me! Pick me!
What the hell? This was worse than a momentary thought about her gorgeous legs. Utterly discombobulated, he dragged his gaze away from her pink-cheeked face that danced with excitement, and far, far away from that come-hither dimple that had his blood pumping faster than necessary. He’d spent weeks trying to make her smile, and now that he had, he knew he must make it stop. It was one thing to wish that for the good of the patients and workplace harmony his speciality registrar be a little more relaxed. It was another thing entirely to find himself attracted to her as a woman. Hell, he didn’t even like her. Not. At. All.
He’d never been attracted to someone he didn’t like before, but that conundrum aside, there were many reasons why any sort of attraction was utterly out of the question. First and foremost, nothing could happen between them because he was her boss and she was his trainee. Fortunately, he knew exactly how to quash any remaining eddies of unwanted desire and kill off all temptation without any pain or suffering to himself.
‘Good,’ he said to her, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the sink. ‘I’m glad you’re on board, because I promised to have lunch with the new and very attractive burns-unit house officer. Inserting the VP would make me late.’
Her tension rode back in as fast as the cavalry into battle and her eyes flashed so brightly he needed sunglasses to deflect the glare. ‘You’re having lunch instead of operating?’
He gave a practised shrug—one that said, What of it? ‘I’ve got complete confidence in your ability, but please, do page me if you need me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you,’ she snapped.
Her previous lush mouth was now a thin, hard line and Alistair was thankfully back in familiar territory. Nothing about this Claire Mitchell was remotely attractive and his body reacted accordingly, which was to say, it didn’t react at all. ‘Excellent,’ he said, as much to himself as to her. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that sorted.’
Without another word, he left the room and strode towards the lifts. He’d spend the unexpected extra time with Ryan Walker’s parents. It was the least he could do.
* * *
A few days later, Claire was handing out her morning coffees to the dawn crusaders at the hospital gates when she got chatting with a delightful man in his seventies. With his Cockney accent that reminded her of Eliza Doolittle’s father in Pygmalion, he told her he’d been born ‘a blue baby.’
‘Me ’art’s plumbing was all wrong like. Lucky for me, the castle ’ere had a pioneer in ’art surgery, otherwise I’d ’ave been dead a long time now.’ Reg flicked his thumb towards the original ornate building. ‘I’ve got a lot of love for the old girl. She gave me a chance to ’ave a bloody good life. One of me kids was born ’ere when she come early and the docs patched up the others when they broke bones. Me grandkids were all born ’ere and me first great-grandkiddy’s due on Guy Fawkes.’
‘It sounds like the castle is your family’s hospital,’ Claire said, thinking about the affection in the man’s voice.
He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Too right. That’s why I’m ’ere every mornin’. All us Landsburys are on the rota right down to the little tackers. If that lot in suits close ’er down, it’ll be a bloody disgrace.’
Claire was about to agree when she heard her name being called. She excused herself and turned to see Victoria Christie, the petite and dark-haired paramedic who’d galvanised everyone into action by starting the Save Our Hospital committee. With rapid flicks of her fingers, Victoria was motioning her over.
Bidding Reg goodbye, Claire crossed the cobblestones with care, regretting her heels. She reminded herself that her extra height would be necessary soon enough when she did rounds with Alistair. ‘G’day, Vicki.’
‘Hello, Claire. How are things?’
It was a broad question that really didn’t demand a truthful answer but Claire had an unexpected and utterly disturbing urge to confide in the woman about how hard she was finding working with Alistair North. The thought unsettled her. She’d never been a woman who had a lot of girlfriends, and truth be told she usually got along better with men than women—which was fortunate given she was working in a male-dominated speciality. But it was immensely competitive so any friendships that had formed were always constrained by that reality.
She’d tried friendships outside of medicine but people didn’t understand the crazy hours. Her frequent failures to turn up at events due to being delayed at work frustrated them and she noticed that it didn’t take long for the invitations to dry up altogether. It killed relationships too, or at least it had played a big part in her and Michael’s demise.
There was more to it than just your job.
She pulled her mind fast away from difficult thoughts and concentrated instead on trying to work out why women had to run in a pack and share the most intimate details of their lives with each other. She did have two close girlfriends and she’d always considered them enough, but Emma and Jessica were in Australia juggling toddlers, babies, partners and a burgeoning women’s health clinic. She missed them, and these last few weeks at the castle had thrown her for a loop. Never before had she felt so at sea in a job and she had no one to talk to about her baffling boss.
How could one man generate such disparate feelings? She lurched from admiration to antipathy and back again, although right now admiration was fast losing its gloss. In Australia, she’d worked under crusty old neurosurgeons who barely knew her name and when they did deign speak to her it was to bark out instructions. It hadn’t always been a pleasant experience but at least it was predictable behaviour. They’d played by the archaic rules set down a hundred years ago and she’d just put her head down and got on with the job. So why was she struggling to do that with Alistair North?
Because he doesn’t play by the rules.
And wasn’t that the truth! The man drove her to the point of distraction with his lack of attention to detail outside of theatre. Sure, she was his trainee, but along with her clinical work she was carrying his administrative load as well as her own and it was wearing her down. She’d been working ridiculously long hours trying to manage the paperwork and she didn’t know how much longer she could trade sleep to keep up. Last week, with an enormous sense of guilt, she’d offloaded some of it onto her house officer. Andrew had accepted it without question, because that was the system, but part of her had wanted to explain. The rest of her had overruled the idea. Since leaving Gundiwindi, she’d held her secret close so it couldn’t be used against her. She’d got this far and as soon as she qualified she’d be home free.
Meanwhile, she was barely treading water with the added report load, and combined with her own exhaustion and the Pied Piper incident on the ward two days ago, she’d lost her temper. Oh, how she regretted that she’d given in to fatigue and frustration. It had been beyond unwise but what worried her even more was her current pattern of behaviour. For some reason, when she was in Alistair North’s company, she lost her protective restraint.
Not once in her career had she ever spoken back to her consultant, and now with the end of her fellowship in sight, it wasn’t the time to start. But as each day passed, she felt more and more like a smoking and steaming volcano ready to blow. To try and keep herself in check, she’d started clenching her fists when she felt her frustrations rising. As a result, her palms had developed permanent dents in them. She’d discovered if she focused on the sharp digging pain she was less likely to say something she’d regret. It didn’t always work and she’d clearly seen his displeasure
