Chapter 21: Strangers Took Him Away From Her

Saturday midday.

Hot and tired, Louisa had reached Fore Street when she checked her mobile again. It showed a strong signal by now but she was so close to home she decided not to bother calling Martin. It was best if she sat him down in person and explained everything she had learned. There were no messages from him so everything must be fine so far. She started up Roscarrock Hill, once again grateful she had left the baby with Ruth.

As she approached the cottage she was dismayed to see the Jaguar convertible parked at a careless angle and Penhale's police vehicle blocking the road. The front door of the cottage was wide open and there were people spilling out onto the stone terrace, clearly agitated. Oh no, I must be too late, she thought.

Startled, she recognized the Bowdens, Eddie Prescott, and others as PC Penhale and Harvey pulled a handcuffed Emrys Prescott out and down the steps. "What's going on?"

There was too much commotion to get a coherent answer so she fled into the reception room, only to find a battlefield.

Two men leaned over a bloody figure lying supine as a dark stain spread out on the carpet. Louisa couldn't comprehend what was going on - where they hurting him? His shirt and tie were soaked in blood and he was so pale he was almost grey. She could only just hear him say in a hoarse whisper "severed artery, call an ambulance… patient rapidly bleeding out… condition critical."

"Martin!" she cried out, rushing to him. Only then did she grasp that it was Christopher Ellingham and Alex Bamford leaning over him, cutting away his shirt sleeve and trying to stanch the bleeding with wads of gauze. Christopher's hands were wrapped in bloodstained bandages. "Keep back," he ordered.

"It's nicked his brachial artery," he barked into his mobile. He handed the phone to her. "Here, we've got the dispatcher on the line, ask them how fast the ambulance can get here."

Thrust into the thick of it, Louisa did her best to take over the 999 call. "I don't know what happened. Can you get the helicopter to land at the Platt? He looks… bad." Her voice broke. She listened as the dispatcher explained that the helicopter was responding to a call in Newquay but the land ambulance could be there in about six minutes. "I understand. Please tell them to hurry," she said, ringing off. "They said about six minutes," she told Christopher and Alex.

"He's already going into shock," said Alex. "He'll never make it."

"There's no time," Christopher agreed. "In less than five minutes he'll either have a stroke or bleed out."

"Is there anything you can do?" Louisa pleaded.

"Fetch a blanket and pillows," Christopher ordered. Louisa did so. She remembered her basic first aid training and elevated Martin's feet and shoulder with the pillows and covered him with the blanket. She loosened his belt and tie, noting that it was the blue checked silk one and thinking how strange the little things you notice in a crisis. She took his left hand and held it up to her lips. "He feels so cold," she said, her voice breaking again. She wasn't sure she could stay calm much longer.

Martin stirred a little and murmured something. "Don't move," Alex said. "You need to regulate your breathing. Try and slow your heartbeat down."

"Go get his surgical gear," Christopher barked. Louisa darted off and returned with one of the sealed trays she had seen Martin use when he operated on her mother's strangulated hernia.

"He's too big to move, we'll have to work on him here. I… don't know if I can…" Christopher's voice, normally so confident, faltered. "It's up to you to scrub up, son."

Alex leapt up and ran to the exam room. Seconds ticked by and he returned, masked and gloved. Louisa found a torch in Morwenna's desk and held it overhead as he went to work and Christopher tied a tourniquet about the arm and directed him.

"Atraumatic eyeless needle, no need to thread the suture it's already attached. Cut to make the incision, just there. Now mount the needle in the needle holder. Now start the sutures. It's a simple, uninterrupted stitch. Steady. You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Alex.

"No, I mean are you OK?" This was directed at Louisa.

"Uh…" She couldn't speak, she could only just manage to hold the torch steady.

"This will be over very soon," Christopher muttered, more to himself than anyone. "One way or the other."

Louisa's hand began to shake, and a sob escaped her. Alex paused but did not look up. "Show some sensitivity, Dad," he snapped. "Steady on," Alex told Louisa. She felt ashamed he was comforting her when he was doing the difficult work. "Don't worry about me," she said.

Alex made one more careful stitch, then tied off the suture.

"Right, let's see if it's held." Christopher examined his work and loosened the tourniquet. "Good. Now all we need to do is get him to hospital as soon as possible. You've got a steady touch, son. You missed your calling."

With Alex's encouragement, Louisa began to gently bandage the wound.

Alex took his father's hands in his own and unwrapped the dressing to have a look. "Palmar lacerations. You're lucky, fairly superficial. Could have been a lot worse," he said. "Hate to see those surgeon's hands ruined."

"Hurts like the devil." Christopher's tone was gruff. "Thanks for pitching in there. Forty years I spent in theatre, never once froze up like that. Don't know what came over me."

At last, Louisa heard the ambulance stop outside. The EMTs brought a gurney onto the terrace and through the open front door. As they eased Martin onto the gurney and hooked him to an IV, Alex rewrapped Christopher's hands and Louisa could see those hands were trembling.

"Sometimes it hits you," Alex said. "You suddenly see a particular patient as more than just flesh and blood, but a person with a place in the world, a place in a community, maybe someone's parent, spouse, sibling… someone's child." He still held the older man's hands. "It can get in the way of objective medical practice, but it can remind even the finest doctor he's only human."

Christopher grunted. His mannerisms suddenly seemed so familiar to Louisa, just like those of another Ellingham who would resort to gruff monosyllables to cover uncertainty when confronted with an emotional situation.

"Sir, are you going to need to come with us?" one of the EMTs broke the moment. He gestured at Christopher's newly re-bandaged hands. "We've got room for one more."

"I'm fine, fine, barely scratched." Christopher snapped back to default mode of confidence and authority. He pointed to Louisa. "Take her. She should go with him."

On the long ride to the hospital, all Louisa could think of was another ambulance ride some years ago and it wasn't the happy one after she had given birth.

The EMT this time was quietly efficient, but a small pattern of rust on the ceiling marked this as the very vehicle in which Martin had saved young Peter Cronk one wild night.

Every detail of that ride was burned into her memory: the rust pattern; the maddening dismissiveness of that other EMT; how Martin told the truth to Peter; how he rolled up his sleeves and loosened his collar, so unlike him normally; the way he bit off the cap of the portacath and clutched it in his teeth as he inserted the needle, his sensual lips tense with anxiety; his shamed confession that he might vomit, though in fact he did not; the spray of blood as he cut into flesh to find the bleed; his dismay as the lifesaving clamp fell apart in his gloved hands like a nightmare come true; the reckless plunge of his huge hand into the small body to stop the bleeding; how he kept his delicate hold on Peter's life as the vehicle raced and jostled over the moor road; how his fingers and mind went numb but he held on as they flew the final moments into the ambulance bay and he didn't let go till they pried him loose and took the boy away from him; how he stumbled from the vehicle and the A&E nurse saw him bloodied and near fainting and thought he was in need of aid too, but he protested all he needed was a clean shirt and a place to wash up; and he followed the gurney while clutching Louisa's hand till the double doors closed to them and, suddenly embarrassed, they dropped each other's hands, and went to wait amid the walking wounded and anxious loved ones that filled the reception.

Until then, Martin had been merely a peculiar man to whom she had been peculiarly attracted. When she saw his brilliance, his dedication, his determination to carry on despite the weakness for which others mocked him, he was… heroic.

That was the night she fell in love with him. She had loved him ever since, even during the times she hated him.

Now she lifted his hand again. It was so very, very cold. She laid it against her cheek, then pressed the fingers to her lips and blew gently, as if to infuse warm life back into him. He groaned softly as the ambulance flew over uneven pavement but he remained unconscious. She kept hold of his hand and didn't let go until they arrived at A&E and strangers took him away from her.

To be continued…