time, she’d hoped it meant she’d finally passed his test of attempting to drown her under a sea of administrative work. That his offer for her to operate solo meant he’d finally recognised her clinical skills and they were entering the next phase in their working relationship. For a few delicious moments she’d floated on air and then reality had hit. His offer for her to operate had been pure expediency. The playboy had a lunch date.
That moment was the first time she’d ever doubted his professionalism. Even then, the suspicion wasn’t straightforward. Back in Australia, she’d had opportunities to insert VP shunts and she was competent in the procedure. He would have known that, so the fact he wasn’t going to be in the operating theatre with her wasn’t exactly abandoning his patient. Yet he’d admitted to going to lunch!
So, you’ll lambast him for telling the truth when he could have created excuses like your previous bosses?
Sick of the endless loop of contradictory thoughts, Claire gave herself a shake. ‘Today’s a new day,’ she said cryptically to Victoria’s question, ‘with new things to learn.’
‘Alistair’s a generous teacher.’
‘He’s certainly generous,’ she said, fighting the urge to purse her lips in disapproval.
Victoria laughed and her chestnut ponytail swung around her shoulders. ‘Our Alistair certainly loves women. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
Unable to hide her astonishment, Claire blinked at the pretty paramedic. Not you too! If the hospital grapevine was to be believed, Victoria and Dominic MacBride were very much together. ‘Oh?’ she asked cautiously.
Victoria’s face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘You’ve heard about the hospital ball?’
For anyone not to have heard about the ball, they’d have to have been living under a rock. Posters graced every noticeboard inside the hospital, and outside they’d been pasted on the poster pillars along the main road. Invitations had been sent to the past and present medical and auxiliary staff and one massive wall in the cafeteria had been covered with an enormous banner declaring the Spring Fling ball to be the social event of the season. The chatter about it had even managed to dent the football conversations about which team would be playing in the FA Cup final in a few weeks.
‘I think I may have seen a poster about it somewhere,’ she said with mock thoughtfulness.
Victoria missed the joke and continued in earnest. ‘It’s our first major event and we’re hoping to raise fifty thousand pounds. The thing is, we really need Alistair to attend. If he doesn’t, it’s going to affect ticket sales.’
Claire laughed and then stopped as she caught the expression on Victoria’s face. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Deadly. He told Dominic that things were—’ she raised her fingers into quotation marks ‘—complicated, which is code for he’s broken some poor deluded girl’s heart once again.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Why they even think they could be the one to get him to commit is beyond me. The man is Peter Pan. Anyway, we really need him at the ball because we plan to auction the seat next to him. Women will have the chance to sit next to him for one of three courses. We’re also selling his dance card. Your job is to make sure he attends.’
‘I doubt I can make Alistair North do anything he doesn’t want to do,’ she replied honestly.
Victoria shot her an understanding smile. ‘Alistair was raised right and he went to the right schools. As a result, he has a social code of conduct that he sticks to. He will go to the ball if he’s your date.’
Claire’s intake of breath was so sharp it sent her into a paroxysm of coughing. ‘I can’t ask my boss out,’ she said, her voice rising sharply.
Victoria shrugged as if the fact Alistair was her boss was immaterial. ‘Of course you can. We all have to do our bit to save the castle,’ she said pragmatically. ‘Besides, it’s all about how you word the invitation. Guilt him into it if you have to. Tell him it’s imperative there’s a show of strength from Koala Ward. He can’t really argue against the expectation that as head of the department he should be there.’
The thought of having this conversation with Alistair North was enough to make her hyperventilate. ‘Victoria, I really don’t think—’
‘Do you know how much the community will suffer if the hospital’s sold?’ Victoria’s hands hit her hips, elbows akimbo. ‘Keeping the castle open means everything to me, to the staff and to the patients. We’re expecting to raise at least a thousand pounds by auctioning off his dance card, plus all the money we’ll get for selling the seats next to him.’
Oh, how she wanted to rush to the ATM right this second and withdraw the cash but the idea of eating next month took precedence. ‘I can’t promise you—’
‘Yes, you can. And you will,’ Victoria said with the sort of authority in her voice usually reserved for recalcitrant patients. She reached out her hand and gave Claire’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘And all the children and families in the district will thank you.’
Claire, who towered over the brunette, couldn’t comprehend how someone so petite could be such an indomitable force. ‘That’s blackmail,’ she said weakly.
Victoria smiled. ‘No. It’s preventing a travesty. We’re all mucking in to save our wonderful hospital for generations to come. This is your small contribution.’
Small? If this was small, she hated to think what a big request would look like. Claire was keen to do her bit, but she knew that Victoria had just well and truly dropped her into the muck right up to her neck.
CLAIRE STOOD AT the end of Ryan Walker’s bed and chewed her lip. She had expected the little boy to have improved much faster than this. When he’d arrived at A & E barely conscious after being hit on the head by a falling beam at the Westbourne Primary School fire, Dominic MacBride, the castle’s trauma surgeon, had immediately called her and Alistair in to consult. They’d ordered a CT scan that showed Ryan had sustained a fractured skull. Fortunately, there was no displacement of bones but there was a tiny associated subdural haematoma.
Rather than rushing in with guns blazing, she’d totally agreed with Alistair’s conservative treatment plan. They’d worked closely with Rupert Emmerson, the anaesthetist, who’d sedated and ventilated Ryan. Alistair had inserted an intracranial pressure monitor and she’d inserted a central line, administering a mannitol infusion to decrease any associated brain swelling from the injury. The small haematoma hadn’t diminished in size but neither had it grown. As a result, Ryan remained ventilated and his condition was still in a state of flux.
Yesterday morning, in a moment of frustrated despair during teaching rounds, she’d asked Alistair if she’d missed anything. Despite the large group of students gathered around the little tacker’s bed, Alistair’s pewter-grey eyes had zeroed in on her as if they were the only two people in the room.
‘If you’ve missed something, Mitchell, then so have I.’
‘Shall we do another MRI?’
‘He had an MRI two days ago. While his observations remain the same it’s not warranted. You have to ask yourself why you’re doing the test.’
Because
