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He gave her a rueful smile. ‘That bad, huh?’
She felt her lips twitch, but forced them back into line. ‘Keep away from the salami and the chicken. We lost three staff members to a tandoori wrap three weeks ago.’
His dark brows lifted. ‘“Lost” as in…?’
‘Lost as in sick for a week with a reportable disease,’ she said. ‘A couple of us had to do double shifts to cover them.’
His lips twitched this time, making his eyes crinkle up at the corners. ‘There’s a café on the other side of the car park,’ he said. ‘Does that have any black marks against it I should know about?’
‘They do a mean salad sandwich with mung beans and alfalfa sprouts,’ she said. ‘And their coffee’s passable.’
He picked up his mobile from the desk and clipped it to his belt. ‘Let’s give it a try. I’ll just let Jan at reception know we’ll be within paging distance.’
A few minutes later, sitting opposite Eamon Chapman in the café across from the hospital, Erin wondered how long it had been since she’d shared a meal with a man, even a colleague. She hadn’t dated since medical school, and even then it had been an unmitigated disaster. In the end she’d decided she wasn’t cut out for the couples’ scene. Most of the men she knew were complicated creatures with too much baggage—not that she could talk, given the veritable road-train she had brought with her from Adelaide. But this was hardly a date, she reminded herself. She was pretty certain Eamon Chapman had other things on his mind besides chatting her up. From what she could read from his expression, she was in for a dressing down if anything.
‘So,’ he said, leaning back in his chair to study her pensive features. ‘How long have you been at Sydney Met?’
Erin was aware of his steady gaze on her as she toyed with the thick froth of her latte with a teaspoon. ‘Five years,’ she said, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. ‘I spent a year in the States before that.’
‘Travelling or working?’
‘A bit of both,’ she said.
‘Did you grow up in Sydney?’
Erin’s teaspoon gave a tiny clatter as she placed it back on the saucer. ‘No. I grew up in South Australia. I moved to Sydney when I was a teenager.’
He took a sip of his cappuccino; her gaze was suddenly mesmerised by the tiny trace of chocolate that clung to his top lip before his tongue swept over his mouth to clear it. She swallowed a little restriction in her throat and quickly dropped her gaze, picking up her teaspoon again and stirring her latte with fierce concentration.
‘So, do you have family here or back over there?’ he asked.
Erin put her spoon back down and met his gaze. ‘Look, I hate to be rude, but what’s with the twenty questions?’
His eyes bored into hers for a tense second or two. ‘I like to get a feel for the people I will be working with on a daily basis. It’s an important part of being a leader, knowing the team’s strengths and weaknesses.’
She screwed up her mouth in an embittered manner. ‘Do you trust your own judgement on that, or are you usually swayed by others’ opinions?’
He accepted her comment with an unreadable look. ‘I lean towards the “innocent until proven guilty” philosophy where possible.’
She gave a little snort and reached for her coffee again. ‘Yeah, well, I bet it didn’t take long for some members of the jury to swing your opinion.’
‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
Erin gave her shoulders a gentle shrug. ‘Gut feeling; instinct; experience.’
‘I wanted to have a word with you about how you handled Mr Aston,’ he said after a short silence.
Erin’s gaze flicked back to his. ‘It was straight-out renal colic. He’s got a stone the size of a marble. He’s not going to pass it without surgical intervention.’
‘I’m not for a moment questioning your diagnosis, Dr Taylor,’ Eamon said. ‘But I think you could improve on your handling of accompanying relatives. Coming into A&E is stressful for both patients and relatives.’
She set her mouth into a defensive line. ‘My job is to treat the patient, not pander to their entourage.’
Eamon put his coffee cup back in its saucer, his eyes holding hers. ‘Listen, managing the relatives is part of treating the patient. Stressed relatives worsen patients’ stresses. And accompanying relatives are usually going to be the patient’s carers afterwards. One, they need to be well informed. Two, if they are stressed out and decompensate, they won’t be good carers. That means more time for patients in hospital, more hospital expense and more loss to the community. I’ve only been in the department less than twenty-four hours and I have already heard several complaints about your handling of relatives, yesterday’s threat of litigation being a case in point.’
Her slim jaw tightened. ‘Mrs Haddad’s suit will be rejected as soon as the medical council read through my notes and realise the extent of her son’s injuries.’
‘That is most certainly the case; however, the whole thing may well have been avoided if you had softened your approach.’
‘You know nothing of my approach,’ she said, shooting him a livid glare. ‘You weren’t there trying to save the boy’s life. When someone is bleeding out before your eyes, it’s not exactly the time to ask how his mother or his family are feeling, for God’s sake.’
Eamon leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the table. Erin moved back, folding her arms across her chest, her chin at a defiant height. ‘As you are now aware, I was in the bay next to you when you were assessing Mr Aston,’ he said. ‘His wife was clearly distressed to see her normally healthy husband in such a state. A reassuring word to her wouldn’t have gone astray, not cutting her off in mid-sentence.’
Erin rolled her eyes, and, pushing back her chair, got to her feet in one angry movement. ‘I haven’t got time for this. I’ve got patients to see.’
His green eyes hit hers. ‘Sit down, Dr Taylor.’
Erin’s hands gripped the chair-back with white-knuckled fingers. She was so tempted to shove the chair back underneath the table to drive home her point, but the steely look in his eyes forestalled her.
Several tense seconds passed before she reluctantly gave in. She sat back down, crossing her arms and legs as she sent him a querulous look. ‘You said you’d had other complaints about me,’ she said. ‘Am I allowed to know who they were from?’
He leaned back in his chair, but the hardened look hadn’t softened in his eyes. ‘That would be unprofessional of me. The complaints were made in confidence; in fact, they weren’t even official, just passing comments. No one is out to get you, Dr Taylor, far from it. Generally the staff speak very highly of you, on a professional level.’
‘So my bedside manner needs some work,’ she said with a petulant huff of her shoulder. ‘Pardon me for putting patients’ lives in front of politeness.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t manage both,’ he said. ‘Or do you have a particular reason for being so prickly with everyone?’
Erin felt the probe of his gaze and had to work hard to maintain eye contact. Something about him made her feel exposed. Even though she had only met him the day before, that intelligent, penetrating gaze of his had a habit of catching her off guard. He was seeing things she didn’t want him to see, things she had fought hard to keep hidden. She liked her life in its neat little compartments, but she felt as if he was threatening her stronghold, insisting on her being someone she was not, nor ever could be. ‘I’m not interested in winning the latest popularity contest,’ she said. ‘If people don’t like me, I don’t let it worry me. I have better things to do with my time.’
‘Do you live alone, apart from your cat?’ he asked.
Erin frowned. ‘I thought we were here to discuss issues to do with work, not my private life.’
Eamon draped one arm over the back of the chair that was next to his; his gaze continued to hold hers. ‘Sometimes one’s private life can have an impact on their professional one.’
She gave him an arch look. ‘Sometimes one’s boss can put his nose where it is not welcome.’
Eamon felt his lips flicker with a smile. ‘I’m not just your boss, Dr Taylor, I am also your neighbour. That blurs the boundaries a bit, don’t you think?’
‘Not for me,’ she said with a flinty glare.
He leaned forward again, his eyes still locked on hers. ‘As I said earlier, I don’t like the heavy-handed approach, but if it’s called for I am not afraid to use it. If you don’t lift your game, I will have to take appropriate action.’
She eyeballed him back. ‘If you want to fire me, go right ahead, but if you do I’ll have the unfair-dismissal commission on your back before you can say Code Blue.’
Eamon felt a rush of blood to his groin at her feisty words. She was like a spitting cat, all claws and hiss, making him want to tame that wild streak by pressing his own mouth to her snarling one. He wondered if anyone had been game enough to come within touching distance of her. She sent out keep-away-from-me vibes like soundwaves. For some reason he found that incredibly attractive. His three younger sisters would think he was crazy taking on someone like Erin Taylor; they were hanging out for a sweet sister-in-law they could take shopping and do girly things with. Somehow he couldn’t see the pintsized Dr Taylor with her touch-me-not glare and barbed tongue going down too well with his touchy-feely family.
‘Eamon?’ A high female voice sounded from behind their table.
Erin turned her head to see one of the nurses from the surgical ward approaching, bringing with her a wave of heady perfume that irritated Erin’s nostrils.
‘Hi, Sherrie,’ Eamon, said, rising to his feet and sweeping the woman into a brief, hard hug. He held her from him to look down at her flushed features. ‘How’re you doing? I’ve been meaning to call you, but things have been pretty crazy since I got back from London.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ the woman called Sherrie said, with a beaming smile. ‘Gosh, you look fabulous. Jet lag and hard work must suit you.’
Eamon gave a self-deprecating smile before turning to introduce Erin. ‘Sherrie, do you know Dr Erin Taylor from A&E?’
Sherrie held out her hand. ‘No, I don’t think we’ve met properly. I’ve seen you around, though. Nice to meet you.’
Erin briefly placed her hand in the other woman’s before pulling away. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You too.’
‘So…’ Sherrie turned back to Eamon. ‘When are you free for a meal or a drink or something? Where are you staying? Have you bought a house or an apartment?’
Eamon grinned at the barrage of questions, holding up his hands as if to ward them off. ‘One at a time, Sherrie. Yes, a meal would be great, and I’m renting my mate Tim Yeoman’s apartment in Mosman until the renovations are completed on my house at Balmoral Beach. Tim’s still on sabbatical in Edinburgh.’
Sherrie took a pen out of her uniform pocket and scribbled her number and address on a napkin from the table. She handed it to him and smiled. ‘Here are my details,’ she said. ‘I’ve changed my number since I last saw you. Call me any time. It will be great to hear all about your time in the UK.’
Eamon folded the napkin and put it in the breast pocket of his shirt. ‘Thanks, Sherrie; I’ll see what I can do for next week. I’m still unpacking, otherwise I’d organise something sooner.’
‘No problem,’ Sherrie said, and glanced at her watch. ‘Oops. Gotta dash. I’m meant to be in Surg A by now. Congratulations on the new job, Eamon. You’re exactly what this place needs to whip it into shape.’ She turned and smiled at Erin. ‘See you around, Erica.’
‘Erin,’ Erin corrected her.
‘Oh, sorry, I’mhopeless with names.’ And then, with another beaming smile aimed at Eamon, Sherrie left.
Erin pushed her half-drunk latte away. ‘A love interest of yours?’ she asked.
He sat back down and drained the contents of his cup before he answered. ‘We dated a couple of times a few years ago. Nothing too serious, and fortunately we managed to remain friends after we called it quits.’
‘It looks to me like she would like a re-run,’ Erin said, not quite able to stop herself from sounding slightly churlish.
One of his dark brows lifted. ‘Is that feminine intuition or something else?’
She was the first to shift her gaze. ‘What else could it be?’ she asked. ‘You’re not exactly my type.’
‘Oh really?’ he said. ‘What is your type?’
Erin wished she hadn’t started the conversation. She could feel her colour rising as the silence stretched and stretched. How could she answer such a question? She didn’t have a type. She didn’t even have a social life. She had a cat and a career and a cartload of reasons to keep her life as simple as possible. ‘I have to get going,’ she said, making a show of looking at her watch. ‘I don’t want another long day.’
‘Big plans for this evening?’ he asked as he rose to his feet.
Erin wondered if he was making fun of her. To an attractive man with women falling over themselves to book him for a date, her life must seem pretty dull in comparison. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact,’ she lied. ‘I’m meeting someone after work.’
‘About what we discussed over coffee…’ Eamon began as he accompanied her back to the hospital.
‘Don’t worry, Dr Chapman,’ she said before he could continue. ‘I’ll get working on winning friends and influencing people right now.’
Eamon watched as she stalked off down the corridor, her head down, her shoulders hunched and her face like a brewing storm. ‘You do that, Dr Taylor,’ he murmured, and, blowing out a breath, made his way back to his office.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be doing the trial ward-round with Dr Chapman?’ Lydia Hislop, one of the nurses who regularly worked with Erin, asked. ‘The others left over half an hour ago.’
Erin frowned as she checked through the patient’s notes she was reading, barely registering what the nurse had said. ‘When did Mrs Fuller have a second shot of pethidine?’ She glanced at the nurse. ‘I don’t remember signing for it.’
Lydia peered at the notes, her forehead creasing over a frown. ‘That’s your signature, isn’t it?’
Erin felt a cold hand of unease press against the base of her spine. She closed the patient folder and let out a long, unsteady breath. ‘I must be working way too hard,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t even remember what day it is.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Lydia said with an empathetic eyeroll. ‘Have you got time to see Mr Boyle in bay five, or should I get one of the night-duty staff to deal with it?’
Erin glanced at her watch. The ward-round, even if she had wanted to attend, would be winding up by now; it would be over altogether by the time she made it up to the appropriate floor. ‘I’ll see him,’ she said. ‘That’s the one with the suspected appendix, right?’
‘Yes, I’ve got his history here,’ Lydia said, handing her a file. ‘He’s been in before for a resection of gangrenous bowel about two years ago.’
‘That should make for interesting surgery,’ Erin said. ‘Who’s the surgeon on call?’
‘Mr Gourlay,’ Lydia said. ‘Your all-time favourite.’
This time is was Erin who rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe I should have gone on that ward-round after all.’
When Erin got home from work, Molly wound her plump body around her legs, mewing in delight. Erin smiled and scooped her up, burying her face in the cat’s luxurious fur. The phone rang inside her bag, and she gently put Molly down to answer it. When she saw the number on the screen, she felt a hand of dread clutch at her insides. ‘Hello, Mum,’ she said in a flat tone.
‘Ezzie, I need your help,’ Leah Taylor said. ‘Things have been tough just lately, you know how it is.’
Erin whooshed out an impatient sigh. ‘No, Mum, strange as it may seem, I don’t know how it is.’
‘There’s no need to be nasty,’ Leah said. ‘All I want is a bit of cash to get me through until my next pension payment.’
Erin began pacing; it was almost unconscious every time she spoke with her mother. Back and forth she went across the carpet, like a caged animal desperate for freedom. She could even see the slightly worn area when she’d last vacuumed. ‘Mum, you know what the social worker said about me giving you money all the time,’ she said. ‘You just shoot it up or drink it.’
‘I’m going straight now, Ez,’ her mother said. ‘I haven’t touched a drop for three days.’
Erin rolled her eyes. ‘And what about Bob or Bill or Brad, or whatever his name is? Is he going straight too?’
‘Just because you can’t pull a man doesn’t give you the right to slag me off. If you would just tart yourself up a bit you wouldn’t be living all alone with just a stupid cat for company.’
Erin felt anger rising in her like the froth of a soda poured too rapidly, threatening to overflow the glass of her control. She had to fight her temper back, knowing from experience it never worked with her mother. There was no hope of a rational conversation with someone in the grip of addiction. She had learned that earlier than any child should have to learn. Some people loved their fix more than their children. Leah Taylor was one of them. The drink and the drugs would always come first, her unsavoury boyfriends a close second. ‘Mum, I’m going to hang up now, OK?’ she said in a cool, calm voice. ‘I’ll call you in a couple of days.’
‘How can you turn your back on your own mother?’ Leah asked in a whining tone.
Erin closed her eyes as she thought of all the times her mother had abandoned her, leaving her to fend for herself until the authorities had finally stepped in. Years of being shunted from one foster home to another, with short periods of being reunited with her mother in some of Leah’s all-too-brief periods of sobriety. Yes, Erin could easily turn her back on her mother. It was either that or get hurt all over again. ‘I’ll call you later, Mum,’ she said again.
‘Selfish little cow,’ Leah snapped. ‘You’re just like your father.’
‘And that would be…?’ Erin asked pointedly.
Her mother slammed the phone down.
CHAPTER THREE
