‘I’m a plastic surgeon, yes. But I don’t do nips or tucks. I don’t do cosmetic surgery, except in cases of trauma or where there’s a medical reason for it. And the budget for this year was set before I arrived.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Next year’s money, then.’
‘Next year’s budget,’ Charlie said calmly, ‘will be allocated in terms of need. And I’ll be discussing it with Guy and Andy before I make final decisions. Clear?’
‘Clear.’
‘Good. So what’s the rest of your problem?’
‘What do you mean?’
Nicely parried. She hadn’t denied there was a problem, but she’d shifted the onus on him to say what he thought. OK. He’d play it straight. ‘You don’t like me, Sophie Harrison. Now, I know we’ve never met before, so I can’t have upset you personally. What’s the problem?’
She lifted her chin, and there was a definite spark of challenge in her eyes. ‘OK. You want to know? I think the board appointed you for political reasons.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, you mean the “lord” bit. Well, if you’d been there when I arrived yesterday, you’d have heard me tell everyone I don’t use it. I answer to Charlie.’
‘If you’d been on time yesterday,’ she pointed out, ‘I wouldn’t have been in Theatre.’
‘Unfortunately, I was delayed.’
‘Your hero rescue work.’
Oh, please. She didn’t think he’d set it up…did she? ‘What would you have done?’ he asked. ‘It’s your first day in a new job—a job where you know most of the staff don’t want you there. A child is stuffing fireworks through a letterbox, but one blows up in his hand. If you stop to help, you’re going to be late and your new team’s going to think you’re too arrogant to care, which means your first day is going to be even worse than you expect. So do you just leave the kid—and whoever’s inside the house, who might also be hurt—or do you call an ambulance and do what you can on the first-aid front? Especially knowing that the general public would pour water or milk on a burn because that’s what all the first-aid stuff says they should do?’
‘Which would be the worst thing they could do to a burn contaminated with phosphorus.’ She sighed. ‘OK. I’d have done what you did.’
‘Thank you.’ Charlie leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Sophie—may I call you Sophie?’
She nodded.
‘As for the “lord” bit—it’s simply an accident of birth.’
Uh-oh. The words were identical to the ones she’d used yesterday morning. Had someone repeated her comment to him?
And why did it make her feel suddenly guilty? She stuck by what she’d said. Why should you be treated differently because you came from a posh background?
‘Don’t hold my background against me,’ Charlie said quietly, almost as if he’d read her mind. ‘It’s not a privilege, it’s a handicap. People think I’ve been promoted because of who I am, not what I can do. I worked hard to get my degree, and I worked hard to get my position. And then I have to work a little bit harder still to prove it to everyone else.’
Pretty much as female surgeons had to—there was still a glass ceiling. To get to the very top as a surgeon, you had to forget about career breaks and children and family. You had to be twice as dedicated as any man.
Prejudice cut two ways. Sophie flushed. And she’d definitely been prejudiced against Charlie. She hadn’t given him a proper chance.
‘I’m a doctor. It’s what I wanted to be—who I am.’
And he meant it. His voice was absolutely sincere.
‘I…I’m sorry.’
‘Apology accepted. Hopefully things will be straight between us now.’
He didn’t sound as if he was gloating. He sounded…relieved.
‘I like the way you work,’ he added. ‘No fuss, no drama, no lording it over junior staff.’
At the word ‘lord’, she met his gaze again. His eyes crinkled at the corners—he was laughing again. But at himself, not at her.
Almost unwillingly, she found herself smiling back. ‘I’m the wrong sex to lord it. Lady it, perhaps?’
The smile in his eyes spread to his mouth, and she wished she hadn’t made him grin like that. Because it made him appeal to her more than any man she’d ever met.
It wasn’t going to happen. Charlie Radley had been photographed with more women than she’d had hot dinners. Women of his kind—the supermodels and debutantes. Sophie knew she wasn’t in the same league; besides, she didn’t want a quick affair. She didn’t want any kind of affair. She just wanted to do her job, and do it well.
‘Given the chance,’ Charlie said, ‘I think I’m going to like you. Working with you, I mean,’ he added.
Given the chance. The rest of the team seemed to like him. And she’d been impressed by the way he worked in Theatre. Cool, calm, very sure of his skill, but equally concerned that his team should know everything that was going on. Including the nurses. ‘So let’s take each other at face value,’ she suggested.
He nodded, and lifted his coffee-cup. ‘Here’s to a working relationship. Straightforward and honest. Mutual respect for each other’s expertise and judgement.’
She could drink to that. She lifted her own coffee-cup. ‘Cheers.’
‘And maybe,’ Charlie said softly, ‘in the end you won’t dislike me so much after all.’
OVER the next few days, Charlie settled in with the rest of the team. Sophie even worked with him a couple of times without her hackles rising, although she still avoided Charlie’s drinks night on the Thursday. Being off duty was a good enough excuse, as far as she was concerned. Although he gave her a quizzical look when they were next on the ward together, at least he didn’t take her to task for it.
Then she got a call from Paul, the registrar in the emergency department. ‘Twelve years old, fell from a horse which then stood on her. Admitted with bruising over her lower ribs and tachychardia. I think she’s ruptured her spleen. Any chance of doing a laparotomy?’
‘I’ll organize Theatre,’ Sophie said. ‘Have you done a CT scan?’
‘Too long a wait. I did a peritoneal lavage,’ Paul said. ‘We had blood staining.’
Blood staining indicated an internal injury to the abdomen, and bruising over the lower ribs was often associated with damage to the spleen, liver or kidney.
‘One
