Nate had loosened his father’s shirt collar and was kneeling by him, talking to him quietly and trying to reassure him. ‘Is your nitro spray in your pocket?’ he asked, but James Branscombe was barely able to speak. Nate searched through his pockets until he found what he was looking for and then quickly sprayed the liquid under his father’s tongue. The medication would dilate the blood vessels, allowing blood to flow more easily and thereby lessening the heart’s workload.
Nate glanced at Sophie as she came to kneel down beside him. His expression was grim; his fear for his father was etched on his face. He seemed relieved to see that Sophie was by his side, though. ‘You have your medical bag?’ he said. ‘That’s good. Do you have aspirin in there?’
‘I do—they’re chewable ones, or he can dissolve them on his tongue.’ She opened the case and handed him the tablets. They would thin the blood and hopefully would prevent blood clots from closing up the arteries.
After a few minutes, though, it was clear that Lord Branscombe was still in a lot of pain. His features were grey, his lips taking on a bluish colour, and beads of cold sweat had broken out on his brow. Sophie guessed this was more than a bad angina attack. She was worried for Nate; this must be something he’d dreaded, the real reason he’d come home.
‘Morphine?’ Nate asked, and she nodded.
‘Yes, I have it. I’ll prepare a syringe.’
‘Thanks.’ He administered the pain medication and soon afterwards wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his father’s arm. ‘He’s becoming hypotensive,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ll put in an intravenous line—as soon as the paramedics get here we can put him on a saline drip to stabilise his blood pressure.’
They didn’t have to wait too long. The ambulance arrived shortly, siren blaring, and the two paramedics hurried on to the terrace. They nodded to Sophie, recognising her from her work at the hospital.
Nate swiftly introduced himself and said, ‘I think my father’s having a heart attack. We need to get an ECG reading and send it to the Emergency department.’
‘Okay. We’ll make sure they’re kept informed.’
‘Thank you.’
One of the paramedics set up the portable ECG machine, whilst the other man began to give the patient oxygen through a mask. Nate helped them to lift his father on to a stretcher, and then together they carried him down to the waiting ambulance.
‘His blood pressure’s dropping.’ The paramedic sounded the alarm and Nate reacted swiftly, setting up a saline drip and giving his father drugs to support his heart’s action. Sophie stood by as the three men worked on Lord Branscombe.
‘He’s gone into V-fib. Stand clear.’ Nate called out a warning as his father’s heart rhythm went awry and the defibrillator readied itself to give a shock to the heart. He checked his father’s vital signs. ‘And again, stand clear.’
Her heart went out to him as he exhausted every effort to save his father’s life. She saw the worry etched on his face and suddenly wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but of course she couldn’t do anything of the sort.
‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘He’s stable for now. I’ll go with him to the hospital.’
The paramedic nodded. ‘Okay, we’re ready to go. The emergency team’s alerted and waiting for him.’
‘That’s good.’ Nate turned to Sophie, who was waiting by the ambulance doors. ‘I want to thank you for all your help,’ he said softly. He reached out and gently cupped her arms with his long fingers. ‘I owe you. I’ll make it up to you, Sophie, I promise.’
She shook her head, making her soft curls quiver and dance. ‘There’s no need for you to do that. I was glad to help.’ No matter what bad feelings she might harbour about James Branscombe, she couldn’t have stood by and done nothing to save him. Working alongside Nate, though, had been another matter entirely. She hadn’t been prepared for that and the effect it had on her at all.
The paramedic closed the doors of the ambulance and climbed into the driver’s seat. Sophie stood by the roadside and watched the vehicle pull away and it was as though the world was sliding from under her feet. She reached out to rest a hand on a nearby drystone wall.
Nate had been back for only five minutes and already she felt as though she’d been hit by an electric storm. How on earth was she going to cope, knowing he meant to stay around and once more make his home at Branscombe Manor?
‘COME ON IN, then, Charlie.’ Sophie let herself into her father’s kitchen and then stood to one side to let the excited yellow Labrador follow her. He was carrying his lead in his mouth as usual—she always let him walk home the last few yards untethered. She went over to the sink and filled the dog bowl with fresh cold water. ‘Okay, I’ll swap you—you give me the lead and I’ll let you have the water.’ It was a ritual they followed every time they went out.
Charlie obligingly dropped the loop handle and she unclipped the lead from his collar and put it away. He drank thirstily and then dropped to the floor, panting heavily and watching her as she washed her hands and then filled the kettle and switched it on.
She gazed out of the window at the neat lawn and the garden with its bright flower borders. There were scarlet surfinias in tubs that reminded her of that day at the restaurant when she’d met up with Nate. It had been almost two weeks ago and she hadn’t seen anything more of him since then but she guessed he was probably spending a lot of his time visiting his father in the Coronary Care Unit.
‘He looks suitably worn out.’ Her father wheeled himself into the kitchen, breaking into her thoughts and smiling as he looked over at the dog. ‘Just as well, if the physio’s coming here later on. Charlie can be a bit too exuberant at times.’
Sophie smiled with him and pushed a cup of tea across the table towards him. ‘He’s not slowing down at all, is he? You’d have thought at eight years old there would have been a few signs of maturity by now, wouldn’t you?’
‘You would.’
Her father had bought Charlie as a pup, a couple of years after his marriage to her mother had broken down. He’d taken him with him everywhere, even to his work on the estate, and they’d roamed the woods and fields together, man and dog.
‘How’s the work going with the physio?’ she asked now, as she slid bread into the toaster. Every morning before work, she came over to the house to have breakfast with her father.
‘We’re getting there, I reckon.’ He paused, thinking about it. ‘When she came yesterday I stood for a while with the frame, and I even managed to take a couple of steps.’
‘You did?’ He looked deservedly pleased with himself and Sophie stopped what she was doing and rushed over to him. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’ She hugged him fiercely. ‘I’m thrilled to bits for you. That’s amazing.’
‘Yes, it’s definitely a step forward...’ He chuckled at his own joke and she laughed with him. ‘Seriously, with all the treatment I’ve been having at the hospital, and now these sessions at home with the physio, I feel as though I’m making progress. It’s been a long job, but I’m getting there at last.’
They ate cereals and toast and chatted for a while, but Sophie soon realised her father had something else on his mind. ‘I’ve been hearing rumours,’ he said, ‘about Branscombe losing all his money and the estate houses being put on the