The Surgeon's Blade (4 page)

Chapter 2

Shocked, Jem looked at Nigel, scarcely believing his ears. What was it he had just said? Irrespective of whose fault it was, Nigel had an unconscious woman, a crew member, lying on his boat. At the very least, he was responsible for the well-being of his crew. Here he was, still anxious to get back into the race. What an unfeeling bastard!

Jem opened his mouth to protest as the first sounds of the helicopter filled the air. He gave a withering look at the top of Nigel’s head as he stood up and contemplated what to do.

He was furious with Nigel over his cavalier attitude. “Are you escorting her back to land?” he asked.

Nigel glanced up, a surprised look on his face. “Who me?”

“Yes, you. As the skipper responsible for our well-being and—” He stopped, knowing full well Libby would be upset if she knew he had mentioned her and Nigel’s relationship.

“I may be responsible for my crew, but it wasn’t my fault. No, I won’t be escorting her. The pilot and winch man will have their work cut out without having to worry about another passenger.”

“Passenger? She’s your bloody girlfriend, isn’t she?” Jem growled at him.

Nigel took a quick look round, as if making sure no one else had heard him. The deafening sound from the helicopter drowned out their conversation. “Just keep your thoughts to yourself, matey. Our relationship is purely platonic, and our business is no one else’s.”

 “But surely, you’ll want to—”

Nigel stood up as Ian shouted, “The helicopter pilot is on the radio, Skip. They want to talk to you.” He tossed a handheld VHF radio over to Nigel once he had re-entered the cockpit and taken back the helm. Ian moved over to Jem, who had remained by Libby’s prone body. “How’s she doing?”

“Not so good. She’s still unconscious and bleeding quite a lot from her wound. It’s a horrible gash, and so far, I can’t get it to stop bleeding. She might be left with a scar. Pass me another pack of swabs will you?” Feverishly, he tore apart the wrapping and applied a fresh gauze pad to Libby’s wound.

‘Shame, such a good-looking girl, too. But you never know, they can do wonders these days.”

Jem did know because he worked in Accident and Emergency at Southampton General. He was sure, once she received full medical treatment in hospital, her bleeding would cease. At the moment, he was more worried about her mental state. Libby had suffered a considerable blow to her head from the boom as it swung from one side of the boat to the other in the forced gybe. If only that idiot Nigel had been paying more attention. All this could have been avoided. Jem couldn’t really understand Nigel’s apparent lack of concern. He was after all a man of medicine, a healer, and yet, the race appeared to be uppermost in his mind. Withholding a snort of disgust, Jem decided it took all sorts to make a world. He only hoped Libby knew what she was doing this time. Since he had known her, she had suffered at least two disastrous relationships, and after the last one, her confidence had suffered.

“Right, clear the deck you lot. The winch man is going to pass down a stretcher before the diver comes down. On no account is anyone to touch the hi-line transfer cable until it touches the deck. Do you understand? There can be a hell of a lot of static electricity, and it could kill you. Once it’s firmly on the deck, do not tie it on to anything, either. I’m sure you know the drill.” Nigel bellowed. “Once she’s aboard, we’ll get going again.”

There was a series of surprised mutterings at this, and Jem was gratified to see quite a few of the crew looked askance at their skipper. Privately, he considered Nigel to be an unfeeling bastard.

“Come on, look lively. Get the sails ready! We’ve got a race. We’re not finished yet. We can still do this.”

Jem could have hit him.

Chapter 3

Libby felt strange. She was nursing an almighty headache and there was a loud ringing in her ears. Never had she felt so incapacitated. She knew that if she sat up she would be violently sick. Her whole body felt as if it was vibrating, and there was a deafening rumble around her. She gave a groan and closed her eyes.

“Take it easy love. Just lie still.” A dismembered voice muttered in her ear, and opening her eyes, a face swam into her vision. It was slightly skew-whiff and blurred, but squinting, she could definitely see a face.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, bending down towards her ear. She nodded and wished she hadn’t, as everything went black, and a whooshing noise replaced the drone. “You’ve had an accident. Do you remember?”

She struggled to frame the word 'no'.

“Don’t try to move or talk until I’ve done some obs. You’ve got a nasty wound on your forehead, which I’m going to dress. This might hurt a bit. It’s only a medicated swab, nothing more.”

Libby winced as she felt a cold, wet compress upon her face. The astringent antiseptic bit into her raw lesion. “Ow!” she moaned, opening her eyes wide with surprise.

“There. Nearly all done. What’s your name? Can you tell me?”

Libby thought. Nothing. The more she thought, the more she panicked.
What was her name?
She gave a slight shake of her head and realised tears were welling up. What had happened? Why was she so wet?

“I can’t remember,” she whispered. “What happened? Why am I so wet and—” She struggled to sit up. “Where am I?”

The uniformed man placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. “I’m Jack, by the way. You’ve been in a sailing accident. Do you remember that?”

“No!” Waves of nausea rushed over her. She lay back, beginning to shake with shock.

“Okay, just take it easy. I’ll explain. You were taking part in a sailing race. I believe there was a collision between the yacht you were on and another. During the collision you went overboard. That’s why you are so wet. You’re now on the Solent Rescue helicopter,
India Juliet
, and we’re flying you to Southampton hospital.”

For some reason, the hospital meant something to Libby, but she couldn’t remember what. She struggled with the grey woolliness in her brain. “Why can’t I remember?”

“By the look of your injury, I would say you hit your head before you went overboard. It’s probably only temporary, and things will begin to come back after you’ve rested. You’ve got quite a bump there. I can tell you that your name is Libby. Your boat skipper gave that to us.”

Libby? Libby? Still nothing. She lay still as misery flooded through her. What on earth was going to happen to her?

“We’ll be there in a short while. Now, if I can just take your blood pressure.”

Libby felt a cuff tighten around her arm. She strained to look around her without moving her position, and as her vision cleared, realised she could see the pilot. She could hear him as he talked into his helmet mike. At that moment, he glanced in the rear mirror in front of him and met her eyes. Despite herself, Libby felt a frisson of interest. She saw nice eyes, a deep green and unusual shade of hazel, green and blue with brown flecks. As she watched him, he swivelled round in his seat with a shaken look. After a moment, his face cleared and he gave her a smile. There was something about that smile that made her feel secure. Perhaps she was worrying unnecessarily, and everything was going to be all right.

The pilot turned back to his controls, and Jack said they were about to land. The new helipad at the hospital was in sight.

~~~~~

Libby was dozing when she realised there was someone in the room with her. As she opened her eyes, she noticed the soft evening sunshine throwing shadows on the walls, and with a start, she turned to find the chair next to her bed occupied. He was dark-haired with conventional good looks, a tanned face, blue eyes, and a long aquiline nose. He was dressed in sailing clothes: a polo shirt, trousers and deck-shoes.

“Libby, darling. I’m sorry if I woke you, but the staff said you were awake. I’ve only just managed to get here to see you. The traffic from the Hamble was horrendous.”

Libby stared blankly at the face before her. She had no idea who he was.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “But…who are you?” Her voice wavered.

“Darling, don’t you remember? It’s me, Nigel.”

She hesitated, then, “No. I don’t know you. I can’t even remember who I am.” To her horror, tears were gathering and threatening to roll down her face. “How did you manage to get in? I told the staff I didn’t want visitors!”

“Darling, hush. It’s all right. Why wouldn’t they let me in, they could hardly refuse could they? I am one of the senior medical staff here.  Of course, they don’t know about our personal relationship.”

“Relationship?” Libby frowned.

“Yes. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten we’re engaged?”

Engaged? Horrified, Libby struggled to clear her head. Apparently she was engaged to this man, this stranger, Nigel. She lifted her left hand but her ring finger was bare.

Nigel saw her puzzled look and curled his fingers round her own. “Your ring is at the jewellers, darling. Don’t you remember? Since you lost all that weight, your fingers are much more slender. Your ring kept slipping off, and you were afraid of losing it. It’ll be ready for you in a day or so.” He kissed the tips of her fingers. “Don’t worry about anything. You just need to get better.”

She choked back a sob. “How can I not worry? I can’t remember anything much before I woke up in the helicopter,” she said snatching her hand from his – it didn’t feel
right
somehow.

“I’m sure your doctor has explained your amnesia to you. You fell overboard and most probably hit your head on the boat’s hull. I’m sure your memory will recover in a short time.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do. You have what is known as post-traumatic amnesia. This is a state of confusion that occurs immediately following a violent head injury. You’ll probably feel disoriented and unable to remember events that happened before the injury. Sometimes new events can’t be remembered either, but it’ll resolve itself.”

Libby wished she felt reassured, but Nigel’s words failed to comfort her.

“I think I can remember a few random things. I don’t remember being on a boat. But I do remember driving my car. A Mini, I think it was. Why can I only remember bits and pieces?” she whispered.

“Well, I’m not a neurosurgeon, but I had a word with the doctor on duty before I called in here. He said that about a third of patients with mild head injuries have 'islands of memory' in which the patient can recall only some events. Your consciousness is 'clouded' and you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia.”