster, who Gayle decided scornfully, must be a robot with red oil instead of human blood in his veins. She inhaled deeply to forestall the urge to faint ignominiously at his feet.

For one mad moment, she visualised devil’s horns sprouting from his scarlet forehead with a matching forked tail..He certainly pulled no punches; verbally he cut straight into the jugular. Rather belatedly it dawned on her that he must be an oncologist and a surgeon, although he looked too young to have done sufficient training.

Savagely, Gayle blamed him for being the bearer of bad news, too shocked to realise that she was being totally irrational. Instead, she decided he was an expert at making people feel idiotic.

‘I teach first aid so why didn’t I notice anything wrong until her arm swelled to three times its normal size? And even then, I didn’t suspect cancer.’

Gayle fretted, ‘There must have been some symptoms that I ought to have spotted, but missed.’

A guilty flush stained her cheeks; according to this Machiavellian character it was now too late. Why didn’t her mother say anything, perhaps she’d hoped the lump was just a harmless sebaceous cyst?

With great difficulty, Gayle clamped down on the urge to smash the glass paperweight positioned on the small cheap desk right in front of her hands. She had the odd sensation she was a fly on the ceiling, looking down at herself and the white coated pervader of doom and gloom.

Gayle knew she had to pull herself together. She couldn’t help her mother if she disintegrated into a thousand fragile pieces. Furiously angry by the brusque way the news had been broken to her by this unfeeling sadistic brutal doctor who hadn’t a single thread of compassion, her mind likened him to the devil.

‘Apart from seeming a little slow and very tetchy, which I put down to her growing older, Mum appeared alright. If the cancer is in her breast why did her arm swell up badly?’ She really wanted to know but her brain tuned out the answer.

Casting a disparaging glance around the tiny office, Gayle subconsciously noted the cluttered paperwork, files bulging at the seams, oddly at variance with the modern computer sitting on the end of the desk.

Irrelevantly, Gayle wondered if the charismatic, but callous Dr. James Flood typed in his own information, or if he had a secretary at his beck and call. She felt confidant this intensely masculine man commanded many willing females only too eager to obey his every whim. If they’d met under better circumstances, Gayle silently acknowledged, she would have found him quite devastating. But after today’s savage delivery of the truth there was no possibility of her being fooled by any surface charm.

Her mind wanted to concentrate fiercely on ordinary everyday objects. It refused to assimilate the information with which this doctor totally bludgeoned her senses. After all, how could it be true? She’d never heard of anyone dying because of a swollen arm. Why couldn’t the fluid be drained off? But deep down Gayle knew Dr James Flood was far too professional, his hospital clinic too crowded, for him to play putrid practical jokes

Part of her mind refused to transmit the information. It was as if her brain was a telephone exchange and had jammed one of the lines of communication. Feeling her knees literally begin to shake, Gayle swung her shoulder bag onto them and pressed down hard. It didn’t help.

Still unwilling to believe the thumbs down verdict, her eyes scanned his worried face, searching anxiously for a reprieve. Only a miracle remission could be prayed for tonight.

Keenly intelligent grey eyes sympathetically watched her bemused face, noting exactly when bewilderment turned to horror, as with a nervous gulp she began slowly to accept his diagnosis.

‘I wondered why we were waiting in your clinic. I thought it peculiar. Mum made out; there was a shortage of chairs in X-Ray.’

Further enlightenment dawned, as Dr. Flood placed a warmly comforting hand over her badly shaking fingers.

‘Mum knew, didn’t she? How long has she known?’

The doctor’s deeply resonant voice Gayle knew would echo in her sub-conscious for eternity.

‘Your mother is a very brave woman, or a very foolish one. If she had come to me earlier I might have been able to save her life. Like a lot of women she chose to shut her eyes to the fact that she’d developed a lump in her breast.

So many women kid themselves that lumps will vanish overnight, or they’re just putting on weight in the wrong spot.’ He sighed, ‘If only I could educate you ladies to seek advice straight away, my operating theatre would not be so permanently overworked.’