скачать книгу бесплатно
Actually, especially Seth Hardcastle, she thought, pausing as she reached for two bowls. He was obviously a first-rate consultant. A first-rate and now extremely angry consultant. Maybe she shouldn’t have been quite so in-your-face. Maybe she ought to have approached the situation differently. Maybe….
Oh, for crying out loud. Who’s the new clinical director here—you or him? He had no right to be talking about you behind your back, so stop being a wimp. You were a wimp for two years with Phil, and look where that got you.
She glanced down at George. ‘Do you think I went too far—said too much?’
He stared back at her uncomprehendingly for a second, then put his shaggy head down on his paws, and she sighed.
That was the trouble with dogs. No verbal reassurances, no bracing words of encouragement when you most needed them. They might be more loving and loyal than the average husband, but great conversationalists they weren’t.
Unlike her sister, she thought when the phone rang and she went out into the hall to answer it.
‘I just thought I’d phone to wish you the best of luck for tomorrow,’ Deborah exclaimed, bright and cheerful as always.
Her sister thought she needed luck? Maybe after meeting Seth Hardcastle she did. No, she didn’t. She was the new super-confident, in-your-face Olivia Mackenzie. ‘Deb—’
‘Harry says he still can’t understand why you had to move from Edinburgh to Glasgow. He says there’s lots of clinical directors’ posts in Edinburgh in nice hospitals in nice areas.’
Her brother-in-law the snob. ‘Deb—’
‘Liv, all I want is for you to be happy. I know Phil dumped you for a twenty-four-year-old blonde with a 36D cup and an eighteen-inch waist, but that doesn’t mean you should give up on men. You’re bright and kind, and lots of men prefer brains to looks.’
Olivia met George’s gaze. She’d been wrong. Talking to a dog was sometimes infinitely preferable to talking to a human being.
‘Deb, I have to go—my dinner’s ready,’ she lied.
‘OK, but promise me you’ll keep your eyes open for any dishy-looking men. Ciao, Liv.’
The phone went dead before Olivia could tell her sister that nobody said ‘Ciao’ or ‘dishy’ any more, and that the last thing she wanted was a man, dishy or otherwise.
You won’t even have to look, a little voice at the back of her mind reminded her as her microwave pinged. As from tomorrow you’ll have the most incredibly dishy-looking man working right under your nose.
‘Terrific,’ she said without enthusiasm, and George wagged his tail in agreement.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THAT has to be the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard!’ Seth exclaimed, and Olivia gritted her teeth until they hurt.
A week. She’d been at the Belfield Infirmary for exactly one week, and Seth Hardcastle had disagreed with every plan she’d put forward to improve the running of the department. Good grief, he’d even argued against redecorating the waiting room when it must have been obvious to anyone that the place was a dump.
‘It is not a ridiculous suggestion,’ she said with difficulty. ‘The health department has conducted a survey—’
‘Oh, well, if they’ve conducted a survey.’
‘And sixty-five per cent of the general public object to their names being written up on a whiteboard,’ she continued, deliberately ignoring his sarcasm. ‘They feel it’s an invasion of their privacy.’
Seth leant back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘An invasion of their privacy. Right. And if we remove the whiteboard, just how—precisely—are we supposed to identify patients?’
‘By communicating with each other, of course,’ she snapped, and saw his lip curl.
‘So, on a busy Saturday night, when we’re full to capacity, and somebody’s bleeding to death on one trolley and somebody’s having a coronary on another, we’re supposed to make time for these illuminating conversations, are we?’
Olivia dug her clenched fingers deep into the pockets of her white coat, but it didn’t help. Why did their morning meetings have to always end like this in acrimony and disagreement? The rest of the A and E department had made her feel welcome, but Seth…He never stopped arguing, and it wasn’t just the arguing which was getting her down. It was his unerring ability to make her feel small and stupid. A feeling which wasn’t helped this morning by her sneaking suspicion that he was right about the whiteboard, and the health board’s directive was crazy.
‘Whether you approve of the whiteboard coming down or not, it is coming down,’ she said tightly. ‘And speaking of coming down,’ she continued as he opened his mouth, clearly intending to argue. ‘Watson Forrester.’
He stirred uncomfortably in his seat. ‘What about Watson?’
She picked up one of the folders on her desk and extracted a sheet of paper from it. ‘According to this, he’s been to two seminars, three conferences and four courses this year.’
A faint flush of colour seeped across Seth’s cheeks. ‘Watson likes to keep abreast of the latest A and E developments.’
‘By going to conferences on food nutrition?’ He winced and her battered self-esteem sent up a silent Yeah! of triumph. ‘I want his resignation, Seth,’ she said quickly, before he had time to come up with one of his crushing put-downs. ‘He’s in London for another couple of days on this food nutrition course, then he’s off on his annual leave, but when he comes back I want his resignation.’
Seth looked as though he’d like to argue, but he also looked as though he knew when he was beaten. Being beaten, however, didn’t stop him from muttering, ‘You’ll be wanting Jerry’s resignation next.’ She closed the folder with a snap.
‘Certainly not. He’s an excellent specialist registrar. In fact, the whole team works very well together, including young Tony Melville.’
‘You think so?’
Something about his tone brought a slight crease to her forehead. ‘You don’t?’ He didn’t reply, and her frown deepened. ‘Look, if there’s something I should know about Tony, I’d far rather you just told me.’
He opened his mouth, closed it again and shook his head. ‘It’s nothing—just a gut feeling.’
‘A gut feeling you’re clearly not prepared to share with me,’ she said icily. ‘Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it.’
‘I’m not playing anything,’ he protested. ‘I just don’t think I ought to condemn the guy without concrete facts.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that hadn’t prevented him from bad-mouthing her, but she didn’t. Persuasion, Olivia, she told herself. You’ve always succeeded in the past with even the stroppiest of consultants by using the gentle art of persuasion, so back off. Back off, and regroup.
She fixed a conciliatory smile to her lips. ‘I think I’ve covered everything I want to discuss this morning. Is there anything you’d like to talk to me about?’
‘No.’
Not an ‘I don’t think so’ or an ‘I can’t think of anything’—just a bald, flat ‘No’. Couldn’t he even pretend to be civil, attempt to meet her halfway? Apparently not, judging by the rigid set of his jaw. Well, irrespective of how he felt, they couldn’t permanently be at loggerheads. They had to find some common ground or they would never be able to work together.
‘Listen, Seth,’ she declared, doing her best to radiate sympathy and understanding, which wasn’t easy when what she really felt like doing was hitting him. ‘I know this can’t be easy for you—having me as your boss. You’re bound to feel slightly resentful—’
‘I don’t feel even remotely resentful,’ he interrupted. ‘I just don’t think a woman should be in charge of A and E.’
Her jaw dropped. Was he kidding? He didn’t look as though he was, and her sympathy and understanding disappeared in an instant.
‘Now, listen here,’ she exclaimed, her brown eyes stormy. ‘It may have escaped your attention—it clearly has escaped your attention—but women moved out of the kitchen years ago. There are women politicians, women judges, women consultants—’
‘I’m quite aware of that,’ he exclaimed, annoyance plain in his voice, ‘and I have no objection to female consultants in principle. The head of Ophthalmics is a woman. The head of Geriatrics is a woman—’
‘You just don’t want one in your own back yard,’ she finished for him furiously. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m here for the duration, and you and your fragile male ego are just going to have to get used to it!’
Yikes, but where had that come from? she wondered, seeing anger darken his blue eyes. She’d never been the confrontational type. Deborah was always telling her she was too darned soft for her own good, but this man…He constantly seemed to bring out the worst in her.
Which didn’t mean she was going to apologise.
Dammit, why should she? If he was a chauvinist—and she’d never in a million years have pegged him as one—then he was going to have to learn she wasn’t a pushover.
Or at least not a complete one, she thought, forcing herself not to flinch back in her seat when he got to his feet and his broad shoulders blocked out the sunlight from her window.
‘Seth, listen—’
‘My shift starts in half an hour, and I’d like a coffee before I go on duty, so if there’s nothing else, Dr Mackenzie…?’
He couldn’t even call her Olivia. Everybody else did. Jerry, Tony, Babs, Fiona. Only Seth seemed unable—or unwilling—to force her name through his teeth.
‘Seth—’
‘I really would like that coffee.’
It was hopeless, she thought as she gazed up into his implacable face. Completely and utterly hopeless.
‘I’ll see you later, then,’ she said, and without a word, or even so much as a nod, he was gone.
Stupid, pompous, arrogant man. What on earth was she going to do with him? If they couldn’t establish a decent working relationship she would have to ask for his resignation, and she didn’t want his resignation. He was an excellent consultant. Skilled, intuitive, unflappable.
Handsome, too, her mind whispered as she gathered up the folders on her desk and she let out a huff of impatience. OK, so he was handsome, and when he smiled…Not that he’d done any smiling in her direction during the past week, but she’d seen him smile at Babs and Fiona, and it was the kind of smile that did odd things to a woman’s stomach.
‘Odd things to her brain, too,’ she murmured out loud as she put the folders in her filing cabinet and closed the drawer with a bang. ‘Face it, Liv. A man like Seth Hardcastle would leave you emotionally scarred for life.’
Yes, but think of the fun while it lasted.
Don’t think of the fun, she told herself severely as she walked out of her office and down to the examination room. The only thing you want from Seth Hardcastle is a good working relationship. Nothing more, nothing less.
There didn’t seem to be much work going on in A and E when she opened the door. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any work going on at all, just Babs and Fiona crouched up against the back wall surrounded by a mass of squashed fruit.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Olivia asked, only to duck quickly as a pear suddenly came shooting out of cubicle 6 followed by the sound of a male voice calling, ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’
‘Brian Taylor,’ Babs replied. ‘He came in with a badly cut hand, and Fiona and I had just got a saline drip into him when all hell broke loose.’
‘He’s one of our regulars, and a chronic alcoholic,’ the staff nurse chipped in. ‘We reckon he’s been on one of his three-day benders.’
‘Which doesn’t alter the fact that his hand needs stitching,’ Olivia said firmly. ‘Why haven’t you sedated him?’
A watermelon sailed out of the cubicle and landed with a dull thud at Babs’s feet.
‘Because we’d rather like to finish the day in one piece,’ the sister replied. ‘So if you have any bright ideas on how we can get close enough to him…’
It was a good point. It was also at times like this that Olivia wished she was a man. Preferably a six-foot-two-inch tall man with broad shoulders and blue eyes, but if she paged Seth he’d never let her forget it.
‘Where are Jerry and Tony?’ she asked.
‘Jerry’s in cubicle 1 with a possible duodenal, and Tony’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with the woman in 3.’
Which meant she was on her own.
Well, brawn wasn’t everything, she told herself. In fact, the voice of sweet reason could often be surprisingly effective.
‘Mr Taylor?’ she called out in her most reassuring voice. A bunch of bananas came hurtling through the curtains, and he started cock-a-doodling again. ‘What’s he got in there, Babs?’ she hissed. ‘The entire contents of a fruit shop?’
The sister grinned. ‘We’re just hoping he didn’t stop off at his local fishmonger’s before he came here.’
Olivia fervently hoped so, too. She chewed her lip for a second, then made up her mind. ‘I need a syringe loaded with the strongest sedative you’ve got.’
Babs did as she asked, but when Olivia pocketed the syringe and got down on her hands and knees, the sister eyed her uncertainly. ‘Are you sure about this? I could call Seth—’
Over her dead body. ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Olivia replied, but she didn’t feel anything like as confident when she crawled into the cubicle and caught sight of Mr Taylor sitting on top of the trolley.
Dear lord, but he was huge. If he stopped throwing fruit and started throwing his fists, she was going to be in serious trouble.
Think positive, Olivia, she told herself firmly. You might not have physical strength but you have intelligence. And probably about ten seconds in which to use it, she calculated as she stretched up, yanked the saline drip off its hook and then crouched down again fast.
Make that five seconds, she amended with a sinking heart as an ominous rustling sound came from the trolley, which suggested that Mr Taylor was delving into his shopping bag again.
‘There’s no need to get agitated, Mr Taylor,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’m here to help you.’
‘Get lost!’
‘And I love you, too,’ she muttered under her breath as she swiftly injected the syringe full of sedative into the drip tube. ‘Now, if you could just breathe in deeply for me, I’ll—’
She didn’t get a chance to finish what she’d been about to say. Tomatoes began raining down on her, splattering her white coat, and she squeezed on the saline bag for all she was worth. It was a quick-acting sedative, but he was a big man and it could be several seconds before it took effect. All she could hope was that it kicked in before he ran out of tomatoes.
‘Sleepy time, Mr Taylor,’ she crooned. ‘Time to go to the land of nod. Time for Mr Sandman to come along and close your eyes.’
‘Get lost,’ he said again, but this time with slightly less enthusiasm, and she squeezed even harder on the bag.
‘Maybe you should consider visiting the Merkland Memorial next time you injure yourself,’ she continued. ‘Much as we love having your custom…’
Bingo! With a surprising grace for such a big man, Mr Taylor keeled over on the trolley, and she caught his bag of groceries just before it hit the floor.
A smile curved her lips. She’d been right. Brawn wasn’t everything. Brains could be just as effective, but it had been a close-run thing.
‘OK, Mr Tough Guy,’ she murmured, getting awkwardly to her feet. ‘Let’s see what damage you’ve done to yourself.’
To her relief his hand wasn’t as badly injured as it had looked. He’d certainly sliced his thumb pretty badly, and there were lacerations to his other fingers, but luckily he hadn’t hit any vital arteries.
‘You must have a charmed life,’ she observed as she cleaned his hand, then inserted some stitches. ‘Pity I can’t say the same about your manners.’ A loud snore was her only reply and she chuckled. ‘See you around, Mr Taylor—but hopefully not for a very long time.’
Quickly she pulled back the cubicle curtains and blinked as a round of applause greeted her.
‘Way to go, boss!’ Babs beamed. ‘Whoever said women were the weaker species?’
‘Not at the Belfield they’re not,’ Fiona exclaimed, and Jerry grinned.
